Swim, Butterfly Ch. 06

Why notme?

Dinner at the in-laws. The chili has no bite, but then, who serves chili in the middle of summer anyway, with weird sides of green beans and mashed potatoes? Everyone eats and talks to each other over and through me and despite everyone speaking decibels louder than necessary, I hear nothing they say, and Pete keeps as quiet as I do. For a moment, I feel like I don't recognize anyone. Not Pete's sister Deenah with her Diamonique necklace; not her husband Joey, almost as loud as she is; not my father-in-law Larry and his bleary eyes; not my mother-in-law Maureen and her face so constantly, consistently amorphous that she doesn't seem to have a face. Rudy throws peas at Deenah's boys, Mikey and Mickey--Goofus and Gallant, although neither one of them could be called gallant. My eardrums hurt, like I'm underwater, and through that water, I hear a deep, tender voice say, "Caroline. Caroline?"

I blink. Pete hasn't talked to me with that kind of voice in a long time. "Yes," I ask, fluttering my eyelids.

"Can you pass the mashed potatoes, please?"

I pause. Mashed potatoes. An errant pea lands in a silk trough of that starchy sea. Leaving the pea where it landed, I pass the bowl to Pete.

"Sorry about the pea in your potatoes," I smirk, maybe puke, since the buttery scent passing beneath my nose turns my stomach. I don't think Pete caught my joke and I can't sit here any longer. I feel like I'm drowning, and excuse myself to the lady's room. I swear Poppop Larry's eyes follow me and I wish he was drunker so he would pass out on the couch.

Scrambling up the faded pink carpet of the stairs, I step into the bathroom. Shit! The door doesn't lock, so I sink to the floor with my back against it. My eyes sting, but no tears. My stomach growls, but I don't want to eat any more. Not sure I can keep down what I did. Just as well. I can't stay in here forever. Although the Wolff Street row home is relatively large, it's still too many people to squeeze into the dining room and only one and a half baths.

For the most part, I get along okay with Pete's family, mostly because I'm good at keeping my mouth shut. But still, Poppop Larry creeps me out, and I don't think Deenah's ever liked me. She always glares at me, and the few times I've talked to her, she clips my sentences short. To be fair, I never liked her either, so we have that in common and little else. I don't think she likes anyone and I wonder how she managed to get married. I guess a warm pussy and hot meal every night is enough to keep Joey happy when he lumbers back to his South Philly shoebox at the end of each workday. Home, sweet home.

***

Several days pass since dinner at the in-laws. I managed not to get sick. Worth a point or two. With Pete at work and the kids out back for a while, I think about what to name Jimmy's phone number. I shouldn't hide it or give it a funky, secret code name. Should anyone see my list of contacts and ask who is Jimmy, I'll say he's a friend I met in New York. Uh, no, too close to the truth. I'll say he's one of the kid's coaches. No, that'll lead to more lies. A dad from a classmate's birthday party RSVP? Yes, good. Plausible. A transplant from New York with a Manhattan area code.

I justify keeping the number by thinking of Jimmy as a platonic friend, to prevent myself from blurting out a self-incrimination. I can't believe what I did sometimes, and that so far, no one seems to notice anything. How can I appear so normal? It hurts a little that no one's noticed anything, but be careful what you wish for.

Another thing that I often wonder; why did Jimmy find me attractive? Maybe he just wanted a fling and anyone would do? Do I read too much into it? Why me? Why not me? Maybe that's his point. Anyway, it's over, one-and-done, and maybe if I could just talk to Jimmy once in a while but never touch him again, I could live with that. Just talking.

I hide in June's room. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I bring up Jimmy's number, make it disappear. I bring it up again, over and over, a setting sun playing peek-a-boo behind tree branches. It's been three weeks since I first called him. He hasn't called me, but he's right for not wanting to get me in trouble. But I guess I wasn't as great as he said? But then, why'd he etch his phone number into the tube of lipstick? He's not a part of my life. But he's gorgeous and he fucks hard. The kids will be in school a few weeks from now. Time for phone calls, maybe a day trip or two...

I jump when the front door slams, then I hear the familiar sound of Pete's boots trudging across the living room floor. I try shoving the phone back into my pocket, but it misses the pocket and falls to the hardwood floor with a crack! Luckily, the cheap protector prevented breakage--this time. I sigh,stupid, pick up the phone, and exhale slowly. I try on a few smiles before I emerge from June's room; the bright glad-to-see you smile; the mild-smile; the oh-I'm-surprised-to-see-you smile. None fit. The oh-shit snarl feels natural, but I don't want Pete to think I'm unhappy, because that leads to questions I don't want to answer. For a horrifying moment, I imagine that Jimmy just walked through the door, and I burst out laughing.

"What's up? You laughin' at me?" Pete calls from the living room. His work bag falls with a thud on the floor by his worn brown easy chair.

"No, just thinking about goofy things my friend Beth and I used to do." I reply, closing June's door.

"What brought that on?"

"Watching June and Rudy playing in the backyard. It reminded of Beth."

"Oh," he nods, "sounds like you don't have enough to do." End of inquiry. He doesn't ask what we did that's still funny to me after so many years. I think fun just doesn't register with Pete. I ask him how his day was, and he launches into a description of who fucked up at work, and how many assholes cut him off on the highway. Sounds like what he said yesterday and the day before, and the day before.

"So, whattcha' do all day?" Pete asks, looking at the tangled mountain of laundry on the couch.

"Watched the kids." No shit.

"Oh. What time's dinner?"

"5:30." Same fucking time, every day, duh.

"All right, I'm going upstairs to lie down for twenty minutes," Pete yawns. It's 3:22 now.

"Okay, see you at six."

He waves his hand at me and drags himself up the stairs to the bedroom. Yes, I know he gets up early for work and he's tired when he gets home. But when he is home and awake, he either watches TV or stalks people on Fuckbook. I mean Fartbook. Fakebook? Whatever it's called. Sorry, but I mean, come on, raising children can be pretty fucking boring, and I didn't make them by myself. I get lonely. Over the years I've tried to get Pete interested in a few things I like, such as art and books. I've tried to revive his interest in his old loves--biology and camping, or at least something a guy with young children might like, but it's like talking to a brick wall.

Oh well, time to dice the onions.

***

I'm calling Jimmy today. It's mid-late August, 12:15 in the afternoon. The movieCars keeps the kids glued to the living room TV. I even let them eat snacks on the couch (taboo!) and Pete won't be home for a while. Even if he comes home early, I'll just tell Jimmy that I gotta' go. He seems to tolerate hasty departures.

I bring up his number and take a deep breath. I press 'Call' while sitting on the edge of June's bed, tapping my foot and peering around the doorway into the living room, frequently. The phone rings five times and goes to voicemail. I hang up, wondering when the time will come that he blocks or deletes my number. Heartless, but easier than telling someone to their face that you don't want to talk to them anymore.

I turn the phone over and over in my hand. It's just as well that he doesn't answer. I shouldn't be doing this, anyway. Seems like shouldn't, wouldn't, can't, won't, anddon't dominate my inner monologue, since forever.

The phone vibrates and I nearly drop it--Jimmy calling back. Answer it... don't answer it.... "Hey, Jimmy," I finally answer, in a low tone.

"Well, hey coffee queen!" he purrs. "How you hangin' in there?" He sounds chipper, a little scratchy; whooping and honking mix in the background of this audible canvas.

My stomach squeezes. Keep going, "Well, uh, up to the same thing every day. Watching the kids. Trying to keep them occupied and not killing each other. Laundry, dishes, same ol' shit," I nod into the phone, smiling.

"What are the kids up to right now?"

"WatchingCars. It's too hot to play outside." I feel my gut relaxing.

"Whew, you're telling me! I'm walking back home and working up a sweat as we speak," he shouts into the phone, over perhaps the roar of a bus lumbering by.

"Shh, Jimmy, don't tell me you're all sweaty. It'll get me started."

"Ah, so still a little heated up?"

"Yes," I murmur into the phone.

"I wish I could cool you off," Jimmy says, his voice a little lower and clearer.

"Me, too."

"I'd take off all your clothes..."

I giggle, "And?"

"Then lay you out on my bed,"

"Yes?"

"I'd take a strawberry green tea ice cube," he goes silent, but I hear him breathing.

"And, Jimmy, and what?"

"Patience girl, I gotta find some shade. Ah, here we go. So, I take the ice cube, start at the hollow of your throat, and slowly, slowly, drag that cold, melting cube all...the way...down ...there."

I close my eyes and lay back on June's bed. "And then?"

"And then I lick the trickling tea off you. I start at the hollow of your neck, then my tongue slips down, all the way down."

"Okay, okay! Oof, maybe that's enough before I have to change my panties!" I shake my head.

I hear Jimmy laugh, and picture him tossing his head back as he does so, milling about a busy sidewalk.

"All right, Jimmy, so what are you wearing? Those crazy mirrored sunglasses?" I ask.

"Shouldn't I be asking you what you're wearing?"

"I'm a housewife. You don't want to know. Answer the question!"

"Okay, I'm wearing a black fishnet wife-beater and zebra-striped Spandex pants."

Imagining Jimmy walking the streets of Manhattan with all that animal print hugging his goods makes me laugh and snort, "No, come on, what are you wearing?"

"Khakis and a blue Oxford. I thought you'd want to hear something more exciting than that."

"Excitement's not the clothing--it's the man inside the clothing,"

"Mm. Would you like me inside you, again?"

I pause. My smile drains. "Yes, you know I would." I no longer picture Jimmy casually walking down the street. Now he lies over me in June's bed, the heat of him hovering over me, his eyes on mine as he draws closer...

"Rudy! Stop it!" June screams.

"Oh, shit, the kids are fighting, hold on," I sigh. Placing my hand over the phone, I stick my head out the door and scream, "Shut up! I'm trying to take a nap!"

Rudy looks at me, looks at the phone in my hand, and asks, "Then why are you on the phone?"

"Oh, shut up, Rudy, and watch the movie." I shut the door and return to the phone. "Sorry about that. I hope you didn't hear anything--it wasn't ladylike."

"That's okay. You're not a lady anyways." Jimmy chuckles.

"Okay, easy there, stud, you know it well. You know what, though? I miss that night."

"I miss it, too, as busy as I am. I still think about it," Jimmy sighs. "You were fun."

I hear June and Rudy fighting, possibly going to kill each other. Maybe I should let them, but then I'd have to explain it to Pete and I can't wash blood out of fake leather.

"The kids again? I can hear them! Geez!"

"Yeah, pain in my ass. I love 'em to death, but."

"Didn't you tell them you're trying to phone-fuck?" Jimmy asks.

I snort again. "I should! That would get their attention. Or better yet, I should let you tell them."

"Ahh, yeah, no, I don't think you want to do that. Anyway, before you really gotta go, let me ask you something--do you throw out your junk mail?"

"Of course, why?" I ask.

"Give me your address and start checking your junk."

"Okay, you got a pen and paper?"

"Just tell me," he insists.

My eyes sting as I tell Jimmy my address. Good idea? Bad idea? We say goodbye, and I beg him to take good care of himself. He promises.