Original fiction: Not Pregnant PG-13
Jul. 3rd, 2007 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
libra_travellerI was accepted into my advance fiction workshop off of this piece. It's a complete story about a woman having an affair, cheating on her husband with another woman.
I lied about being pregnant. My mom was so happy when I told her. I do not know why I did. I meant to call her and tell her that I found someone else, that I was divorcing Tim because I am in love with this woman named Sherry. Instead I told her we were having a baby. I cannot understand how that popped out. It’s something that’s a little difficult to take back. It’s not even April Fools’ Day, so I have no excuse. There are two things I could do. I could either say it was a false alarm, or I could stop taking my pills and try to actually get pregnant. Maybe I’ll go to a doctor and spend the money to get checked out. Then tell my mom that I was wrong. Sherry would be so amused that I said that. She thinks a lot of things are funny. I’m not sure why I love her so much, we don’t even really get along. She’s beautiful and the sex with her is explosive, but I really do love Tim. We were college sweethearts, married as soon as we graduated. We have been together for five years. Neither of us wanted children, at least not yet.
I have to do something before my mom goes telling everybody because somehow Tim will get a hold of the information and he will want to know why I hadn’t told him first. I wonder what he would think. Would he be thrilled or fake it? What if all this time he really wanted a baby but knew I didn’t, so he lied about it? What if we are both liars? How could our marriage hold up if we’re not honest? And why do I care? I’m already thinking of breaking it off. What do I do? Okay, I’ll call Mom and tell her the truth.
My hand is shaking as I pick up the phone. I dial her number, and put the phone to my ear. It rings and she answers. I hang up before I can tell her anything. Damn it. She has caller id, she’ll know it was me and she’ll think something is wrong. I call her again.
“Lily? Is that you?” My mom sounds worried.
“Yeah.” I do not know why but I start to cry. One lie was so easy, the next though is hard. “I was so happy that the test came out positive, I took it again. The second time was negative. I did it a third and it was negative again. I don’t think I’m pregnant after all.” I wipe the tears off my face. Why am I crying? The whole thing was a lie, but suddenly I wish I was really pregnant. Maybe that is why I lied. Subconsciously I wanted it to be true.
“Oh dear. I’m so sorry. That must be awful. I know you never wanted children, but to have something and then for it be taken away so soon must hurt.” I nod though she can’t see me.
“I’m sorry to have gotten your hopes up. I know you always wanted grandchildren.” I sit down in a chair by the phone.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Well why don’t we talk about something else. How is your job going? Tell me about your latest painting.” As she says this a weight is lifted. I love talking about my work.
“I’m painting a picture of the church I’m going to, two pictures side by side, one with the faces of people going inside, the other of them coming out, showing how peaceful they feel after a sermon. You know how we never went to church growing up, but Tim is so religious? I don’t feel anything myself from it, but I noticed the faces of those who really believe and they’ve always struck me. Oh and the church is so beautiful and it’s fun drawing it at different times of the day, one where it’s slightly dark, early in the morning, the other mid day with the sun shining, it looks so different, pretty in different ways, always so demanding in its presence.” I run out of things to say.
“Sounds charming. Have you been able to get a gallery to show off your other work yet?” She is always pressuring me, saying I need people to see my art.
“Not yet. No one seems to be interested. I think it’s because my work is so eclectic. They prefer artists who have one theme. I just paint whatever interests me at the time. But I’ll keep looking. Someone will be interested eventually.”
We talk for a while more, and I never tell her about Sherry. I think about how with my paintings, Tim was never really interested in them. He used to say how he loved me for who I am, not what I do. Except I love my work, and it is such a big part of who I am. Sherry though, she loves my work. She may love me for being me, but what I do interests her. With her I feel more complete.
The one thing I feel the most horrible about is the cheating. I hate that I am keeping to myself the truth of my feelings towards him, and letting him think that he is enough when he’s not. No wonder I found lying to my mom so easy, since I’m always lying to Tim.
I leave the phone and go into my study room. There is my painting of the church, with the faces of the people blank, since I’m still not sure how to show that exalted look. Instead of continuing it I pull out a new canvas. I start drawing a bed with a pregnant woman on it getting an ultrasound. It has been awhile since my friend Suzy was pregnant but I remember what the ultrasound looked like, and I draw that. I spend all day on the drawing, even going so far as to paint over it, adding color. By the time Tim is home I am finished.
Usually it takes me more than a day to paint something, such as the painting of the church has taken a week to get as far as I have. Every once in awhile the muse grabs me and I paint faster. I look at the painting and it drenches me with sadness. I almost had that. Okay it was a lie, but for one moment while I was telling my mom, I felt happy, like I actually had a little stranger growing inside me. Maybe I should try and have children, my mind obviously thinks so. I pull a sheet over the painting, because I can’t stand to look at it anymore.
I go out into the kitchen where Tim is making a sandwich. I give him a hug and a forceful kiss. He takes it in stride. Sherry would have known from the kiss that I was upset. I sit down and listen to him tell me about his day. He’s an attorney, and perhaps that is why he could never get behind my art. Different lifestyles I suppose. He has this new case where a boy is accused of hurting his baby sister. If the child is to be believed, he was falsely accused, his mother trying to get out of having hurt her own baby. It’s a sad case, and it gets to me even more now because I have been thinking of children all day. I just can’t understand how anyone could hurt a child.
Then Tim changes topics and tells me that my mom called him at work. I freeze up. What did she say? He looks at me with his dark eyes in his pale face. “I’m sorry about what happened today. According to her you had quite the disappointment. A child would have been a big responsibility, maybe it was for the best?” A huge wave of relief hits me. He hadn’t lied to me when we got married. He really didn’t want children. Good, neither do I.
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but for just a second I was happier than I had been in awhile.” Suddenly I wanted to share my painting with him. “I painted something today. Will you come look at it?”
We go into my study and I uncover the painting of the pregnant woman and the picture of her baby growing inside her. I hear him catch his breath, and I look into eyes full of awe. “She’s glowing. How did you capture her glowing, and so happy? You really are brilliant.”
I stare at him. For the first time he seems to really appreciate my art. I feel a connection with him that was missing all this time. Maybe I don’t need to leave him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I only lightly think of Sherry. I mean, I have known this man for eight years, and her only for one. I could never give him up no matter how much I wanted her.
We leave the study and go sit on the couch in our living room. He turns on the TV and we put a movie in. It’s our favorite, the only one we both really like. It has adventure and romance, the best combination. He gets out a bottle of wine and I laugh because if I had been pregnant I would not have been able to drink. He pours me some and I sip at it. We watch the movie in each other’s arms. I would miss being close to him. There are so many reasons why I enjoy being married to him. He’s handsome and considerate. He makes me feel comfortable.
Yet why is there this wild abandon whenever I’m with Sherry. There are real sparks, but could it last? What I have with Tim seems like something that could work for years, but with her maybe it would run out. The thing about my relationship with Tim, why I would hate to leave it, is because there is still passion. We still make love that is enjoyable. Sherry though, she makes me burn and melt. I wish I could have them both. Sadly life’s never that easy. I know it has to be one or the other. I just can’t choose yet. I don’t want to. So I will string them both along. At least Sherry knows I’m committed to Tim. She seems to be okay with that, but if she ever wants me to give him up, I don’t know what I’ll do.
The movie ends and I start work on dinner. I was never a good cook, but my mom taught me pretty well. I make a steak, neither of us needing much to be full, and a salad to go with it, pretty easy to put together. We eat without talking, a relaxing silence. Then we go to bed. We have been together long enough that we don’t have this burning need to have sex every night, we just hold each other and it feels right, just little strokes here and there. I think of Sherry and wonder if that’s why I need her. Perhaps I just need that feeling of sex being a necessity. I fall asleep wishing she was in my arms.
In the morning Tim is gone. He has work early. He left a wrapped piece of Godiva chocolate next to my pillow. It’s his way of apologizing for leaving. He started it a couple years ago after I complained of him not waking me up to say good bye, even though whenever he woke me up I was extremely grouchy. I put the chocolate away to eat later, I never like it in the morning, but in the middle of painting I sometimes get a craving and I know it’s there for me. I eat cereal for breakfast, the plain stuff, since I got over needing the sugar when I was in high school.
I then go to the study and grab some pieces of paper. It’s time to practice drawing the faces. I have photos of faces of some of the people at my church. I like to take photos, and then make paintings based off of the pictures. It’s how I was able to paint the church. It would have seemed odd if I sat in the parking lot drawing the church. It’s worked for me before. Though as can be seen with my painting of the pregnant woman sometimes I do it out of memory and even imagination. I remember when I was in high school I used to love drawing pictures of fairies. I would draw them so small with the finest details and my friends would get annoyed because they could barely see them. So I learned to make them bigger, which I realized gave me the chance for even more detail.
I practice the faces based off some of the looks from the people at my church. The ones where they are going in, they seemed less than happy, an ‘I have to go but don’t want to’ look. But when they come out they are peaceful or at least less irritated. I’m still missing what it is about the sermons and the choir that makes them happy, as I am always bored, though not by the singing. Some of them though, they can make a connection and that is what I want to portray. Today I’m finding it difficult to get the faces the way I want them and I wonder if I should’ve done it earlier before I wasted time on the church. I keep trying for a couple hours and end up with several faces, none of them quite the way I want them. I’ll have to try again tomorrow.
I probably need to wait until I go to church again so that I review that look, because I think the photos have not captured it right. The look is more of a combination of looks, not just one. I make myself some lunch and get the mail. I have a magazine I subscribed to that is filled with pictures of other people’s paintings. I love looking at what artists today are capable of doing. They inspire me to continue, especially when they talk about what motivates them to paint. I am halfway through when I hear a knock.
I go to the door and there is Sherry in a purple dress with a black jacket. I had forgotten we were going to her piano recital today. Maybe it’s because she’s an artist too that we connect. I apologize and hurry into my bedroom to change. She follows me. I love getting dressed in front of her. Her gaze seems to eat me up. I change into a black dress, the most formal I have. I look to her for approval and she reaches out and caresses my breast. Then she pulls me against her body and kisses me. Her lips are so smooth. I blink and she’s moved away. We walk out of the room and head downstairs, out the door and into her car.
She drives us a few blocks away. By the time we enter the building she is shaking with nerves. Sherry loves to perform, but no matter how often she’s done it, she still gets stage fright. Just put her in front of a piano though and the world melts away and all that is important is the music. I think the applause is what makes her keep going for it. When she plays just for me, I have to whistle and clap loudly pretending to be a whole group. She laughs after I do that, but I know it makes her happy. We go behind a curtain and I give her a quick secretive kiss, and then leave to head to my seat.
There are not many people out in the house, mostly just friends, but there are a few critics as well. Sherry is second to go on. When she does I clap enthusiastically. She smiles at me before the lights go down and a light shines on her. She composes her own music. I cringe as she starts to play, it’s too shaky. Then she takes a visible breath and lets it go. The music starts to flow and I’m enthralled. I look around and most of them are just as engaged in listening as I am. It makes me think of our strolls through the park and the kisses beneath the stars. It’s like she wrote a song about our love. Soon it ends, and everyone applauds. I turn around and see the critics taking notes with serious expressions on their faces. I have no idea what they are thinking. Sherry leaves the stage and I quietly move out of the auditorium. I go to find her, and when I do I pull her into my arms in a hug.
“You were great,” I whisper into her ear. She sighs happily. We leave not wanting to listen to the others. She drives us to her apartment and we go up to her bedroom. “I have to know, was that song about us?”
She laughs and kisses me, pulling me down to the bed. “Of course.” We make slow passionate love for an hour then take a nap. It’s seven o’clock when I realize I need to get home. We dress and she drives me to my house. I go in confidently and when I see Tim in the kitchen I expect him to ask where I was. He just looks up and smiles. I tell him that a friend and I went to a concert. He says that sounds nice. I almost wish he was actually concerned, but then I realize he trusts me and we are both independent. I kiss him on the cheek, and start to make myself some macaroni and cheese on the stove, comfort food.
He’s reading a newspaper and he talks about what he has read so far. I like to hear about the news, but I never have the patience to read it, so he tells me what’s in the paper. Somehow, out of him it sounds more interesting, probably because he only gives the highlights. I eat my dinner, sharing a little with him. Then we go to bed. This time when I lay in his arms, I only think of him and his soothing presence in my life.
The next day is our day at the gym. It’s a Friday, and he always takes Fridays off, since as a hotshot he can do that. Before we go we take a walk around the block to warm up. Then we go to the gym for an aerobics class we do once every two weeks, where as every other week we work on weight lifting. As always it tires me out. At the end of class I’m sweating and in pain, but as we drive home I feel energized as well. We go to our bedroom and have hot dirty sex. I may like the passionate sex I have with Sherry, but there is nothing like a man pounding into me while panting dirty words.
In the shower we wash each other enjoying the warm water. Then we get dressed and together make a healthy lunch of tofu. Yes, I know tofu sounds blah, but it is actually good. The funny thing is we only eat healthy on days we work out, not being able to stomach unhealthy food after all that exercise. So we are good on Fridays but bad on every other day of the week. After we eat we sit down in the living room and get out a pack of cards. We play War. Do not ask me why we like this game, it’s fun. I almost always win which confounds him no end. We play for an hour than he goes into the study and starts to work on his case. We had split the study, there is a desk where he works, and the other side is full of my paintings.
I watch television for an hour, mostly just surfing channels. It’s getting late so I turn it off and start planning dinner. I realize as soon as I enter the kitchen that the dishes have stacked up. Neither of us likes to do the dishes, so it gets crowded easily. So I grudgingly fill the dish washer, and scrub the pan from the night before. As soon as I get into it I have to keep cleaning, so I wash the table in the dining room, sweep both floors, and god help me I get out the mop. I clean the counters, wash the sink, and even dust the side board where we keep some fairy figurines left from my childhood. I stop before polishing the silver, mostly because we don’t have any silver. Then I am so tired that I can’t find the energy to make dinner, so I go into the study and ask Tim to. He says okay and puts his papers away. When he enters the kitchens, he gets this look, this ‘you really like to over do it’ look. I shrug and go into our bedroom and read a mystery novel while he makes dinner.
I am really getting into the book, trying to figure out who the murderer is when he says dinner is ready. I grumble to myself, but put the book down. He made cheese burgers and fries. Not too difficult, but he does make the most delicious burgers. Unfortunately we’re out of ketchup. I sigh dejectedly and he scrounges through the pantry where luckily we had a few extra packets of ketchup from the last time we had fast food. I cheer when I see them, and dinner from there is nice. Over dinner he talks about his cases, well, what he can talk about without getting in trouble anyhow. I tell him about the book I was reading and who I suspect and he nods at my logic. Then we watch our favorite Friday night show. Then we go to sleep.
The next day I wake up early and go into the study and start planning my next painting that will come after I finish the church one. All these recent thoughts about the fairies from my younger drawings have made me want to try one again. I write down thoughts about what type of fairies, the location, whether there are humans in it. Maybe there could be a child seeing a fairy for the first time. That last idea kinds of sticks with me. I am thinking maybe a water fairy, and maybe a girl sitting by a lake and seeing one diving in the water. I get out some water colors and start painting different possible clothes, as naked fairies are so cliché. Fairies can wear bathing suits I appease myself. I love the idea of a yellow dress and golden hair and translucent wings. The child is harder to get an image of, as I can’t decide her age. I want it to be young enough that she would believe what she is seeing. Age ten sounds good, so I write some notes about how she would look. Then I take a break.
I make lunch. I have no idea what Tim has been doing so I call out to him. Turns out he’s still sleeping. I nudge him out of the bed, enticing him with a ham omelet that I promise to make. He yawns and goes to the bathroom. I turn on the stove and crack an egg. I stir it and then pour it onto the pan. By the time it’s done, the ham being just bits of deli ham, he has gotten dressed and is sitting at the dining room table. I bring him the omelet on a plate and he smiles at me. I remember how much I love that smile, even if it is aimed more at the food than me.
“Thank you, this is delicious,” he mumbles with the food in his mouth. Is it odd that I find that endearing? Now that I think about it, Sherry does not smile much. She can be passionate or serious, sometimes even joking around and laughing but she never really smiles. I wonder why. More importantly I wonder if I could make her smile the way Tim does.
“Can we go to the park today? I want to see that lake, I’m thinking of putting it into a painting.” He nods and I go and get my camera.
We walk to the park, two blocks away. We sit on a bench and Tim has his arm around my shoulders. I take pictures of the lake and the children playing. Suddenly someone catches my eye, she’s gorgeous. It takes me a second to realize it’s Sherry, and she’s frowning. I stare at her, not knowing what to do. I don’t want to dislodge his arm, because he would get suspicious, but I want her to stop frowning. I sigh and turn to Tim, telling him that I see a friend and I am going to go talk to her. I leave the camera with him and walk off before he can comment.
I walk around the lake until I reach her side. She looks serious. “When is this going to stop?” My mouth hangs open, not knowing what to say. “You’re never going to give him up are you?”
“Sherry, you know I can’t. I love him.” My body’s trembling.
“I thought you loved me too.” She sighs and looks away.
“I do,” I whisper.
“Then why can’t you say it louder. Why does it have to be such a secret?” She looks so miserable.
“Why are you making demands of me now? You knew how it would be when we first got together. I’m married. Can’t you understand what it’s like to have that kind of commitment? I promised to live with him for the rest of my life, to care for him no matter what. I grant that I never pictured you when I said ‘I will’, but I made a promise.”
“A promise you’re breaking every moment you’re with me.” Sherry focused her eyes on the ground.
“You want it to end? I couldn’t live without you. Please don’t make me choose. God I’m so messed up. I almost told my mom about you, that I was planning to leave Tim, but I couldn’t do it. I frickin lied to her. I told her I was pregnant for God’s sake. Of course I had to call again and say it was a mistake. I still don’t know why I did it. There would be so many people I’d hurt if I broke it off with Tim. I mean I think Tim would survive, but his parents, they love me and if we got divorced they wouldn’t be family anymore.” The words seem to keep flowing, and then I stop at her look of devastation.
“Do you know that you’re hurting me? I want you so much. I ache when you’re not around. After the recital when I had to take you back home, I was so tense and almost in pain because you couldn’t stay with me. Yes, we made love at my place and that was so wonderful, but then you had to leave, you couldn’t just stay with me. I hated that. It made me almost hate you, and what you’re putting me through.” Her hands fidget.
“You want to stop?” My voice squeaks as I say this. She shrugs and tears start to slide down my cheeks. I turn and look at Tim, who is pretending to not be interested in what I’m doing. Instead he is looking determinedly at the ducks. I turn back to Sherry. “Please don’t do this to me. I love you so much. It would damage my heart if you left me.”
“Damage? Just damage. You’d still have someone to love. I bet if you lost Tim it’d kill you, but me, just damage. God, why am I with you, it’s this emotional swing between pain and love, back and forth, it hurts so much. But I can’t leave you. Leaving you would be like dying inside. No, I won’t leave you, I couldn’t. Please touch me.” Sherry’s eyes are filled with tears. I reach out a hand to her cheek, covering the action with my body so Tim wouldn’t see. I wipe the tears that start to fall, and she does the same with my tears. Then she presses her thumb to my mouth and I kiss it.
“I have to get back to him.” She nods, her smile a manifestation of her shattered heart. Then she turns and walks away. I watch her go, hoping that she meant what she said, that she was not leaving me. Then I turn and walk back around the lake towards Tim, trying to get back my composure.
I smile at Tim and he stands up. “Everything all right?”
I lie again. “Her grandmother is ill, I knew the lady, she was nice.”
He sighs. “That’s tough.” We walk back to our house, the camera in my hand. When we enter the door, I think, I am going to be living here for the rest of my life, with him. I feel closed in and panicky. I go to my room ignoring his concerned look. I lose myself in the mystery book, and though it is so much more complicated than my life, it seems simpler, life and death, no heartache.
At dinner he asks if I got any good photos and I nod. Later, I hook my camera up to the computer in the living room and print the photos. Then I put them away in a portfolio to be used later. Tomorrow we are going to church and hopefully I will finally be able to capture in my mind how the faces in my painting should look. I go to sleep with that hope in mind.
We get up early and go to church. I notice again how the people look tired and unenthusiastic. As soon as they enter and take their seats though, I look around and many of them seem enraptured. Throughout the sermon, most of them are attentive, and when we sing towards the end, my voice is soft as I glance at others. They are enjoying this ritual. We leave and I notice a couple people. The look that I was missing in my drawings was a satisfied look, one that symbolized that they did their part, that in their hearts they reiterated their love of God. It clicks for me and I know how to paint the faces.
When we get home I immediately go to the study and get out a pencil. I start sketching faces for a half hour until I feel confident. Then I draw it out on the canvas, a little outline, and then I begin painting with black, then colors for the skin. It takes me two hours to perfect it, but when I am done I am satisfied, just like those people, as I have made my own connection.
Then I go and eat, passing Tim as he enters the study to go over one of his cases. Tomorrow he will be back at work and I will be alone again. I eat while considering that. I may have started my affair with Sherry back a year ago because I felt lonely during those times that Tim was at work, for hours on end, sometimes the entire day. I know it was during one of those days that I met her.
I was out shopping at the mall when we met in a clothing store. We were polite, commenting on the outfits we tried on. We quickly became friends. A week later, as chance had it, we met again in a different clothing store. We laughed at the coincidence and exchanged phone numbers. After that we began shopping together. A month in I realized that I had more than friendly feelings for her, so that when she kissed me unexpectedly at my doorstep, I leaned in. Then I said good bye and went inside. Tim had looked at me strangely as I was flushed. Later on the phone, I explained to her that I was happily married, and for a month I heard no more from her. Then she suddenly showed up asking to go shopping with me. I left eagerly. In the food court she explained how deeply she cared for me, and said she would be willing to be with me even though I was committed to someone else. That night I went to her place and we ate dinner. I called Tim and said I was out with a friend. We lay on her bed only holding hands. Then I went home. For a week we would give each other little touches, until it built up and we knew we just had to move further or explode. That night was so awkward, as I had never been with a woman before. She had, which explained why she had been the first to kiss. She helped me explore this new dimension, and to be honest it was so horrible I thought it would be over. The next time we tried, I gave myself fully into it and it was better than my regular times with Tim. I suppose, because she was a woman, she had a better idea what I would like. I will not go into any details but as I said before it was passionate and freeing.
I break out of my daze realizing I had been revisiting those times for over an hour. Tomorrow while Tim is gone I’ll call her and make sure we’re okay. I need to make sure my life has not changed. I need both of them. I may not be having a baby, but my life is still full and my art keeps me going. I am in love with three things: my art honestly comes first and then Tim, then Sherry. If I had a baby I would have four things, and for right now that is too much. I am not sure I have that much love in me. Yet I wanted a child. God help me I wish I had not been lying when I told Mom I was pregnant.
I lied about being pregnant. My mom was so happy when I told her. I do not know why I did. I meant to call her and tell her that I found someone else, that I was divorcing Tim because I am in love with this woman named Sherry. Instead I told her we were having a baby. I cannot understand how that popped out. It’s something that’s a little difficult to take back. It’s not even April Fools’ Day, so I have no excuse. There are two things I could do. I could either say it was a false alarm, or I could stop taking my pills and try to actually get pregnant. Maybe I’ll go to a doctor and spend the money to get checked out. Then tell my mom that I was wrong. Sherry would be so amused that I said that. She thinks a lot of things are funny. I’m not sure why I love her so much, we don’t even really get along. She’s beautiful and the sex with her is explosive, but I really do love Tim. We were college sweethearts, married as soon as we graduated. We have been together for five years. Neither of us wanted children, at least not yet.
I have to do something before my mom goes telling everybody because somehow Tim will get a hold of the information and he will want to know why I hadn’t told him first. I wonder what he would think. Would he be thrilled or fake it? What if all this time he really wanted a baby but knew I didn’t, so he lied about it? What if we are both liars? How could our marriage hold up if we’re not honest? And why do I care? I’m already thinking of breaking it off. What do I do? Okay, I’ll call Mom and tell her the truth.
My hand is shaking as I pick up the phone. I dial her number, and put the phone to my ear. It rings and she answers. I hang up before I can tell her anything. Damn it. She has caller id, she’ll know it was me and she’ll think something is wrong. I call her again.
“Lily? Is that you?” My mom sounds worried.
“Yeah.” I do not know why but I start to cry. One lie was so easy, the next though is hard. “I was so happy that the test came out positive, I took it again. The second time was negative. I did it a third and it was negative again. I don’t think I’m pregnant after all.” I wipe the tears off my face. Why am I crying? The whole thing was a lie, but suddenly I wish I was really pregnant. Maybe that is why I lied. Subconsciously I wanted it to be true.
“Oh dear. I’m so sorry. That must be awful. I know you never wanted children, but to have something and then for it be taken away so soon must hurt.” I nod though she can’t see me.
“I’m sorry to have gotten your hopes up. I know you always wanted grandchildren.” I sit down in a chair by the phone.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Well why don’t we talk about something else. How is your job going? Tell me about your latest painting.” As she says this a weight is lifted. I love talking about my work.
“I’m painting a picture of the church I’m going to, two pictures side by side, one with the faces of people going inside, the other of them coming out, showing how peaceful they feel after a sermon. You know how we never went to church growing up, but Tim is so religious? I don’t feel anything myself from it, but I noticed the faces of those who really believe and they’ve always struck me. Oh and the church is so beautiful and it’s fun drawing it at different times of the day, one where it’s slightly dark, early in the morning, the other mid day with the sun shining, it looks so different, pretty in different ways, always so demanding in its presence.” I run out of things to say.
“Sounds charming. Have you been able to get a gallery to show off your other work yet?” She is always pressuring me, saying I need people to see my art.
“Not yet. No one seems to be interested. I think it’s because my work is so eclectic. They prefer artists who have one theme. I just paint whatever interests me at the time. But I’ll keep looking. Someone will be interested eventually.”
We talk for a while more, and I never tell her about Sherry. I think about how with my paintings, Tim was never really interested in them. He used to say how he loved me for who I am, not what I do. Except I love my work, and it is such a big part of who I am. Sherry though, she loves my work. She may love me for being me, but what I do interests her. With her I feel more complete.
The one thing I feel the most horrible about is the cheating. I hate that I am keeping to myself the truth of my feelings towards him, and letting him think that he is enough when he’s not. No wonder I found lying to my mom so easy, since I’m always lying to Tim.
I leave the phone and go into my study room. There is my painting of the church, with the faces of the people blank, since I’m still not sure how to show that exalted look. Instead of continuing it I pull out a new canvas. I start drawing a bed with a pregnant woman on it getting an ultrasound. It has been awhile since my friend Suzy was pregnant but I remember what the ultrasound looked like, and I draw that. I spend all day on the drawing, even going so far as to paint over it, adding color. By the time Tim is home I am finished.
Usually it takes me more than a day to paint something, such as the painting of the church has taken a week to get as far as I have. Every once in awhile the muse grabs me and I paint faster. I look at the painting and it drenches me with sadness. I almost had that. Okay it was a lie, but for one moment while I was telling my mom, I felt happy, like I actually had a little stranger growing inside me. Maybe I should try and have children, my mind obviously thinks so. I pull a sheet over the painting, because I can’t stand to look at it anymore.
I go out into the kitchen where Tim is making a sandwich. I give him a hug and a forceful kiss. He takes it in stride. Sherry would have known from the kiss that I was upset. I sit down and listen to him tell me about his day. He’s an attorney, and perhaps that is why he could never get behind my art. Different lifestyles I suppose. He has this new case where a boy is accused of hurting his baby sister. If the child is to be believed, he was falsely accused, his mother trying to get out of having hurt her own baby. It’s a sad case, and it gets to me even more now because I have been thinking of children all day. I just can’t understand how anyone could hurt a child.
Then Tim changes topics and tells me that my mom called him at work. I freeze up. What did she say? He looks at me with his dark eyes in his pale face. “I’m sorry about what happened today. According to her you had quite the disappointment. A child would have been a big responsibility, maybe it was for the best?” A huge wave of relief hits me. He hadn’t lied to me when we got married. He really didn’t want children. Good, neither do I.
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but for just a second I was happier than I had been in awhile.” Suddenly I wanted to share my painting with him. “I painted something today. Will you come look at it?”
We go into my study and I uncover the painting of the pregnant woman and the picture of her baby growing inside her. I hear him catch his breath, and I look into eyes full of awe. “She’s glowing. How did you capture her glowing, and so happy? You really are brilliant.”
I stare at him. For the first time he seems to really appreciate my art. I feel a connection with him that was missing all this time. Maybe I don’t need to leave him. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I only lightly think of Sherry. I mean, I have known this man for eight years, and her only for one. I could never give him up no matter how much I wanted her.
We leave the study and go sit on the couch in our living room. He turns on the TV and we put a movie in. It’s our favorite, the only one we both really like. It has adventure and romance, the best combination. He gets out a bottle of wine and I laugh because if I had been pregnant I would not have been able to drink. He pours me some and I sip at it. We watch the movie in each other’s arms. I would miss being close to him. There are so many reasons why I enjoy being married to him. He’s handsome and considerate. He makes me feel comfortable.
Yet why is there this wild abandon whenever I’m with Sherry. There are real sparks, but could it last? What I have with Tim seems like something that could work for years, but with her maybe it would run out. The thing about my relationship with Tim, why I would hate to leave it, is because there is still passion. We still make love that is enjoyable. Sherry though, she makes me burn and melt. I wish I could have them both. Sadly life’s never that easy. I know it has to be one or the other. I just can’t choose yet. I don’t want to. So I will string them both along. At least Sherry knows I’m committed to Tim. She seems to be okay with that, but if she ever wants me to give him up, I don’t know what I’ll do.
The movie ends and I start work on dinner. I was never a good cook, but my mom taught me pretty well. I make a steak, neither of us needing much to be full, and a salad to go with it, pretty easy to put together. We eat without talking, a relaxing silence. Then we go to bed. We have been together long enough that we don’t have this burning need to have sex every night, we just hold each other and it feels right, just little strokes here and there. I think of Sherry and wonder if that’s why I need her. Perhaps I just need that feeling of sex being a necessity. I fall asleep wishing she was in my arms.
In the morning Tim is gone. He has work early. He left a wrapped piece of Godiva chocolate next to my pillow. It’s his way of apologizing for leaving. He started it a couple years ago after I complained of him not waking me up to say good bye, even though whenever he woke me up I was extremely grouchy. I put the chocolate away to eat later, I never like it in the morning, but in the middle of painting I sometimes get a craving and I know it’s there for me. I eat cereal for breakfast, the plain stuff, since I got over needing the sugar when I was in high school.
I then go to the study and grab some pieces of paper. It’s time to practice drawing the faces. I have photos of faces of some of the people at my church. I like to take photos, and then make paintings based off of the pictures. It’s how I was able to paint the church. It would have seemed odd if I sat in the parking lot drawing the church. It’s worked for me before. Though as can be seen with my painting of the pregnant woman sometimes I do it out of memory and even imagination. I remember when I was in high school I used to love drawing pictures of fairies. I would draw them so small with the finest details and my friends would get annoyed because they could barely see them. So I learned to make them bigger, which I realized gave me the chance for even more detail.
I practice the faces based off some of the looks from the people at my church. The ones where they are going in, they seemed less than happy, an ‘I have to go but don’t want to’ look. But when they come out they are peaceful or at least less irritated. I’m still missing what it is about the sermons and the choir that makes them happy, as I am always bored, though not by the singing. Some of them though, they can make a connection and that is what I want to portray. Today I’m finding it difficult to get the faces the way I want them and I wonder if I should’ve done it earlier before I wasted time on the church. I keep trying for a couple hours and end up with several faces, none of them quite the way I want them. I’ll have to try again tomorrow.
I probably need to wait until I go to church again so that I review that look, because I think the photos have not captured it right. The look is more of a combination of looks, not just one. I make myself some lunch and get the mail. I have a magazine I subscribed to that is filled with pictures of other people’s paintings. I love looking at what artists today are capable of doing. They inspire me to continue, especially when they talk about what motivates them to paint. I am halfway through when I hear a knock.
I go to the door and there is Sherry in a purple dress with a black jacket. I had forgotten we were going to her piano recital today. Maybe it’s because she’s an artist too that we connect. I apologize and hurry into my bedroom to change. She follows me. I love getting dressed in front of her. Her gaze seems to eat me up. I change into a black dress, the most formal I have. I look to her for approval and she reaches out and caresses my breast. Then she pulls me against her body and kisses me. Her lips are so smooth. I blink and she’s moved away. We walk out of the room and head downstairs, out the door and into her car.
She drives us a few blocks away. By the time we enter the building she is shaking with nerves. Sherry loves to perform, but no matter how often she’s done it, she still gets stage fright. Just put her in front of a piano though and the world melts away and all that is important is the music. I think the applause is what makes her keep going for it. When she plays just for me, I have to whistle and clap loudly pretending to be a whole group. She laughs after I do that, but I know it makes her happy. We go behind a curtain and I give her a quick secretive kiss, and then leave to head to my seat.
There are not many people out in the house, mostly just friends, but there are a few critics as well. Sherry is second to go on. When she does I clap enthusiastically. She smiles at me before the lights go down and a light shines on her. She composes her own music. I cringe as she starts to play, it’s too shaky. Then she takes a visible breath and lets it go. The music starts to flow and I’m enthralled. I look around and most of them are just as engaged in listening as I am. It makes me think of our strolls through the park and the kisses beneath the stars. It’s like she wrote a song about our love. Soon it ends, and everyone applauds. I turn around and see the critics taking notes with serious expressions on their faces. I have no idea what they are thinking. Sherry leaves the stage and I quietly move out of the auditorium. I go to find her, and when I do I pull her into my arms in a hug.
“You were great,” I whisper into her ear. She sighs happily. We leave not wanting to listen to the others. She drives us to her apartment and we go up to her bedroom. “I have to know, was that song about us?”
She laughs and kisses me, pulling me down to the bed. “Of course.” We make slow passionate love for an hour then take a nap. It’s seven o’clock when I realize I need to get home. We dress and she drives me to my house. I go in confidently and when I see Tim in the kitchen I expect him to ask where I was. He just looks up and smiles. I tell him that a friend and I went to a concert. He says that sounds nice. I almost wish he was actually concerned, but then I realize he trusts me and we are both independent. I kiss him on the cheek, and start to make myself some macaroni and cheese on the stove, comfort food.
He’s reading a newspaper and he talks about what he has read so far. I like to hear about the news, but I never have the patience to read it, so he tells me what’s in the paper. Somehow, out of him it sounds more interesting, probably because he only gives the highlights. I eat my dinner, sharing a little with him. Then we go to bed. This time when I lay in his arms, I only think of him and his soothing presence in my life.
The next day is our day at the gym. It’s a Friday, and he always takes Fridays off, since as a hotshot he can do that. Before we go we take a walk around the block to warm up. Then we go to the gym for an aerobics class we do once every two weeks, where as every other week we work on weight lifting. As always it tires me out. At the end of class I’m sweating and in pain, but as we drive home I feel energized as well. We go to our bedroom and have hot dirty sex. I may like the passionate sex I have with Sherry, but there is nothing like a man pounding into me while panting dirty words.
In the shower we wash each other enjoying the warm water. Then we get dressed and together make a healthy lunch of tofu. Yes, I know tofu sounds blah, but it is actually good. The funny thing is we only eat healthy on days we work out, not being able to stomach unhealthy food after all that exercise. So we are good on Fridays but bad on every other day of the week. After we eat we sit down in the living room and get out a pack of cards. We play War. Do not ask me why we like this game, it’s fun. I almost always win which confounds him no end. We play for an hour than he goes into the study and starts to work on his case. We had split the study, there is a desk where he works, and the other side is full of my paintings.
I watch television for an hour, mostly just surfing channels. It’s getting late so I turn it off and start planning dinner. I realize as soon as I enter the kitchen that the dishes have stacked up. Neither of us likes to do the dishes, so it gets crowded easily. So I grudgingly fill the dish washer, and scrub the pan from the night before. As soon as I get into it I have to keep cleaning, so I wash the table in the dining room, sweep both floors, and god help me I get out the mop. I clean the counters, wash the sink, and even dust the side board where we keep some fairy figurines left from my childhood. I stop before polishing the silver, mostly because we don’t have any silver. Then I am so tired that I can’t find the energy to make dinner, so I go into the study and ask Tim to. He says okay and puts his papers away. When he enters the kitchens, he gets this look, this ‘you really like to over do it’ look. I shrug and go into our bedroom and read a mystery novel while he makes dinner.
I am really getting into the book, trying to figure out who the murderer is when he says dinner is ready. I grumble to myself, but put the book down. He made cheese burgers and fries. Not too difficult, but he does make the most delicious burgers. Unfortunately we’re out of ketchup. I sigh dejectedly and he scrounges through the pantry where luckily we had a few extra packets of ketchup from the last time we had fast food. I cheer when I see them, and dinner from there is nice. Over dinner he talks about his cases, well, what he can talk about without getting in trouble anyhow. I tell him about the book I was reading and who I suspect and he nods at my logic. Then we watch our favorite Friday night show. Then we go to sleep.
The next day I wake up early and go into the study and start planning my next painting that will come after I finish the church one. All these recent thoughts about the fairies from my younger drawings have made me want to try one again. I write down thoughts about what type of fairies, the location, whether there are humans in it. Maybe there could be a child seeing a fairy for the first time. That last idea kinds of sticks with me. I am thinking maybe a water fairy, and maybe a girl sitting by a lake and seeing one diving in the water. I get out some water colors and start painting different possible clothes, as naked fairies are so cliché. Fairies can wear bathing suits I appease myself. I love the idea of a yellow dress and golden hair and translucent wings. The child is harder to get an image of, as I can’t decide her age. I want it to be young enough that she would believe what she is seeing. Age ten sounds good, so I write some notes about how she would look. Then I take a break.
I make lunch. I have no idea what Tim has been doing so I call out to him. Turns out he’s still sleeping. I nudge him out of the bed, enticing him with a ham omelet that I promise to make. He yawns and goes to the bathroom. I turn on the stove and crack an egg. I stir it and then pour it onto the pan. By the time it’s done, the ham being just bits of deli ham, he has gotten dressed and is sitting at the dining room table. I bring him the omelet on a plate and he smiles at me. I remember how much I love that smile, even if it is aimed more at the food than me.
“Thank you, this is delicious,” he mumbles with the food in his mouth. Is it odd that I find that endearing? Now that I think about it, Sherry does not smile much. She can be passionate or serious, sometimes even joking around and laughing but she never really smiles. I wonder why. More importantly I wonder if I could make her smile the way Tim does.
“Can we go to the park today? I want to see that lake, I’m thinking of putting it into a painting.” He nods and I go and get my camera.
We walk to the park, two blocks away. We sit on a bench and Tim has his arm around my shoulders. I take pictures of the lake and the children playing. Suddenly someone catches my eye, she’s gorgeous. It takes me a second to realize it’s Sherry, and she’s frowning. I stare at her, not knowing what to do. I don’t want to dislodge his arm, because he would get suspicious, but I want her to stop frowning. I sigh and turn to Tim, telling him that I see a friend and I am going to go talk to her. I leave the camera with him and walk off before he can comment.
I walk around the lake until I reach her side. She looks serious. “When is this going to stop?” My mouth hangs open, not knowing what to say. “You’re never going to give him up are you?”
“Sherry, you know I can’t. I love him.” My body’s trembling.
“I thought you loved me too.” She sighs and looks away.
“I do,” I whisper.
“Then why can’t you say it louder. Why does it have to be such a secret?” She looks so miserable.
“Why are you making demands of me now? You knew how it would be when we first got together. I’m married. Can’t you understand what it’s like to have that kind of commitment? I promised to live with him for the rest of my life, to care for him no matter what. I grant that I never pictured you when I said ‘I will’, but I made a promise.”
“A promise you’re breaking every moment you’re with me.” Sherry focused her eyes on the ground.
“You want it to end? I couldn’t live without you. Please don’t make me choose. God I’m so messed up. I almost told my mom about you, that I was planning to leave Tim, but I couldn’t do it. I frickin lied to her. I told her I was pregnant for God’s sake. Of course I had to call again and say it was a mistake. I still don’t know why I did it. There would be so many people I’d hurt if I broke it off with Tim. I mean I think Tim would survive, but his parents, they love me and if we got divorced they wouldn’t be family anymore.” The words seem to keep flowing, and then I stop at her look of devastation.
“Do you know that you’re hurting me? I want you so much. I ache when you’re not around. After the recital when I had to take you back home, I was so tense and almost in pain because you couldn’t stay with me. Yes, we made love at my place and that was so wonderful, but then you had to leave, you couldn’t just stay with me. I hated that. It made me almost hate you, and what you’re putting me through.” Her hands fidget.
“You want to stop?” My voice squeaks as I say this. She shrugs and tears start to slide down my cheeks. I turn and look at Tim, who is pretending to not be interested in what I’m doing. Instead he is looking determinedly at the ducks. I turn back to Sherry. “Please don’t do this to me. I love you so much. It would damage my heart if you left me.”
“Damage? Just damage. You’d still have someone to love. I bet if you lost Tim it’d kill you, but me, just damage. God, why am I with you, it’s this emotional swing between pain and love, back and forth, it hurts so much. But I can’t leave you. Leaving you would be like dying inside. No, I won’t leave you, I couldn’t. Please touch me.” Sherry’s eyes are filled with tears. I reach out a hand to her cheek, covering the action with my body so Tim wouldn’t see. I wipe the tears that start to fall, and she does the same with my tears. Then she presses her thumb to my mouth and I kiss it.
“I have to get back to him.” She nods, her smile a manifestation of her shattered heart. Then she turns and walks away. I watch her go, hoping that she meant what she said, that she was not leaving me. Then I turn and walk back around the lake towards Tim, trying to get back my composure.
I smile at Tim and he stands up. “Everything all right?”
I lie again. “Her grandmother is ill, I knew the lady, she was nice.”
He sighs. “That’s tough.” We walk back to our house, the camera in my hand. When we enter the door, I think, I am going to be living here for the rest of my life, with him. I feel closed in and panicky. I go to my room ignoring his concerned look. I lose myself in the mystery book, and though it is so much more complicated than my life, it seems simpler, life and death, no heartache.
At dinner he asks if I got any good photos and I nod. Later, I hook my camera up to the computer in the living room and print the photos. Then I put them away in a portfolio to be used later. Tomorrow we are going to church and hopefully I will finally be able to capture in my mind how the faces in my painting should look. I go to sleep with that hope in mind.
We get up early and go to church. I notice again how the people look tired and unenthusiastic. As soon as they enter and take their seats though, I look around and many of them seem enraptured. Throughout the sermon, most of them are attentive, and when we sing towards the end, my voice is soft as I glance at others. They are enjoying this ritual. We leave and I notice a couple people. The look that I was missing in my drawings was a satisfied look, one that symbolized that they did their part, that in their hearts they reiterated their love of God. It clicks for me and I know how to paint the faces.
When we get home I immediately go to the study and get out a pencil. I start sketching faces for a half hour until I feel confident. Then I draw it out on the canvas, a little outline, and then I begin painting with black, then colors for the skin. It takes me two hours to perfect it, but when I am done I am satisfied, just like those people, as I have made my own connection.
Then I go and eat, passing Tim as he enters the study to go over one of his cases. Tomorrow he will be back at work and I will be alone again. I eat while considering that. I may have started my affair with Sherry back a year ago because I felt lonely during those times that Tim was at work, for hours on end, sometimes the entire day. I know it was during one of those days that I met her.
I was out shopping at the mall when we met in a clothing store. We were polite, commenting on the outfits we tried on. We quickly became friends. A week later, as chance had it, we met again in a different clothing store. We laughed at the coincidence and exchanged phone numbers. After that we began shopping together. A month in I realized that I had more than friendly feelings for her, so that when she kissed me unexpectedly at my doorstep, I leaned in. Then I said good bye and went inside. Tim had looked at me strangely as I was flushed. Later on the phone, I explained to her that I was happily married, and for a month I heard no more from her. Then she suddenly showed up asking to go shopping with me. I left eagerly. In the food court she explained how deeply she cared for me, and said she would be willing to be with me even though I was committed to someone else. That night I went to her place and we ate dinner. I called Tim and said I was out with a friend. We lay on her bed only holding hands. Then I went home. For a week we would give each other little touches, until it built up and we knew we just had to move further or explode. That night was so awkward, as I had never been with a woman before. She had, which explained why she had been the first to kiss. She helped me explore this new dimension, and to be honest it was so horrible I thought it would be over. The next time we tried, I gave myself fully into it and it was better than my regular times with Tim. I suppose, because she was a woman, she had a better idea what I would like. I will not go into any details but as I said before it was passionate and freeing.
I break out of my daze realizing I had been revisiting those times for over an hour. Tomorrow while Tim is gone I’ll call her and make sure we’re okay. I need to make sure my life has not changed. I need both of them. I may not be having a baby, but my life is still full and my art keeps me going. I am in love with three things: my art honestly comes first and then Tim, then Sherry. If I had a baby I would have four things, and for right now that is too much. I am not sure I have that much love in me. Yet I wanted a child. God help me I wish I had not been lying when I told Mom I was pregnant.