Swim, Butterfly Ch. 26

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 26

Cakes

Pete, planted in his ugly brown easy chair, watches the news, his brown-haired head molded into the back of the leather seat. Pete and I don't talk about the trip. I didn't tell him where I went and he didn't ask, but he's not entirely stupid. Only we can't play Silence forever.

Pete's more removed from the kids than before, as well as from me, which makes sense regarding me, but not to the kids. They don't deserve that. Rudy withdraws to his room almost all the time now, and I can tell June's hurt by Pete's silence. She watches him all the time, but doesn't say a word. Pete's remote to everything but the TV remotes.

Ha ha, funny. Not.

I hate the news; hype riddled with misinformation or details conveniently left out. I don't think they distinguish. In fact, all these media boneheads should go to Gehwegistan and stay there. I have enough on my plate and no way to get it out of my mind without drinking until I pass out or fucking Jimmy, neither of which is likely to happen again soon, if ever.

I scrape smears of mashed potatoes and fatty ham rinds into the catch-all in the sink, quietly, so as not to disturb Pete while the news brainwashes him and his family falls apart. Have I always tiptoed, always employed be-quiet tactics as a way to live alone while raising a family? Or was I actually avoiding a deeper relationship with Pete after I got tired of trying?

Disturbing the silence, June trots into the kitchen, "Mom! Look! I made a butterfly!"

Indeed, she has created a butterfly with two Crayola-blessed paper wings and an oblong body of paper, stuffed with more paper, then stapled together at the edges. June's once-light blond hair darkens every year, turning brown like mine. I chuckle, wondering what June would look like with the carroty brown curls Jimmy said he used to have.

"What's funny, Mom?" June asks. Pete turns his head briefly.

"Oh, nothing, hon, not laughing at your butterfly, I promise. It's beautiful!" I admire the green, blue, and pink wings, the colors thickly outlined in black, and while June tells me about her next project, my hand rests briefly on my butterfly pendant, hanging on a longer chain beneath my shirt, 24/7.My butterfly.

June and her butterfly flit away to show Pete, who barely nods at it, then turns his attention back to a foot spray ad. June hangs by his chair a few moments longer, her fingers walking up the headrest, then drags her feet back to the kitchen table. Her smile is gone, the poor butterfly barely held between her thumb and finger.

Enough.

"Pete, turn off the TV."

"Huh?"

I bang my fist on the kitchen table, making June jump, "Shut off the TV, Peter! We need to talk! June, go to your room."

"But Mom..."

"Go. To. Your. Room! I have spoken," I glare at her.

June runs wide-eyed to her room and slams the door.

Pete still sits, but I see him turn off the TV. He drops the remote onto the side table with a clatter.

"Come inhere, Peter."

His head drops slightly. "Why can't we talk in here?"

"Because I don't want to. You afraid of the kitchen? Afraid I'm gonna talk about how I cheated on you?" I shout.

Pete bolts out of the chair and makes it to the kitchen in three strides, "Jesus, Caroline, shut up, shut up! You want the kids to hear?"

"I don't care anymore! They know something's wrong anyways, can't you tell? Secrets aren't doing anyone any good, and you and I areway too old to ignore that.Sit down!"

He does so, sitting across from me at the kitchen table. I take a deep breath. "I have another secret you need to know."

Pete pales, sits back, and runs his hand through his hair, staring. "Oh no, oh God no..."

I stare back at him, "Your father's gay."

Pete freezes, then slams his palm on the table, "Wha... what? Jesus, what kind of joke is this? Fuck, I thought you were going to tell me you were..."

"No, I'm not pregnant," I roll my eyes, then peer around Pete, "June! Back to your room! Rudy, shut your door!"

The little face peeking around the corner disappears, followed by the patter of feet. I hear two doors shut.

Pete shakes his head a little, chuckling, but not for long. He stops, then looks at me again. "You're not kidding."

"No."

"Well, what makes you say that? I mean, what brought this on? What proof do you have?"

"I don't have any proof. I just know. Well, at least I suspect. Pretty strongly. What proof do you have that I cheated on you?"

"Duh, you told me." Pete's hands splay out.

"And you believed me without any proof."

He leans back in his chair, raising, then resting his hands flat on the table, "I could tell by the look on your face you were telling the truth."

"And what does the look on my face tell you now?"

Pete looks at me, takes a deep breath, and passes his hand over his eyes. He's quiet for a few moments, then his shoulders shudder. I get a box of tissues from the living room and place them quietly on the table. He's not broken up for long, but he looks so fucking tired, as if he aged twenty years. I sit in silence, watching and ready to listen, taking that cue from a friend who's good at that.

Pete blows his nose, "You know, and I really, really hate saying this, but I don't think I disagree with you. I'm not ready toagree with you, either, but I don't disagree." He blows his nose a few more times, shaking his head, grunting. "What made you say that? What did you see?"

"At the diner, after Christmas. A man he was eyeing. At first I just thought he really disliked the guy for some reason, but there was nothing unusual about the man. He didn't even look at your father, as if they knew and hated each other. Then it just clicked. He's always drunk and unhappy and mean--unsettled, you know? Just seemed like something was really wrong for a long time. I think he's a gay man trying to be straight his whole life, and it's made him and everyone around him miserable for... forever!"

Pete sighs and smiles weakly. "Yep." Bleary-eyed, he looks up at me. "Thank you, thank you for saying it. I never wanted to hear it or say it, or admit it, but yeah, he's made us all unhappy forever."

"Well, no, not forever. That's your choice. I mean, why do you have to be unhappy, too? You don't have to be unhappy for him, and fuck him if that's what he wants. He made the choice to live a lie for what, forty or fifty years? Dragging other people along with him, and that's what I hate the most about him. I could care less if he's gay--that's neither here nor there--but I do have a problem with how he handled it. He's hurt you for years, belittled you for nothing. You're a good man, and you deserve better."

Pete looks at me with a smirk, or is it a sneer? "Yeah? Then why did you cheat on me?"

My turn to sit back, one hand gripping the other, "You know what? I didn't cheat on you. I didn't. Because I feel no different about you now than I did before. What happened is that I fell in love, that's what I did. I finally met the man I always loved. I just happened to meet him after I married you."

"But you haven't asked for a divorce." Pete covers one fisted hand with the other over the table.

"Neither have you."

"Why do you stay?"

"Where shall I go? Why should I go?" I shrug, my face tingling as I recall Jimmy's offer. "Just because I fell in love with someone doesn't erase the fact that I have two young children and a husband at home. I didn't say I wanted to run off and marry the guy."Liar.

"Well, I guess a divorce is what most people would do." Pete states.

"And why do you and I have to care what most people do? Your dad did what most people do for his time and age, and what did that get him?"

Pete shakes his head. "Don't drag him back into the conversation. I'm not ready to tackle him, too. Yet." He blows a thin stream of air from between tight lips, "I need a beer."

"No, you do not. Beer's for good times, not bad. Deal with it!" Funny hearing this advice out of my mouth, but it's true.

"No, yeah, you're right," Pete looks at me from beneath his brow, "You know, sometimes you're pretty smart."

"And you know, that's the first time you've ever said that to me."

He closes his eyes and nods, "Yeah, I'm sorry."

Pete slowly stands ups and pushes his chair back. He approaches me and pulls me up out of the chair and into his arms, holding me tightly. I never cried around Pete, only around Jimmy during this past year, but now I need the box of tissues.

"I never say much of anything nice to you, do I?" Pete asks.

I snivel and snort, blowing my nose, finally answering,uh-uh in a high, pinched voice. He holds me a little longer. It feels nice. Maybe it's a start. Then he asks, "Did youever try on the lingerie I bought in Cape May?"

Shit. I feel like going limp and sliding out of his arms, onto the floor, but I don't want to lose this moment, "Yes, it's, uh, fine. It's beautiful, thank you."

Pete's embrace loosens, and I feel his head shaking. He snorts, "That's interesting, because I bought it too small on purpose. I wanted to see if you'dever say anything about it."

***

Late one night, after several days of Pete and I barely speaking again, I hear a rap at the door of the den, "June, Rudy, better not be one of you. You should be asleep by now."

The door opens. It's Pete, "I want to talk to you."

"I'm tired. Make an appointment for the morning."

"Caroline."

I sigh, "Fine, come in."

I pull the soft white sheet of the daybed up to my neck. A breeze plays with the curtains of the open window. I haven't contacted Jimmy or heard from him since that last visit in May. In a few weeks, the kids will be out of school, so definitely no day trips for me.

"I just want to talk," Pete repeats. He hasn't stepped foot in the den since I moved in.

"About what?" I yawn. "There's a load of laundry in the washer, I know. I'll spin it again in the morning, good as new."

"No, Caroline, I want to talk toyou."

"Why? I thought we had talked enough the other evening. Your dad, my... well, you know, my lies."

"I don't care about that right now. I want to talk to my wife." He shuffles to the chair by the desk, encroaching on the sacred space wherein I put together the puzzle Jimmy sent me so many months ago.

"Listen, I've been stupid," he continues.

"You need a blow job?"

I hear Pete huff in the dimness, "No! No, I don't need a blow job. Listen, I think I finally understand what you were trying to do all this time, and I was too stupid to see."

"You're not stoo-pid, Pete, just stuck."

"Okay, so I'm not stoo-pid, just hear me out. I just want you to listen and not think you have to solve anything. Iwas stupid. I was stupid, depressed and selfish and that's the worst thing about depression, how fucking selfish it can be."

"And what role did I play in this?"

"I know you tried to pull me out of it," Pete replies.

"Had to have been more than depression, or something else. I mean, what do you really want?"

"To thank you. What you did really sucks, but it sure knocked me out of a rut, and made me think about things," he takes a deep breath, "I don't want things to get worse. I don't know what's ahead, but I'd rather things got better."

I smile, glad that it's pretty dark in here as I recall a conversation about ruts over a year ago. "You might thank Jimmy for that." I mumble.

"Jimmy, huh? I was trying to talk to you, you know."

I guess I should say something, but part of me is still angry about all the times I tried to pull Pete out of his shell, all the times I tried to reach out and got nothing.

Pete inhales, shaking his head. "I don't know." He gets up to leave and hesitates by the door. "You know, you can't have your cake and eat it, too."

He shuts the door behind him.

Oh yeah? What if I have two cakes?