Wife 22 (25 page)

John Yossarian
changed his profile picture

John Yossarian
changed his profile picture

Do you like walking in circles, Researcher 101?

Sometimes walking in circles can be very helpful.

I suppose—as long as the circle walking is intentional.

I’ve been imagining what you look like, Wife 22.

I can’t divulge that information; however, I can tell you I’m not a Hutterite.

You have chestnut-colored hair.

I do?

Yes, but you would likely describe it as mouse brown because you tend to underestimate yourself, but you have the kind of hair women envy.

That’s
why I always get such dirty looks.

Eyes, brown as well. Possibly hazel.

Or possibly blue. Or possibly green.

You’re pretty, and I mean this as a compliment. Pretty is what lies between beautiful and plain, and in my experience pretty is the best place to be.

I think I’d rather be beautiful.

Beautiful makes evolving into any sort of a person with morals and character very difficult.

I think I’d rather be plain.

Plain—what can I say about that? So much of life is a lottery.

So you think of me when we’re not chatting online?

Yes.

In your regular life? Your
civilian
life?

Frequently I’ll find myself in the middle of doing something mundane, emptying the dishwasher or listening to the radio, and something you said will pop into my head and I’ll get this amused look on my face and my wife will ask me what’s so funny.

What do you tell her?

That I met this woman online.

You do not.

No, but soon I may have to.

“Could you please stop checking Facebook, Alice? For one bloody minute?” asks Nedra.

I set my phone on vibrate and slip it into my purse.

“So, as I was just saying but will repeat for your benefit—I have some big news. I’m going to ask Kate to marry me.”

Nedra and I are browsing in a jewelry store on College Ave.

“And what’s your opinion on moonstones?” she adds.

“Oh, dear,” I say.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“I heard.”

“And all you have to say is ‘Oh, dear’? May I see that one, please,” says Nedra, pointing to an oval moonstone set in eighteen-karat gold.

The saleswoman hands it to her and she slips it on her finger.

“Let me see,” I say, grabbing her arm. “I don’t get it. Is there something about moonstones and lesbians? Some Sapphic thing that I’m missing?”

“For God’s sake,” says Nedra. “Why am I asking you? You have no taste in jewelry. In fact, you never wear jewelry and you really should, darling. It would perk you up a bit.” She studies my face worriedly. “Still having insomnia?”

“I’m going for the French no-makeup look.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but the French no-makeup look only works in France. The light is different there. Kinder. American light is so crude.”

“Why do you want to get married now? You’ve been together thirteen years. You never wanted to get married before. What’s changed?”

Nedra shrugs. “I’m not sure. We just woke up one morning and solidifying our relationship felt right. It’s the strangest thing. I don’t know if it’s my age or something—the big five-oh looming. But suddenly I want tradition.”

“The big five-oh is not looming. You won’t be fifty for another nine years. Besides, things are great with you and Kate. If you get married you’ll be all screwed up like the rest of us.”

“Does this mean you don’t want to be my maid of honor?”

“You’re going to do the whole thing? Bridesmaids, too?” I say.

“You and William are screwed up? Since when?”

“We’re not screwed up. We’re just—distant. It’s been incredibly stressful. Him losing his job.”

“Mmm. Can I try that one?” Nedra asks the saleswoman, gesturing to a marquise-cut diamond ring.

She puts it on her finger, extends her arm, and admires her hand.

“It’s a bit Cinderella-ey, but I like it. The question is, will Kate? Alice, you’re in a rather bad mood today. Let’s forget we ever had this conversation. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to call you tomorrow. You’re going to say, ‘Hello, Nedra, what’s new?’ I’m going to say, ‘I have news; I’ve asked Kate to marry me!’ You’re going to say, ‘Goodness—about time! When can we go out shopping for dresses? And can I accompany you to the cake tasting?’ ” Nedra hands the ring back to the
saleswoman. “Too flashy. I need something more subtle. I’m a divorce lawyer.”

“Yes, and it would look unseemly for her wife to be sporting a two-carat diamond engagement ring. Bought on the proceeds of other people’s failed marriages,” I say.

Nedra gives me a dirty look.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Look, Alice, it’s as simple as this. I’ve found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. And she’s passed the spectacular test.”

“The spectacular test?”

“When I first met Kate she was spectacular. And a decade later she is still the most spectacular woman I’ve ever known. Besides you, of course. Don’t you feel that way about William?”

I want to feel that way about William.

“Well, why shouldn’t I have what you have?” Nedra asks.

“You should. Of course you should. It’s just that everything in your life is changing so fast. I can’t keep up. And now you’re getting married.”

“Alice.” Nedra puts her arm around me. “This isn’t going to change anything between us. We’ll always be best friends. I hate married people who say ridiculous things like ‘I married my best friend.’ Is there any clearer path to a sexless marriage? That won’t be me. I am marrying my lover.”

“I’m so happy for you,” I squeak. “And your lu-va. It’s just super-terrific news.”

Nedra frowns. “Things will get better with William. You’re just going through a rough patch. Ride it out, darling. Good things are ahead. I promise you. Let me ask you something. Why don’t you want to be my maid of honor? Is it the word
maid
you object to?”

No. I have absolutely no problem with
maid
. It’s the word
honor
. Honor is something I said goodbye to in my last two chats with Researcher 101.

“May I see the emerald ring?” asks Nedra.

“Lovely choice. Emeralds are a symbol of hope and faith,” says the saleswoman, handing her the ring.

“Ah—” says Nedra. “It’s bloody gorgeous. Here, Alice, try it on.”

She slides the ring onto my finger.

“That looks stunning on you,” says the saleswoman.

“What do you think?” Nedra asks.

I think the gleaming green stone looks like it was flown by hot-air balloon directly from Oz to Oakland, and it’s the perfect symbol of Nedra’s sparkling life.

“Spectacular Kate will love it,” I sniff.

“But do you love it?” asks Nedra.

“Why does it matter if I love it?”

Nedra pulls the ring off my finger and hands it back to the saleswoman with a sigh.

Watching my best friend read my private emails and Facebook chats is not typically an activity I indulge in. But for the last half hour, that’s precisely what I’ve been doing. I’ve finally confided in Nedra about Researcher 101 and judging by the look of contempt on her face, I’m starting to think this was a very bad idea.

Nedra flings my cellphone across the kitchen table.

“I can’t believe you.”

“What?”

“What the hell are you doing, Alice?”

“I can’t help it. You read them. Our chats are like a drug. I’m addicted.”

“He is witty, I’ll give him that, but you’re married! Married as in ‘I will love you and only you until the end of my days.’ ”

“I know. I’m a terrible wife. That’s why I told you. You have to tell me what to do.”

“Well, that’s easy. You have to sever all ties with him. Nothing’s happened yet. You haven’t crossed any line except in your mind. Just stop chatting with him.”

“I can’t just stop,” I say, horrified. “He’ll worry. He’ll think something’s happened to me.”

“Something
has
happened to you. You’ve come to your senses, Alice. Right now. Today.”

“I don’t think I can do that. Just quit the study without saying anything.”

“You must,” says Nedra. “Now, I’m not a prude, you know that. I think a little bit of flirting is good for a marriage, as long as you redirect that sexual energy back into your relationship, but you’ve gone way beyond the flirting stage.”

She picks up my phone and scrolls through my chats. “ ‘A war in which one side of him thinks he may be crossing a line, and the other side of him thinks it’s a line that was begging to be crossed.’ Alice, this isn’t innocent anymore.”

Hearing her read Researcher 101’s words out loud makes me shudder—
in a good way. And although I know Nedra is absolutely right, I also know I’m not capable of letting him go. At least not yet. Not without a proper goodbye. Or finding out his intentions—if he has intentions, that is.

“You’re right,” I lie. “You’re absolutely right.”

“Good,” says Nedra, softening. “So you’ll stop chatting with him? You’ll quit the study?”

“Yes,” I say, my eyes filling with tears.

“Oh, Alice, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s just that I was lonely. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until we started emailing. He listens to me. He asks me things. Important things, and what I say matters,” I say, suddenly sobbing.

Nedra reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Darling, here are the facts. Yes, William is an idiot sometimes. Yes, he’s flawed. Yes, the two of you may be going through a dry spell. But this—” she picks up my phone and shakes it. “This isn’t real. You know that, don’t you?”

I nod.

“So do you want me to refer you to a great couples counselor? She’s wonderful. She’s actually helped some of my clients get back together.”

“You send your clients to a couples counselor?”

“When I think there’s something worth saving, yes.”

Later that afternoon, when I’m sitting in the school bleachers pretending I’m watching Zoe play volleyball (every five minutes I shout out “Go Trojans,” and she glances up in the bleachers and gives me a withering look), I think about William and me. Some of the blame for my emotional
straying has to fall on him; his being so uncommunicative. I want to be with somebody who listens to me. Who says,
Start from the beginning, tell me everything, and don’t leave out a thing.

“Hi, Alice.” Jude plops down beside me. “Zo’s playing well.”

I watch him watching Zoe and can’t help but feel a little jealous. It’s been so long since I’ve been gazed at like that. I remember the feeling as a teenager. The absolute surety that the boy was not in control of his gaze—that I was, simply by existing. No words needed to be spoken. A gaze like that needed no translation. Its meaning was obvious.
I can’t stop looking at you, I wish I could but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

“You’ve got to stop stalking her, Jude.”

“Tic Tac?” He shakes three mints into the palm of my hand. “I can’t help it,” he says.

Didn’t I just say the same thing to his mother not more than an hour ago?

“Jude, sweetheart, I’ve known you since you were a toddler, so trust me that this is said with love. Move the hell on.”

“I wish I could,” he says.

Zoe looks up into the bleachers and her mouth drops open when she sees the two of us together.