I Wouldn't Rest Until I Learned the Truth

At first I thought it a coincidence. I’d walk into the room and he’d turn off his phone. Or swipe his finger across the screen, closing the page he’d given his full attention just moments earlier.

Sometimes, when I looked up from my reading I’d see him slide the phone in front of the Kindle screen. I could tell there was a difference because the light changed as it reflected off of his glasses.

He’d get that lopsided grin, with his eyes squinching just a bit at the sides. His head would lower a bit closer to the screen as he watched the- whatever- intently.

Every so often I’d see him touch the screen, it looked like he was starting and stopping the motion, or maybe restarting the action? I didn’t know, but he was captivated.

Of course, I tried to interact. A wife should participate in the things that interest her husband, shouldn’t she? No matter what it was, as long as the people involved consented, it was ok, wasn’t it?

I’d ask, “What are you watching?” And his head would jerk up, startled like, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. I’d see that broad strong thumb flick across the screen as he mumbled, “Just one of those reels, those movie things. It’s nothing, really”.

But it was. It was something. He was keeping it from me.

*

I'm not, by nature, a suspicious person. That has cost me dearly before, though, and I am loathe to make the same mistake as I did in my first marriage.

Back then I explained away the frequent phone calls and hang-ups as kids, pranking our house because they were friends of our daughters. I explained away the sudden interest in body building as a mid-life change, and after all; what is there to object to when your spouse becomes fit?

I believed that the uneven hours after work were due to traffic, and the early starts in the morning were to avoid traffic. That was just being smart, right?

And that mix tape I found on the dining room table, the one with the love songs? I figured it would make its way to me for an anniversary of something. Nothing suspicious there. In fact, before the current time of digital music making a mix tape meant careful coordination of songs, buttons, patience. So, so, so, sweet! Right?!

All red flags that, in hindsight, I can see waving furiously from the turrets of our besieged marriage. Back then? Back then I was naïve. And, like the old saying, burn me once shame on you.

Burn me twice shame on me.

*

Now, here I am. Married to a wonderful person. Loved. Appreciated. Emotionally supported. Able to talk about and share everything.

Well- almost everything.

What IS that on his phone? What does he spend so much time watching? What gives him that soft and tender smile?

In my heart, I knew that it was nothing scandalous. He has never given me any reason to doubt him; not once. We are a communicating, comfortable, candid, cohesive couple. This is just me, my problem.

It's unhealthy, that's what it was. A compulsion, and obsession. I wanted to know, I needed to know, I MUST know. What could it be?

Not sparing any thought for how I would feel if the situation was reversed, not considering that snooping was an invasion of privacy, not even contemplating that it could damage our relationship beyond repair; I watched and waited for the right moment.

*

Somewhere, someplace, I read that 'Fortune favors the bold.' Maybe that was in a classic like Shakespeare, Nancy Drew, or Stephen King? Maybe that motivational speaker with the large jawline? I don't know. Wherever it comes from I'm claiming it.

I watched that man like a hawk. He so much as looked like he was going sit down and I'd redirect him to a destination that gave me access to walk behind him.

I am the Bold, Fortune; now favor me!

Heading towards his favorite chair? "Hon, I just spot cleaned it so it's probably still damp. How about the sofa?"

Staying at the kitchen table with the chair leaning on two legs against the front wall? "Babe, my brother once did that and the legs on the chair broke, and he crashed to the floor, and we thought his leg was broken and..." and enough words were poured out until he smilingly, shruggingly, went to the living room and was redirected to the loveseat. The loveseat with the easy access to peer over his shoulder.

Was it just that easy? Oh no. No it was not. Because what did he do? He picked up a book instead of his phone. Now, we are both great readers, but now that he was in a place where I could get access to his screen, why now was it a book and not the phone? Clearly, more patience would be required. And that was fine. Just fine. I could wait.

*

I couldn't wait.

What started as a question every now and then had blossomed and bloomed into an obsession. I admit it. I was obsessed. That he was oblivious to that obsession made no difference.

I made sure the phone charger was near the sofa, I 'misplaced' his books, I'd pull out my own phone to implant the idea that it was Phone Time, and then discretely get up and walk around the room to set the stage for a purposeful strike.

Then it happened.

I was lazily sliding Angry Birds around into matches of three or more (IYKYK) when I saw it. That slow movement of the thumb across the face of the phone, the subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the gentle nod of his head, then the poke of a finger to make it replay again and again.

It was my chance.

*

I rounded the side of the sofa, taking care not to nudge the upholstered arm and make my presence known. Slipping silently past the side I slid on stockinged feet closer, slowly closer, stealthily lining myself just past his line of vision. Matching my steps to the flick of his thumb across the screen I held my breath and saw. I saw. I saw what had so captivated my husband night after night.

What I saw was exactly what I deserved.

Blonds. Brunettes. High oranges and streaked reds. Soft. Silky. Stretching. Mewling. Cats.

No; not the play. Not the movie. Cats. Felines. It was the Big Unknown: the man was watching cat videos.

Kittens batting at the air. Toms making endless air biscuits. Cats in boxes. Cat's falling off of window sills. Cats getting belly rubs. Cats chasing dogs. Cats doing zoomies. Endless loops of reels and short videos of adorable kitty fluff balls.

I'll give him this: as I watched the black and white cat jump into the air again and again at the sight of a cucumber on the kitchen floor, they truly are mighty entertaining.

* * * * * * *

There are times I feel sorry for my husband. My mind gets stuck on something and I keep worrying at it until I figure it out. Or I make it into an article, like this one:

And the discussions leading to this one were endless:

He didn't know me, though, when this happened:

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