The Perils of Love Ch. 06

I'll advance to the point where Sunny and I had been married more than twenty years. Suzie had two kids and still no official husband. Jerry Junior had graduated from the academy and was serving as a flight logistics officer at MacDill in Florida. Martin was in his sophomore year at a local university. Anna was in fifth grade and Amanda was in the third.

I can only say it like this. A breakdown in a marriage begins kind of the same way my disease began: unnoticed.

Sunny and I had always enjoyed our intimacy. Sure, there were times when our lives were certainly in the way, and it sometimes affected us both simultaneously, so we were still in balance. There were a few times we went a month without enjoying each other in bed, but it was usually out of necessity.

Sometimes she'd had a rough day at work, or something was weighing on her mind, and she didn't feel like getting worked up, but we could often ease a rough day with a little pampering, and the pampering would sometimes end with the warmth extending into the bedroom. To me, at least, there's no better stress relief than to have my wife ease my tension with tender affection, conversation, commiseration, and maybe a little passion. Endorphins do amazing things.

When the lack of attention began happening frequently enough I became conscious of it, I did what all thoughtful husbands who happen to be data-minded do. I started tracking it. Of course now, in hindsight, the fact I felt the need to tabulate our sex life should have been a red flag. It became one later, but not initially.

I kept a secure file on my phone. It was a simple text file consisting of rows with four columns. Column one was a date, column two had the heading M/H, and column three was labeled 0/1.

A line might read 5/30 M 0, which meant, on May 30, I (M stood for ME) initiated, and 0 meant FALSE, as in, I was turned down. The final one indicated how severe the rejection was. A one in that column was a minor one, like "Sorry, I'm not feeling well. I'll feel better tomorrow." Higher numbers were used for stronger declines.

One of the bigger instances was on a Friday morning just a few weeks into the new year. Sunny was in the kitchen packing lunches for the girls while my daughters sat at the table eating cereal. I'd had a fitful sleep because I was suffering jet lag from a long business trip from which I'd just returned. I knew Sunny hadn't slept well either, so I walked up behind her and tried to massage her shoulders.

She tensed as if I'd startled her. She shook her shoulders vigorously out of my hands and said, "Damn it, Gary! Get off of me!"

One of my girls dropped her spoon. It clattered off the table and onto the tiled floor. I looked at them and their faces showed concern at the outburst. They stared at their mother and me, confused.

"Okay. I'm sorry," I said as I backed away, waving my hands in surrender. "Send the girls outside when they're done. I'll drive them to school today."

I collected the girls' backpacks and put them in my truck. I sat in the driver's seat thinking while the heater warmed the cab. I unlocked my phone. Even though my attempt at comforting my wife a few minutes earlier was not even close to an attempt at getting her into bed with me, I added her latest rebuff to the file as a seven in the fourth column. It was, by far, the strongest rejection of any form of physical touch.

I worked late that day. Well, I take that back. I barely worked at all. I locked myself in my office and transferred my file into Excel. I don't know why, because the text file was as clear as a bell by itself. I stared at the numbers.

I stayed late because I had little motivation to go home.

My self-confidence and self-esteem plummeted to indescribable lows. I tried multiple times to talk with my wife about it, but it would often backfire into a furious rant about something completely unrelated. I suspected the arguments had to be diversions, and I had no clue what to do. She exhibited emotional turmoil but refused any help.

Samantha had her parents to talk with when I was behaving horribly with my health problems right after we were married. She even had my mother to talk with about things after hers took her own life. My parents had passed away a few years prior to this time, and I had only one person I trusted who I could talk to.

I'd worked with a particular person in my department for about a decade or so. Her name was Liv. We worked together frequently, and we got along well. We were really good friends. We'd even been labeled as work-spouses by some of our peers, but the term carried more baggage than it needed to. Her office was right next to mine.

We were assigned a particularly challenging task to figure out a way to correct, or at least mitigate, a problem involving excessive vibration of two machine tools which had recently been installed in a plant in Seattle. The machines would begin to oscillate until the vibration tolerance hit limits, then the machines, and sometimes others nearby, would throw their safeties and shut down. The odd thing about it was the problem only occurred when both tools were operating simultaneously. The oscillation was carrying through their mounts into the floor. The movement was imperceptible to the operators around them, but not to the precision sensors.

I was looking forward to the trip, both professionally and personally. I figured I could use a week away from the challenges at home, and I couldn't think of another person with whom I'd prefer to travel.

Some people are high maintenance when traveling. Everything has to go just right. Lunches and dinners have to be at such-and-such a time with this-or-that particular meal preference. I swear, the next time someone who doesn't have Celiac disease hems and haws about dining anywhere that serves foods containing gluten, I'm going to dump a bag of wheat flour on them. Spending more than a few days traveling with such an individual is mentally draining.

Not Liv, though. She was the most low-key, easy-going, come-what-may person. Her willingness to bend and flex to a situation was relaxing to anyone who was the same as me, so I always favored her company over many others.

We were to fly to Phoenix, where the manufacturer of the tools was located, to meet with their own engineers. We collected tons of data and "recipes" to simulate in their dynamics lab. Liv and I met at the airport for a Sunday afternoon flight, so we'd be able to get into the lab as soon as they opened for business on Monday.

The first thing which struck me was what she was wearing. Liv had always dressed comfortably and conservatively at work because the company had a casual dress code. Bluejeans and sport shirts were common if not favored among both genders.

I have to tell you this for context. Liv was an attractive woman. She looked great in jeans. She really did. She was, to put it lightly, a head-turner.

When I saw her at the airport, though, I kinda lost my breath a little. She was wearing snug khaki pants and an equally snug white golf shirt. It wasn't particularly unusual, but what struck me was her underwear. Yes, her underwear. It struck me because I could see it, quite freaking clearly, through her clothing.

I'm sure every conscientious woman in the world probably deliberates about what goes with what. I'd been asked so many times by Samantha, "Can you see my undies through these pants?" or whatever, to know women think about what is visible when and where and try to avoid inadvertent displays of their undergarments.

I'm sure as all damned hell I'd never seen anything on any woman like what I saw on Liv that afternoon. Sure, I might have noticed a hint of a panty line, the shoulder strap or band of a bra, or whatever before, and never gave it much thought.

But no. That wasn't it. I saw, as obvious as the sun is on a clear day, the rose petal print of her bra through her shirt.

She walked up to me and punched me lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey there, Gar , you ready to go rock the southwest so we can rock the northwest?"

"Absotively and posilutely ," I answered.

"Awesome and awesomer . Let's get it done. 400K per week of lost productivity waits for no one."

"Well, yeah," I countered, "it's waiting for us."

That made her laugh easily.

I watched her little bottom as she walked in front of me. I didn't just glance at it appreciatively like most men do when a lovely backside walks by. I was entranced by it because I saw matching roses on the panties underneath her slacks, as well.

The flight was completely uneventful. Liv was seated a few rows ahead of me. I enjoyed a few drinks on the plane, all at no charge due to my frequent flier status.

Liv had agreed to be in charge of our ground transportation. There was no need for both of us to rent separate cars since we'd always be going to and fro together. After we'd disembarked and collected our bags from the carousel, I slowed when we drew close to the rental car counter.

"I didn't reserve either of us a car. The lab is less than a mile from the hotel, so I thought we could take a shuttle to the hotel and hoof it back and forth from there. Not spending forty bucks a day for the car means more money in our pockets, right?"

"Perfect plan," I acknowledged.

We waited in the queue for the hotel shuttle. There were a number of people in line for the fifteen-passenger van when it arrived. Liv was number fifteen, and I was sixteenth.

"Sorry, sir, you'll need to wait for the next van. It'll be along in about a half hour," the driver told me.

"Oh, no he won't," Liv interjected. "He's with me. It'll be okay. I'm tiny. I take no room at all."

Yes, she was tiny. She was only a tad more than five feet tall. "Petite" would be an overstatement. The close-cropped bob of her hair completed her pixie-like look.

Those in front of us filed orderly into the van, filling benches back to front.

Liv gestured for me to board before her, and I did. Once I was settled into the seat, she sat down next to me. Our hips were very, very snug. I had no place to settle my right arm, so I put it behind her over the top of the seat.

"Sorry, Liv, I don't know how else to situate myself," I offered.

"You're fine, Gary. No worries."

She scooched about in her seat until she was comfortable. I could feel the heat radiating from her body next to mine. I'm sorry to admit it, but, at that point in my life, I wasn't uncomfortable at all. After about twenty minutes into the ride to the hotel, Liv said, "Sorry, but my arm is going numb."

She pulled her left arm forward and gave it a mild shimmy and shake to wake it up then rested it in the shallow valley between our two legs, flexing her fingers from fist to flat. She relaxed her arm and rested her hand on her knee. Her wrist was against my thigh above my own knee.

It didn't make me uncomfortable. It should have, but it didn't. Her arm was barely there for a few moments before she folded it into her own lap. I would swear the subtle contact with my leg was inadvertent, but I wasn't entirely sure.

The first stop on the route disgorged seven folks and the remainder were able to spread out. The two individuals sitting next to me moved to the vacated bench seat one row back for the remainder of the ride.

When we arrived at the hotel and collected our bags, I tipped the driver an extra ten bucks for looking the other way so I could ride in the overcrowded van, then we walked inside to check in.

Our first day at the lab was all about orientation and getting data sifted, sorted, and ready to load into the simulators. We didn't start running our first test until late that afternoon. As the preliminary data began to emerge, Liv and I studied the output carefully. One of the associates came into the workroom to observe.

"You two almost done for the day? We locked the front doors almost two hours ago."

I looked at my watch. It was 6:47pm.

"Whoa. Holy crap. Time got away from us. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it. If any of us are working late, we let clients stay late, too. But I do need to kick y'all out because I'm the last one here and I'm ready to head home."

Liv's focus was unfazed. She typed fast while slowly saying, "Okay. Just a few more seconds⁠— Done.

"We'll let this set run overnight if that's okay."

"Absolutely. You can use all the batch compute time you need," the man said.

We cleaned up our work area then packed our backpacks and followed the associate to the door.

"Leave your visitor badges here at the desk. The receptionist will have them waiting for you tomorrow morning when you return," he instructed as he showed us out.

Liv and I began walking back to the hotel.

"I'm starving. You hungry?" she asked.

"Very. I think I could use a beer or two. How about you?"

Liv chuckled. "Twelve, maybe. You want to check out the brewhouse we walked by this morning and see what they have on the menu?"

It was two blocks away, so it required barely five minutes to walk there. It seemed a popular place. Considering Mondays are usually the slowest evenings at restaurants, the fact it had a line at the door seemed promising. We checked the menu posted in the window from the sidewalk. My stomach started growling as soon as I saw one feature: "Two chipotle barbecue-glazed beef ribs with fried onion strips."

"Ooh. I know what I want," I said.

"Yeah, me too," she said with an uncharacteristically serene smile as we walked to the hostess's stand.

We were shown to a table perhaps ten minutes later. The waiter offered us menus which named what had to have been two hundred beers, over seventy of which were on tap.

The top of the tap list described six categories of brews. Examples of each were available to sample in a "flight."

"Sounds good," Liv said. "I'll have one."

"Me, too," I said to the waiter, and he disappeared.

About five minutes later, he returned carrying two paddles with six little glasses on each. Each paddle bore a paper tag identifying the samples by name and number.

"Yours are different than mine," Liv observed.

After the waiter had taken our orders, I tried the Belgian wheat beer first. It was predictably sweet and had a creamy texture. I mentioned to Liv that I liked it. She tried hers, which was Bavarian. She didn't much care for it.

We sampled each of them in turn and commented on each while we waited for our meals.

"Oops, I forgot to test my blood sugar. I'll be right back," I said as I fished my meter from my backpack.

"It won't bother me if you do it here," Liv said.

"You sure?"

"I've seen you do it in your office a few times."

"Oh. I didn't realize," I said, a touch embarrassed.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's something I do a half dozen times a day, so I don't think about it. It's second nature to me, but I know people might be a little put off by a finger stick."

She watched the whole process with scientific interest. Fifteen seconds later, I had the number and programmed it into my insulin pump in time for the arrival of our meals. I ordered a pint of the doppelbock from the flight and Liv ordered a pale ale.

We chit-chatted over dinner and made plans for our testing for the next day before we paid our tabs and walked back to the hotel. We agreed to meet for breakfast the next morning in the hotel restaurant, then called it a night.

The next day was, to put it mildly, boring and tedious. More testing and number crunching. The simulations hadn't yet told us anything we didn't already know … but it was kind of the point. We needed to make sure the simulations were telling us what we already knew. It was necessary to gain confidence the simulations would faithfully duplicate reality.

We knocked off early for the day and went back to the hotel.

Two days of basically doing nothing but sitting in front of a terminal made me restless. I decided to go to the fitness center and burn off some calories. I checked my blood sugar and ate a package of peanut butter crackers I'd brought from home to steady it for the workout.

I was pleasantly surprised how well-equipped the center was. It was on the ground floor with expansive glass windows overlooking the indoor lap pool. I say "Indoor" only because the whole area was inside what would best be described as a solarium. The entire structure, including the ceiling, consisted of glass panes and their supporting mullions and muntins. It was visually appealing and inviting with the western sun.

I selected a treadmill, situated my earbuds, and pulled up a playlist on my phone I'd created to target a five-kilometer jog. The varying tempos of the music helped to set my stride and pace with appropriate warm-up and cool-down intervals. It consisted of seven tunes with a total time of thirty-two minutes plus one additional track to force me to breathe slower and ease back to baseline. It was a jog playlist, not a run.

The workout felt good. It felt great . I spent the next half-hour at the bench and curl station, then fifteen minutes in the sauna. I was simultaneously relaxed and invigorated when it was time for dinner.

I sent an SMS to Liv, but it turned out she was off doing her own thing, so I grabbed a junior cheeseburger and a salad from a local joint across the street and ate while watching TV.

Day three saw us making a lot of progress. We were right on the cusp of figuring out the main issue, and we were hyper-focused. We must have sat there for five hours looking at numbers when I felt a twinge in my neck. I tried to stretch it out, unsuccessfully, so I reached into my bag for a small bottle of ibuprofen.

"You okay?" Liv asked.

"I have a muscle or something going nuts. I'm not used to sitting in front of a computer for such long stretches, I guess." I rose from my chair. "I'm going to grab a bottle of water. You want one?"

"Sit back down," she said as she stood from her seat. "Let me see if I can fix you up. Do you mind?"

"No, I guess not," I said as I returned to my chair.

"Can I touch your neck and shoulders? I want to make sure before you send me to human resources."

I chuckled at her caution and said, "Yeah. I don't mind."

"Is it here?" she said and touched the back of my neck below my hairline.

"A few inches lower. Above my shoulders," I answered.

"Here?" she asked.

Her thumb pressed right into the tender spot, and I winced.

"Whoa. I guess that's a yes."

I felt her hands alight on my shoulders, and then both thumbs move very gently around the aching ridge.

"It's your rhomboid minors. They're the muscles which connect your shoulder blades to your C7 and T1 vertebrae. They're in spasm at your spine. You might be slouching too much," she said as she moved my collar out of the way.

"How do you know that?"

"I thought I'd told you. I studied kinesiology during my first year of college. I changed majors to mechanical engineering with an emphasis in robotics when I realized I was far more fascinated in the mechanics of motion than the biology. Robotics seemed a perfect path. Never looked back, even though we don't do a lot with robots."

She worked on the spot, and I'll admit it … What she was doing felt good. It felt really, really good. It felt so good I involuntarily moaned a little and felt goosebumps down my back and arms.

"Yeah?"

I nodded very slowly because I didn't want to disturb her work. After the tension was released in my neck, I felt her hands work on my shoulders. I'd get an occasional chair massage, like if I tweaked a muscle in my back or something. The therapists were invariably firm and focused on the work they did, always with good results.