“I know the affair must seem unforgivable,” Ted says. “I wish I could undo—”
“You can’t—”
“I know, Elinor. I know!” Ted hears his voice getting louder, but he can’t stop it. He wants to chop off his arm and give it to these two women! “Which is why you should be angry. Maybe we should yell. Yell at me!” he hollers.
Dr. Brewster leans toward them as though she’s watching a program that just got interesting. She always wears the same muted beige and brown tones as her office wallpaper and carpet and furniture—a tweedy neutrality that bugs Ted.
“Oh, we’re not supposed to yell.” Ted throws his arm in the therapist’s direction. “No. We’re supposed to listen to classical music and shred Kleenex and calmly talk about our feelings.”
“What are you feeling?” Dr. Brewster asks Elinor. She frowns at Ted, signaling for him to hush for a minute.
Ted sighs heavily, then tries to reroute the impatient rush of air it into a cough.
“Maybe it’s a good thing Suzie NoRisotto came along,” Elinor grumbles, “to force us apart. I mean, maybe we had to break up before we could get together.”
Ted’s back seizes up at the mention of Gina.
“Sorry,” Elinor says facetiously. “I can’t say her name.”
“Why are you sorry?” Dr. Brewster asks.
“I don’t like being bitter,” Elinor says defensively. “It’s like having the flu, only worse, like it might never go away. I hate it.” She laughs weakly. “I’m bitter that I’m bitter.”
“But you seemed angry with me before the affair,” Ted points out.
There is a silence and Elinor nods. Her face is puffy with red splotches. Ted tries to reach for her, but his weight seems to pull him away from her and into the center of the leather chair, which is slippery and scooped like a baseball mitt. Finally, he leans out and catches El’s hand. He squeezes it, maybe a little too hard.
“What are you feeling now?” Dr. Brewster asks Elinor.
“Terrible,” Elinor says through sobs. “We’ve established that! I feel terrible, Ted feels terrible. What else have we established?”
Dr. Brewster gets up to open her desk drawer. She pulls out two yellow pads and hands one each to Ted and Elinor, followed by pens. “I want each of you to make a list of ten things you love about the other. Just list anything that comes to mind, and then we’ll talk some more.”
Ted is amazed by how quickly Elinor’s pen hits the paper and the scurrying, scratching pace as she writes. He’s intimidated by his own blank pad. He loves a million things about his wife, but it always takes him a moment to gather his thoughts on any topic.
Elinor freezes. Ted senses her looking sideways at him.
He writes: Sense of humor, intelligence, beautiful, smooth knees, perfect teeth. Ted thinks of how Elinor’s teeth flash across the room at a party, of how she always makes everyone laugh. Work ethic, humor. Oops, he already wrote humor. He scratches it out, realizing this probably looks to Elinor and the therapist as though he’s changed his mind about something. He quickly adds to the list: Everything she knows about chairs. He thinks it’s great that Elinor can tell a Louis XIV from a Louis XV from a Louis XVI chair. Something to do with the stretchers and the legs. She honestly thinks furniture is what caused the French Revolution. She has smart, funny theories like this. “Think about it,” she’ll say. “The royalty taxed the hell out of the people so they could dip their chairs in gold. Wouldn’t you be pissed?” Then there’s her theory that caffeine caused the Industrial Revolution. “How come it didn’t happen in China, then, where tea came from?” Ted had asked. “Hmm, good question,” Elinor pondered, reconsidering. They used to talk about random stuff like this all the time. Not about their problems, about their issues. Jesus, all they did was try to start a family!
Ted realizes he’s staring into space while Elinor and Dr. Brewster watch him, waiting. He turns to El. She looks hurt, probably because Ted isn’t working on his list. She hugs her pad to her chest.
“Would you like to read your list?” Dr. Brewster gently asks Elinor.
“Handsome,” Elinor begins. “Strong and athletic. Thick, perfect hair. Gorgeous biceps. I mean, c’mon.”
Ted feels himself blush. He’s never thought of himself as handsome. He’s stocky and goofy, isn’t he?
“Shy in a sweet way. Kind, nice to his patients. Okay, sometimes maybe a little too nice. He’ll listen to a patient’s entire life story while the waiting room is backing up.” Elinor frowns at her pad. “Doesn’t stay mad for long, but gets frustrated too easily and sometimes has a temper. Sorry, that’s a negative.” She skips over something on the paper.
Ted wants to hear it, wants to know what the other negatives are.
“. . . hard worker, nice to old people,” Elinor continues, “gives good shots—better than the nurse, that’s for sure—great laugh, strong hands, good teacher.” She looks up at Dr. Brewster, a little embarrassed. “He taught me how to throw a softball.”
“That’s great,” Dr. Brewster says. “When you live with someone, it’s easy to forget these things. Ted?”
Ted doesn’t have to refer to his pad to name all the things he loves about his wife. The list comes tumbling out: smart, funny, beautiful, sharp-dark-quick wit, great lawyer, kicks ass at Scrabble, doesn’t care what people think, yet she’s thoughtful about others—nice to her employees at work—knows all about chairs, loves the outdoors, makes their garden beautiful, supportive of him. At least until recently, he thinks. It wasn’t that El stopped being supportive; it’s just that somehow they aren’t in things together anymore. They’re each in their own orbits, somehow incapable of holding each other up. Gina does this, though. Gina lifts Ted’s spirits and holds him up. He shudders at this thought, relieved that Dr. Brewster is talking now, proposing a plan: Ted and Elinor should meet with her once a week, and go on a date twice a week. One date should be a fun outing and the other should be something they do together at home.
“It can be a project you’ve been meaning to work on, or you can cook dinner together, or take a walk in your neighborhood,” she suggests. “Or you can just sit and read. Try not to plan too many high-expectations events. You don’t need fancy restaurants and candlelight all the time.”
Ted rubs his face. Two months ago his sperm and Elinor’s eggs were shacked up in a petri dish. Now they’re dating.
“And Ted, do you have an idea?” Dr. Brewster asks.
“Idea?” He’d stopped listening for a few minutes.
“Of a neutral territory place for a date,” Dr. Brewster says.
“Bowling?” Ted ventures. El likes bowling. The cheap beer, greasy french fries, the way the bowling shoes make you float across the floor. Like the floor’s a Ouija board, El always says. “At Camp David,” he adds.
Elinor laughs at his joke, wiping her cheeks.
Ted feels himself smile. “Good. It’s a date.” Bowling. It’s as though he’s said the right thing for the first time in a year.
Ted wakes up in the middle of that night and knows immediately that Elinor isn’t in bed with him. He looks at the clock radio. It’s two in the morning, and she’s gone. His arm flies out to explore the cold covers beside him. She’s in Ohio. No, she’s home. They went to sleep together. Read, kissed good night, tried to spoon, decided they weren’t comfortable, and each rolled to their side of the bed.
“El?” The lights aren’t on in the bathroom or hallway. Ted stumbles out of bed, cursing. He pulls on sweats and pads down the hall. “El?” He peers into the laundry room. She always finds something to wash—even if it’s beach towels or holiday place mats. But the laundry room is dark. He blinks and squints as he turns on the kitchen light, then opens the garage door. Both cars are there. Elinor’s office, the dining room, living room. Dark, dark, dark. He reaches for the front door, surprised to find it unlocked. He slides on his flip-flops and steps onto the porch. The evening air is moist and cool. The streetlights glow amber. The
sky is tinged with pink from the city lights downtown. Ted scans the yard, spotting a lump under the oak tree in the yard.
“El!” he calls out in a loud whisper. He hurries across the lawn to find Elinor curled in a sleeping bag on top of an old quilt. Her pillow is bunched under her head. She sleeps soundly in a fetal position, shadowed by the broad trunk of the tree. Jesus; any kook could drive by and find her here. Ted kneels beside her, brushes her cheek.
“Elinor?”
She jumps and gasps, squinting up at him. “Time to go to the marriage counselor?” She frowns, closes her eyes again.
“Time to go to bed. Honey, what on earth are you doing out here?”
“I turned off the sprinklers,” she says, as though this explains everything. She tucks her chin to her chest, licks her lips.
Ted sits beside her, damp grass poking at his legs through the blanket.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she mumbles.
“But you can’t sleep out here.”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t safe, for starters.” He kisses her forehead. “Let’s go inside.”
“Lie with me.” Elinor scoots over on the blanket. She unzips the sleeping bag and tries to drape it over Ted, managing to cover one of his thighs. Then she’s asleep again. Ted looks around, making sure no one’s lurking on the street, then scoots onto his side and wraps his arm around her waist, burying his face in her hair.
Elinor’s skin is warm and damp. As he runs his fingers over the soft silk of her camisole, he closes his eyes. He cups her breast, massages her rib cage. She is so tiny. It is the first thing he noticed about his wife when he met her. It was the summer his buddy Duncan worked at the same law firm as El, and invited Ted to their company picnic. As the softball game started, Elinor sat alone at a picnic table, drinking beer. Ted asked if she’d join the game.
“Okay, confession,” she said. “I’ve never told anyone this.”
Ted laughed.
“I don’t know how.” She said no one had ever taught her how to throw or hit a softball. She was a bookworm geek as a kid, and must have been absent the day they learned at school. So she secretly dreaded summer picnics and their ubiquitous softball games. Ted decided not to play that day, either, and he and Elinor sat and talked and drank beer until everyone left the picnic and it started to get dark. Over the next few weeks they met after work, and he taught her how to throw and hit a ball. Seven months later, they were married.
What if the cops drive by? Ted thinks now as he drifts off to sleep under the tree. He opens his eyes. Can you get a ticket for sleeping in your front yard? He breathes in the smell of wet grass. While everyone else in the neighborhood has gardeners, Ted prefers to do the yard work himself. Hell, he’s the only one he knows who owns a lawn mower. He likes the mindlessness of mowing, raking, and pruning, even the familiar dull throb in his back that comes afterward.
Elinor stirs and coughs, rolling to face Ted. She opens her eyes. They’re bright and almost feverish. She reaches to touch Ted’s cheek, then pulls her hand back as though his skin is hot. Her hair sticks out in a halo of points around her head. Ted traces the outline of her jaw with his finger.
“I love our house,” she says.
“You do?” Elinor bought the place before she and Ted met, but she hated it then, because it had so many ranch-house money-pit problems that she didn’t have the time, skill, or cash to fix. Once they were married, she and Ted worked on the place together, tearing up linoleum, replacing cabinets, even buying a beater pickup truck for their trips to Home Depot.
“If you love it, then let’s go inside,” Ted teases.
“I love all of it,” Elinor says, throwing an arm out of the sleeping bag. “I love this tree.”
Ted tickles the inside of Elinor’s arm with his fingertips, something she used to always ask him to do.
“I loved our almost-baby,” Elinor murmurs. “Our zygote.”
“I know.” Ted bends to kiss her forehead. Then he slides his arms underneath her waist, scoops her up off the ground, and carries her into their house.
In bed, Ted laughs as he pulls leaves from her hair, collecting them on the nightstand. He tugs at the top button of her 501 jeans. “I remember doing this in the old days,” he says, undoing the row of buttons with one yank. Elinor’s breath is warm in his ear. She lifts her hips so he can slip off her jeans and underwear. And then they are making love. For no reason. Not to have a baby or to keep up with the statistical average in some dumb women’s magazine article or to make up after a fight or because one of them wants to and the other doesn’t. They are making love because Elinor couldn’t sleep inside and Ted couldn’t sleep outside, and because it feels good.
Elinor giggles.
Ted flinches and pauses in a low push-up over her. “What?” he says, embarrassed.
“All those years when I worried about contraceptives.”
The bowling alley is jammed with people out on a Friday night. Led Zeppelin blasts on the classic rock station, and colored lights flash overhead. Ted watches Elinor swoop across the floor, one leg curling up behind her, and toss out her ball. It lands perfectly in the middle of the lane. She stands poised like a statue as it spins and crashes through the pins. A strike. She turns, shaking her fists over her head, the lace of her camisole showing under Ted’s baggy old cable-knit sweater.
“You’re kicking my butt,” Ted says as she approaches, a little out of breath. She sits on his lap as he marks their score sheet. The beer is cold, the grilled cheese is warm and greasy in a good way, and the back of his wife’s neck has that sweet apple smell. He feels an erection swelling in his jeans. Elinor must feel it, too. She wiggles her ass, gently grinding into him.
“Bet you didn’t know this bowling alley had lap dances.” Elinor turns to kiss him, her lips cold and fizzy with beer.
“This bowling alley has everything I need right now.” Ted lifts her hair and licks the back of her neck.
“Look at us, Mr. and Mrs. Getaroom.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” He squeezes her thigh as he slides out from under her to take his turn.
Ted scoops up a bowling ball and stands poised to throw it, closing his eyes first and listening to the cacophony of clattering pins and laughter. He breathes in the smells of mildew, stale beer, and old cigarette smoke, finding their sourness oddly comforting. The bowling alley is like a time machine. This could be any year in his life. He opens his eyes and tosses out his ball. It hits the lane a little too hard, veers right, and only hits three pins.
“Good.” Elinor marks down his score.
“I stink.” Ted wipes his palms on his jeans.
“Hey, Dr. Mackey!” a voice calls out.
Ted turns to see Toby bouncing through the crowd, a toothy grin on his face. Ted’s chest tightens as he peers past Toby to see if Gina’s with him.
“Toby, hi, what are you doing here?” Ted asks.
“Birthday party.” Toby shrugs shyly when he sees Elinor. He points a shoulder in the direction of a gang of raucous boys a few lanes over.
“Well, great to see you.” Ted says this with finality. Good-bye, then! Toby looks hurt. He takes a few steps backward, crossing his arms to reach for the scabs on his elbows.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Elinor asks.
“You Mrs. Mackey?” Toby folds the soft toe of his shoe, which is about two sizes too big, into the floor.
“I am.” Elinor laughs. “What’s your name?”
“Toby.”
“Nice to meet you, Toby.” She shakes his freckled hand and holds out a bag of peanut M&M’s.
“I’m allergic to peanuts,” Toby grumbles, as though the candy has offended him. He kicks an empty chair and it rattles across the floor.
“Patient’s kid?” Elinor smiles at Ted.
Ted clears his throat.
“Is your mom the new nurse at the office?” Elinor asks Toby.
“Yeah, right.” Toby looks at Ted. “My mom’s a nur
se. She can’t even do her times tables.”
“This is Gina Ellison’s son. You know.” Ted coughs again—a dry, nonproductive cough that feels like leaves in his throat. “Gina, the trainer at the gym?”
Elinor smiles stiffly at Toby. “We don’t go to that gym anymore.”
“Yeah, it’s crap,” Toby says. He’s pitched forward and he’s got that look on his face like he’s about to launch into a ten-minute talking streak. “That’s why it’s better when Dr. Mackey takes me to the bookstore.”
“Oh? The bookstore?” Elinor turns to Ted. “You didn’t tell me she had a kid,” she says through clenched teeth.
“I didn’t know she had a kid until recently.” Ted lowers his voice, hoping Toby can’t hear him.
“Recently? How recently?”
“While you were in Ohio.”
“And you’ve been taking him to the bookstore?” Elinor turns toward Toby, a helpless look on her face. “He seems to be a big fan of yours.”
“I ran into them. Then Toby and I went to the mall and I helped him with his homework. Once.” It’s best to tell the truth. Ted at least owes his wife the truth.
“Study? Once?” Elinor looks to Toby.
“He helped me with my fractions,” Toby says proudly. “Hey, I got an eighty-two on the test!”
“Homework,” Elinor says with disbelief.
“Yes, but I’ve told him that I can’t help him again. Right, Toby?” Ted reaches for Toby’s shoulder, squeezes it.
Toby kicks the chair again. “Whatever. Yeah. Maybe you could tutor me at your house?” He looks at Elinor, asking her, speaking with desperation more than chutzpah.
“What?” Ted says. “No, Toby.” He clasps the boy’s shoulder and steers him away from Elinor.
“Excuse me.” Elinor stands, throws her purse over her arm, and rushes past them toward the back door of the bowling alley. She breaks into a jog as she passes the pinball machines.
“Toby, you need to go back to your party.” Ted places his palm over Toby’s small, sharp shoulder blades and gives him a push.