The Affairs

I thought being vegan could change my life, that cutting out meat and dairy would solve all my problems and make me a better person. But meat tastes really really good.

I thought exercising could change my life, that running or lifting weights for 60 minutes every other day would make me happier, healthier, less insecure. But lying down feels really really good.

I thought writing could change my life, that the click-clacks the keyboard made as I tried to write about the dark place would make me feel like a Rockstar. But expressing my insecurities through fiction and poetry didn’t make them disappear.

I thought meeting you could change my life, and for a while I was right. You pulled me from the dark place, turned gray to pink, bitter to sweet. I didn’t want to lie around, or eat out of boredom, I wanted to sit in your room until 4 AM learning listening to you talk about science, my least favorite subject. But I was happy as long as I could hear your voice. I wanted to do everything I said I wanted to do but never did so that I could see the look on your face when I told you about it. I didn’t need to solve my insecurities because I didn’t think about them anymore, I didn’t think about anything but you and our future.

And we did so well together, didn’t we? At first, I mean. Thanks to you I gave a damn, finished my accounting degree, passed the CPA, worked at a Big Four, and kept writing. You probably could have done it without me, but I loved telling people my girlfriend was getting a PHD in nuclear physics. Almost as much as I loved telling people the following year that my wife worked at NASA.

Then you brought our first child into this world. And even if she kept me awake at all hours of the day and vomited on my shirt, she was beautiful. Even if I had to switch to part time since your salary was higher, even if I had to stop writing, even if I swore I would get a book deal if I just had two more months, she was beautiful.

And without missing a beat, without asking how I was doing being a father when I never knew mine, you brought our second child into this world. And even if I had to leave my job indefinitely this time, even if I would sometimes go days without a shower, even if I barely got any quality time with you and you’d bring work home almost every day, even if I could feel a familiar grip pulling me back down, he was beautiful.

And I would be a terrible person if I did anything to ruin this, ungrateful for my beautiful wife and kids?

But eventually the children not needing me was worse than them needing me. What was I to do? Nobody would hire someone who hadn’t worked for 15 years. And who has the time to write these days?

I thought one night could change my life. I had good intentions. I promise. We were just going to drink Merlot and catch up, one of the moms from the PTA. What was I supposed to do when she asked if we could talk about anything besides our kids, and I realized I had nothing to say? What was I supposed to do when after three glasses of Merlot she started complaining about how her husband never made love to her anymore, when her lips were 3 inches from mine, and she was wearing the same lipstick you used to wear when you actually had time for date night? What was I supposed to do when she ran her fingers over my chest like you used to, and whispered that she had the house for the next hour?

As terrified as I was, I began to realize you didn’t even notice. The changes in my behavior. That I had started smoking again. That I grabbed drinks with friends every other night even though I hardly had any friends at this point. Letting the kids come and go as they please, even to that one girl’s house, who I thought was a bad influence. It was a busy week at work, you told me. Something about finding signs of life on a distant planet. I still loved listening to you talk about your work, but you never had the time. So you were happy, and the kids were too. What was the harm?

What was the risk of doing it at our house just once, treating her to my cooking that the kids hated? How was I supposed to know our daughter’s soccer game was cancelled, when she told me to stop coming to games years ago? And who would’ve thought a child I raised would come into our room without knocking?

And I didn’t even mind. It only took three weeks from then for you to bring me back to the light. You left your husband and child; I left my wife and my two kids. We moved in together, in the city this time, far away from soccer games and PTA meetings and the dark place. I didn’t care about those insecurities anymore, all I cared about was you. You used your connections to get me a new job. We cooked together, made love, woke up to watch the sun rise although I was never an early riser. I even started writing again, short love poems.

And we did so well together, didn’t we? At first I mean.