February Sucks Redux

Recently, GeorgeAnderson wrote a story called "February Sucks." In my opinion, it was a brilliant story based upon the premise of a man possibly giving his wife the famed "hall pass" to have sex with a celebrity, in this case, an imaginary NFL star named March LeValliere. George wrote an emotionally-fraught piece that ended in a reconciliation, which resulted in the score of the article being at least a point lower than it should have been, again in my opinion. The story garnered more than 200 comments in two days, most of them very uncomplimentary, because of the reconciliation. I, too, was not a fan of the reconciliation, but being another writer, I recognize that it is the writer's story to tell -- any way he or she wishes. That said, several writers have asked GeorgeAnderson for permission to tackle the premise using George's original set-up and going in a different direction.

My story picks up at the point where the main character's wife has just snuck off to do the deed, two pages in. For those who think they remember the story, I've given you a running start, in italics. For those who want to refresh their memory or read the original for the first time, please follow this link.

Again, a tremendous thank you to GeorgeAnderson. Also, a thank you to BlackRandl1958 for her editing skills.

"Jim, Linda loves you. She loves you and the children more than anything else in the world, and she always will, and you know it. But she is spending tonight with Marc."

I stood there with my mouth open, looking stupid as my world ended. Pictures whirled madly through my mind, or what was left of it. Linda at the top of the stairs in her beautiful blue dress. Linda at dinner; Linda at the club; Linda as we fed wings to each other. Linda in Asshole's arms. My anger rose.

"So on what was supposed to be our special night, she left me for some asshole jock." I glared at Dee as I growled the words.

"Jim, she hasn't left you. She'll come home to you tomorrow, and you'll have plenty of other special nights together."

"She didn't even have the guts to tell me to my face that she was leaving me. She just snuck out the back door."

"Jim, listen to me. She hasn't left you..."

"Do I have the word 'moron' written on my fucking head, you bitch?" I yelled at Dee; my voice choked with emotion. "If she hasn't left me, then where the fuck is she!"

I know I was getting loud as people nearby started to look at us.

"This is why she left the way she did," Dee responded to me condescendingly. "She was afraid you'd embarrass yourself."

"No, she was afraid I'd embarrass her by reminding her about our wedding vows and our children, you stupid, fucking bitch."

Dave by now had joined us at the bar, and apparently got a little agitated with my verbal abuse of his wife.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jim! There's no reason to lose your head here..."

"Ooopphh!" was the next sound that came out of Dave's mouth as I put my right fist into Dave's stomach right below his heart.

Dave staggered backwards and went down on one knee.

"She left me for that God-damned football star, and your stupid-ass wife helped her, you dumb bastard!"

Dee ran over to where Dave was kneeling while a large, beefy young man came up to me and told me to leave. A second bouncer ran over to help Dave slowly get to his feet.

As the others in our party came over to Dave and Dee, I stomped upstairs to our hotel room, the room where Linda and I were planning on doing some carnal celebrating just a few minutes ago. Now that the plan was burning in the ashes of my heart, I grabbed my suitcase off the bed, leaving Linda's where it was, and stopped at the desk to return my room key. The clerk at the desk looked confused as she scanned her computer and noted to me that we had two keys.

"Yes, my wife will be staying, although it won't be in our room, but she will need access to her stuff at some time tomorrow, I am guessing," I stated tersely.

"O-o-h-h-kay," the young women replied while eying me cautiously.

I took my phone out of my pocket and hit Linda's number. I wasn't expecting her to answer so I wasn't any more upset with her than I was two seconds earlier. As I put my phone back in my pocket, my former friends were coming in the door from the restaurant. I noticed Dave and Dee were in the back of the pack.

"Don't go off half-cocked, Jim," another friend, Jane, said to me. "You both love each other. This is just a one-time thing, I'm sure, and when she comes back to you, I'm sure you two will be able to get past this. Think of the kids, Jim..."

"Just like she's thinking of them right now, I'm sure," I barked back. "Why is it that she runs off to play slut to Joe NFL but I'm the bad guy? What if it was your spouse?"

I looked deeply into the faces of the other guys. None of the four could look me in the eye.

"Thought so," I mumbled and walked into the parking lot.

My anger morphed into sadness and fatigue by the time I got home. I turned on the light in our bedroom intending to lie down and go to sleep, but then I looked at our bed and knew I couldn't ever sleep there again. Since the kids were at the babysitter for the night, I went down the hall to my son's room and crashed there. Surprisingly, I slept the sleep of the dead, but unfortunately when I awoke, the problem was still there waiting for me, like death or the tax man.

I ate an executive breakfast of Pop Tarts and apple juice before I packed everything I wanted to take with me. I felt an unbelievable fatigue as I moved about the house and looked at the things that up until then were part of my life... our life. I loved my children more than life itself, but there was no way I could stay married to their mother... and still look at myself in the mirror.

I sat down in my favorite La-Z-Boy in the family room for just a minute, and I must have dozed off. I was woken up by the sound of a car door slamming in our driveway. Asshole must be dropping off my soon-to-be ex-wife.

"Jim? I'm home, honey," she said as she entered the house the same way she always did after running errands.

She walked through the kitchen and found me in the family room. She had on the same blue dress she had on when she left the restaurant, but her hair was up in a ponytail and her makeup was gone. She looked like she had showered, but obviously hadn't gone back to the hotel to retrieve the rest of her clothes. Her face showed no signs of guilt or embarrassment. I have to admit, that surprised me, but then again, it was just one surprise after another these last two days.

"Same old me. Nothing's changed," she said much too glibly for my taste.

"Go take a shower before you do anything else," I said as monotone as possible.

"I already showered. You have to know I'd never come home to you..."

"Shower again then!" I yelled at her. "How would I know what you would come home to me with. You've never run off and fucked another man before... that I know of!"

She blushed a deep crimson and practically ran up the stairs to the master bath. I was barely hanging on to my emotions.

Twenty minutes later she came walking back into the family room wearing baggy sweats and looking extremely nervous.

"I suppose we need to talk, especially before we get the kids home. I know you probably have questions," she said quietly.

"Well, there's an understatement," I snarked.

"But are you sure you really want to know? I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have."

"Way too late to be worried about that now, don't you think?" I questioned. "You certainly can't unfuck Mr. NFL Stud."

Linda recoiled a bit at my comment. I rarely used that kind of language to her.

"Telling you might only make it tougher for us to get past this," she noted.

My face must have given me away.

"The kids. You certainly can't be considering throwing away our family for one night of indiscretion?" she asked. "We love each other way too much to do something that harsh. We can certainly get past this. I know I hurt you, but we love each other way too much not to get past this."

"Who's this 'we' you keep talking about?" I queried. "Do 'we' love each other enough? I would have said yes up until last night. But now I know where you stand on the matter, and I know that's not enough."

"But I do love you. I love you every bit as much as I ever have!" she cried. "Last night was a night 'out of time' -- a one-off. And I'll spend the rest of my life showing you I love you."

"A 'one-off?' And how about this morning? A 'two-off?'"

At least she had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"So, was it everything you anticipated?" I asked.

She stammered. She stuttered. She flushed. Then she finally started talking.

"Yes. Yes it was, Jim. Marc has obviously had a lot of experience doing this, and he used that experience like a master. He figured out what my body was telling him, and he played me like he was a master and I was his instrument..."

"All right. All right," I interrupted. At least she was apparently telling me the truth.

She sat there with a smug look on her face, which pissed me off even more.

"So how did this all get started?" I inquired.

"Well, you saw it. When he asked me to dance, I was just so shocked that a stud that every woman wanted had asked me that I guess I kind of got full of myself and kind of aroused... He was a good dancer, but when the slow song came on and he put his arms around me and pulled me into him I felt his erection growing and the brain below my waist just took over. When the second slow song came on, he told me of his plans for us to leave together, and I couldn't even talk, I just smiled and nodded. And it just felt so right.

"And as I was coming back to the table, I gave Dee a look, and she did the rest for me.

"But it wasn't like I was leaving you, Jim. I love you. I don't love him. It was just..."

"Cheating," I finished for her.

"Don't do anything foolish, Jim. Think of the children."

"Like you thought of them at all last night or this morning while you were fucking Mr. NFL Asshole. Our vows, the children, conveniences to be forgotten when the right stud comes along," I snapped.

I glanced at my watch. It was time to pick up the kids at the babysitter. As I was heading out the door, a brilliant idea struck me.

"I know there's more to tell," I said to Linda before I went through the door, "but I don't want to hear it straight from your lips. Write it down, all of it, from when you left last night until you walked in the door this afternoon. I know Mr. NFL Stud fucked your lights out, you can go easy on the details there, but I want to know what you were feeling, and why you felt you could just take a break from our vows. Maybe reading it won't be as bad as hearing about it. You can give it to me when I stop in to see the kids tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she asked as her voiced squeaked. "But how are we going to get past this if we aren't together?"

"Right now that's the least of my concerns, Linda," I answered. "And, by the way, get yourself tested for STDs. I'm sure you're not the only one Marc's been fucking recently."

She started to say something, then apparently thought better of it. By not responding, she'd told me that she let asshole fuck her bareback.

"I love you, Jim," she called after me as I headed through the doorway.

"Yeah right," I mumbled back to her.

The kids chewed my ears off on the way home about their time at the babysitter's. I was definitely going to miss them as a part-time parent. It wasn't fair that Linda did the cheating -- on me, and yes, them, but more than likely she was going to be given primary custody as the mother. It wasn't always granted to the mother, but unless she was on drugs or something, that's the way most judges went.

I carried the kids' stuff into the house when we got home, and they started telling Linda all about their night. I was leaving, so I went over to each child, told them I loved them and would see them tomorrow. They looked at me uncertainly, but then went back to regaling Linda with details about their night.

I stopped by the house after I got off of work the next day, and the kids and I played some games before supper was served. I saw my place had a setting, but I kissed the kids goodbye and left for the day. I don't think I said more than three words to my wife. I did remember to pick up my wife's written remembrance of her time with Mr. NFL Stud.

I read Linda's narrative of her time with dickhead three times that night, downing a half-bottle of Jack Daniels as I did. Seems they got it on three times that night and, for good measure, once more in the morning before she came home. She claimed she was practically overcome by his strength and size, and felt almost powerless to resist him, although he never made any demands of her. She said he was a total gentleman and a nice guy, and under different circumstances said she could have seen us being friends. At that point, I got up, ran to the bathroom and hurled the contents of my stomach into the stool. I suppose it could have been too much Jack. Or it might have been the part of the narrative where she said despite the fact that he was a better, more complete lover than me, it was still just sex with him, while with me it was love and lovemaking. And, of course, she wouldn't trade that for all the great sex in the world.

She was sorry she hurt me, she wrote. I noted she didn't say she was sorry for the sex. Entitled bitch, I thought to myself.

Finally, on Friday night, Linda hitched up her big-girl panties and told me that we needed to talk. She was right, of course, but I was waiting her out to see if she could come up with a better story than she had found so far. We set the meeting for after lunch on Saturday. The kids would be at the babysitter for the afternoon.

I could have used my key to walk into the house, but I rang the doorbell instead, just to make a point. Linda let me in and we headed for the kitchen table. She handed me a beer, and poured herself a glass of wine.

"Jim, you are way overthinking this," Linda started. "Look at me. I'm still the same woman you married almost 10 years ago. I still love you, and I want to grow old with you.

"I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry for that, but we can't get past this if we aren't together."

"Apparently you just don't understand, Linda. I'm not overthinking this. Your actions that night and the day after told me you don't love me as much as you say you do. If you did, you couldn't have done what you did. You have no idea to the depth you've hurt me, but even worse, you've never apologized for going off with Mr. NFL Stud. You've apologized for hurting me, but never for the act. And that's because you're not sorry for fucking him. You made plans with him that night, and willfully carried them out, getting your friend to help.

"And now you think I should get over your one-night adventure.

"Apparently, I never knew you as well as I thought I did."

"We love each other Jim. We can get past this. I love you. Take me to bed and I'll prove it to you."

She reached for my hand and tried to pull me up from my seat. I wrangled free and gave her my best contemptuous sneer.

"Really, Linda?" I queried. "Even if I could forgive the damn disrespect you showed me... in front of our so-called friends, no less, you admitted to me that fucking Marc was the most thrilling sex of your life. How could I ever compete with that?"

Linda looked like she was examining the twill of the carpet.

"But we love each other, Jim," she whispered. "You can't tell me that you don't love me."

"I do love you, Linda. I suppose to a great extent I always will. But after last week it's not enough."

I got up and walked out. As I walked out, I passed at the front door a man carrying a manila envelope.

"Mrs. Jim Ganderson?" he asked as Linda staggered toward the front door following me. I didn't look back, but she must have nodded. "You have been served."

Having a good friend who is a family attorney, I was able to get divorce papers done in just a few days. The settlement should have been easy because we live in a no-fault state, but I decided to ask for primary customary of the children as the injured party. The very fact that I asked for primary custody pissed off Linda tremendously, and I knew she was going to fight it, but that gave me a chance to literally make a statement to the judge, so I told him exactly what precipitated the divorce filing. To say he was aghast was an understatement.

"She really did that, Mr. Ganderson?" he asked with wide eyes.

I nodded silently.

"But you still never say in your brief that Mrs. Ganderson is a bad mother, so I'm not inclined to go away from our usual procedures. Your ex-wife will be awarded primary custody."

I was not surprised by the decision, nor by Linda's anger with me at the attempt.

"I wouldn't have guessed you'd go this far to embarrass me," she said from across the table.

"I'm not the one who ditched her spouse in front of four other couples to go have sex with another man. That couldn't have been too embarrassing for me, now could it?"

Her mouth opened and closed, but no words were forthcoming. She blushed a deep red.

"This was not the way this was supposed to end up," she finally whispered. "You love me and I love you. We could have gotten past this, if only you had been willing to forgive me for one... one mistake."

"But it wasn't just one mistake. It was a whole series of mistakes," I whispered back.

I unwillingly joined the ranks of part-time parents. For the next two years I had Emma and Tommy at my small apartment every other weekend, and I got them for a whole month in the summer. We did a two-week vacation at Disney World in Florida. I did my best to make my time with my children as rewarding as possible for both them and me.

I barely acknowledged their mother when I would pick up or drop off the kids. You can't just stop loving someone cold turkey, and seeing her just brought back so many of the memories that would rip out my heart.

I expected the day to come sometime, but not 24 months down the road. We were riding in the car one weekend when Emma surprised the hell out of me by asking why I no longer loved her mother and why we didn't all live in the same house. I knew the kids weren't old enough to understand specifics, but they were more than old enough to understand right and wrong, and I wasn't about to throw myself under the bus just to soft-soap it to my own kids.

"You know that we've always talked about telling the truth and never, ever lying to anyone, right?" I asked.

Both kids nodded vigorously as I check them in the rear-view mirror.

"Well, Mommy told Daddy a very big lie, and now we can't live together any more."

I peeked back in the mirror and both kids were silently nodding. I hoped there wouldn't be any more questions.

There weren't any more questions from the kids, but not quite a week later a very angry Linda was on the phone ripping my right ear off.

"How could you tell the kids that I lied to you and now we can't live together? How dare you blame ME for this?!" she screamed at me. "This was your choice, you sanctimonious bastard!"

She had my undivided attention and my ire.

"I'm not lying for you! This is all on you!" I yelled back into the phone. "Our daughter asked what happened, so I told her the truth, in the gentlest terms I could think of. I didn't think they would understand the term 'slut,' so you got lucky on that one."

"I-I-I never lied to you..." she started to protest.

"What do you call breaking our wedding vows! I call that lying, bitch!"

I ended the call.