behind. She doesn’t talk about that, because of how much she misses it, still.
Lina, at thirty-two, is the youngest, and the only Catholic. Some of the things these other women are saying make her uncomfortable at first. But then she has another glass of wine.
How about you, honey? asks Cathy, the mother hen. What’s going on with you? I can tell you’ve got somethin’ to say, darlin.
Well, says Lina. It’s interesting. I am in fact right at this moment in the middle of a big change.
What’s that, sweetie?
Slowly but decidedly Lina tells the room about her husband, Ed, how for three months she waited in their bed for him to touch her body. Any touch at all. In general, when Lina feels the full weight of her desperation, she speaks very confidently and unswervingly.
How can you call yourself a husband, she says, and not give your wife the one thing that is supposed to unite you above all else?
Cathy clucks and shakes her head.
April says, And you’ve told him how important it is to you?
Almost every day, for a while, Lina says. I’ve told him—and here she starts to cry—I’ve told him that all I want is to be kissed. I want it more than anything!
The women look down at their plastic tumblers. They sip nervously. The wine tastes like cool sneezes. They begin to offer wan recommendations. How to reignite the fire. Lina says she has tried every thing. She has worn sexy panties. She has taken the kids to stay with her parents. She has been sweet to him for days, making deposits in his emotional bank. She’s held her tongue. She’s played hard to get. She’s licked the top of her lip with the tip of her tongue after sipping from an ice-cold glass of water.
She gets frustrated because it’s hard to tell other people that it is all your husband’s fault. Everyone tries to find a way you can change something, a Redbook tip. One woman who is recently divorced says that on some days she doesn’t know whether it’s better to have a man who doesn’t love you enough or no man at all. She says it’s easier if you have money. You can leave or you can take care of your children on your own and you have the confidence to say, To hell with this bullshit.
Lina cries louder. I have no money of my own, she wails.
Now, now, says Cathy. Half of his is yours, you know that. And further, you know that in the state of Indiana—
Lina looks up from a triangle of tissue. Yeah, she says, that’s true. But.
But what, honey? Cathy has moved to seat herself beside Lina and is holding her hand and tucking tissues into her palm.
Well, I’ve gone and asked for a separation.
Well heck! You’re halfway there, honey!
Yes, but. So it’s a separation and not a divorce so he will still pay my health insurance—
He owes you that! Cathy says. Heck you can divorce that man tomorrow and have health insurance! And half the house and all of it!
But I’ve got my two kids—
They’re his kids, too!
Yes, but. Lina looks around the room trying to gauge who she can trust but it’s too late, she has already gone this far. There is a right and a wrong way to do everything. There is especially a wrong way to leave your husband in Indiana. She gathers her moist tissues into one fist. She looks at Cathy.
I’m having an affair.
There is a holy silence like the silence before a golf shot and in the silence one might see the thought bubbles above the heads of all the women.
What a little whore.
I can’t believe I felt sorry for her.
I’m jealous of her.
I wonder who it is.
Who does she think she is.
She’s not that pretty.
What does he look like.
I thought she was Catholic.
I hope it’s not my husband.
I had an affair, too.
My husband is having an affair.
I’m in love with my physical therapist.
Cathy is the first to break the silence. Like the preamble to a country song, she says, Okay, honey. Tell us. Tell us all about it.
Lina blinks. Her desire to talk about the man she loves is stronger than her understanding that talking about it can hurt the relationship. She realizes in some part of herself that talking about it will make her more receptive to its potency. She takes a sip of wine.