Swim, Butterfly Ch. 28

Swim, Butterfly Chapter 28

Peony Sunset

July rolls into August. Pete and I still have miles to go before we sleep together again, if ever. We still have told no one what's going on. I think Pete's afraid his family will take sick pleasure in his failure, and I don't want to shatter that pretty glass world my mom lives in. And besides all that, it's no one else's friggin' business. The only other person aware of this affair is Jimmy.

Sometimes I dread the idea of Pete and I 'making it'. I miss Jimmy. I think about his offer. It's so out there, and I love the kids so much, that my response is pretty much 90% no. But that leaves 10% yes. But then, of course, there's the practical stuff; child custody, health care, old age, and Guilt. Or the exciting stuff; big city, new people and places and experiences, and Jimmy.

Something has to change. I think about drinking sometimes, but I won't trade Jimmy for a cheap bottle of wine, breaking a promise to him. Yeah, I know--irony, again.

Or instead of booze, I wish I could call and chat with Jimmy like a best girl buddy, telling him about the heart-to-hearts Pete and I had since The Confession. Maybe he'd tell me a little about his fiancée. Anyway, at least abstaining from wine is a way I can actively have Jimmy in my life, remembering that promise. Small, but I'll take it.

***

One night, Pete visits me again in the den, and again we get to talking. I sit at the desk; he hikes himself up onto the daybed. "You still drinking?"

"No, not since I met..."

He holds his hand up. "Okay, okay, I get it. You could do anything in here at night. I was just wondering."

"Well, I don't do anything in here anymore but sleep and think." I reply.

"You don't want to drink anymore?"

"Sometimes, but ever since I met Jimmy, mostly no."

Pete exhales, "Jimmy, wow, a dude named Jimmy. Weren't you drinking when you met him?"

"Yeah, but just a few drinks."

"Has he got a big cock?"

"Peter! Really?" I sit back in the desk chair, "That's private, but remember when you asked me what he had that you didn't?"

Pete stares, then actually chuckles, then bursts out loud laughing, "I can't compete with that!" His beseeching palms rise in the air, then come down as fists on his thighs.

"Shhh... don't wake the kids. And you're notsmall, Pete, and I said there was more to it than just sex."

"So, what was it? What was it that took you away?"

Calgon! No! I can't laugh now, but I hear Jimmy's voice say, 'Calgon took me away!' If he's old enough to remember those ads. I smirk instead, offering Pete some explanations, "What was it took me away? Well, his sense of humor. His eyes. The way he touches me. Things we talked about. Things he made me see and think about and feel."

"Is he a witch doctor or something?" Pete asks.

"No, far from it. He's just a guy."

"Just a guy? Come on, you could have gotten just a guy from around here."

"Why would I want any of the guys from aroundhere?" I snort.

Pete looks at me, head tilted. "I'm from around here, and apparently I have an unsatisfactory dick."

***

Pete develops throughout the summer, despite our intermittent, uncomfortable discussions, emerging from his chrysalis to unfold and dry his wings. He tends the flower garden and studies bugs with June, nurtures the tomato patch and builds bird houses with Rudy. He stops to look at weeds and wildflowers by the roadside during occasional post-dinner walks with June and Rudy, and sometimes I'm invited to join them.

"My dad would call these weeds good fur nuthin but poison and mowers," Pete imitates his father's drunken slur, then returns to his normal voice, "but this here, June, this dandelion, did you know the first settlers brought them from England for early greens, something to eat?" June scrunches her nose. Pete continues, pointing out a broad, flat leaf with thick ribs, "And this here, plantain, for bee stings...,"

He builds a library of knowledge and belief that defines him from anyone else, especially his family. I guess my comment one night that he could spend the rest of his life moping and stocking the basement with Schlitz added fuel to his fire. Because I was right.

But I'm not always right. Sweet as summer vacation can be, the bittersweet discussions continue. One sultry evening in late August while the kids play in the backyard and Pete and I sip lemonades, he asks, "Did you ever love me?"

My breath hitches. Fighting the impulse to touch the butterfly beneath my shirt, watching the last stunning moments of a peony sunset, I dig deep, "Pete, I've never beenin love with you. I love you in a practical way. I think after too much time trying to reach out and getting nothing, just, I don't know, killed part of my feelings."

"Practical." Pete sighs and places his sweaty glass on the patio table with a clack. "Geez, you'd think we met and married in aisle nine of Home Depot."

I smile, "So it's not a gut-wrenching, heart-pounding relationship. So what? Why don't we just keep doing what we've been doing for a few more months, just keep going a few short steps at a time, raising the kids and minding our own business."

Pete inspects his nails. "Yeah, our own business. We'll see."