Ripples Through Time Page 18

  “Thirty-five minutes,” he said, setting the timer.

  “Thirty-five minutes,” she repeated. Ed smiled, grabbing a can of spinach.

  “Do you remember what order the ingredients get mixed in?” he asked.

  “Uh huh,” she said, grabbing the eggs. He laughed.

  “Flour first.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Oh yeah.”

  Jessica appeared in the doorway, smiling at them. “Hey,” Ed said, tossing a towel over his shoulder.

  “Cookies again?” she asked, laughing. Portia giggled. Ed made his way to his wife and pecked her on the cheek.

  “I like your hair,” he said. “Did you do something different?”

  Her face lit up. “No, same thing I do every morning.”

  “Want to help us cook?” he asked. They watched as Portia broke her first egg on the counter and dropped it. It hit the floor, splashing everywhere.

  “Oops,” Portia said cheerily, reaching for another egg.

  “In a minute. I really have to pee,” Jessica said, heading for the stairs. Ed watched her disappear and reminded himself to compliment her a few more times before they ate, since they were baking cookies. She had grown up skinny and petite and in the last few years—since Portia was born and as they both got older—she had added several extra pounds.

  And all of those pounds had settled around her hips and butt. She was self-conscious. She wouldn’t refuse the cookies, of course, but eating them would make her depressed. He was always careful to point out how the extra girth in that lower region was by no means a bad thing. She was still, at forty-two, a beautiful woman.

  Jessica made it back down as they were putting chunks of cookie dough on a pan. Portia ate little bits that scraped loose. Ed had heard that eating raw dough—because of the eggs—was bad, but he’d grown up doing it. And, to be honest, he thought of it as the best part.

  “Smells good,” Jessica said, heading for the oven. She opened the door and glanced inside. “No potatoes?”

  “Didn’t have any.”

  “I could have picked some up.”

  He shrugged. “We won’t miss them. Starch isn’t that healthy anyway.”

  “Nope,” Portia agreed. “Not healthy.”

  “But it tastes good,” Jessica said, closing the oven back up. “I think we have some French fries in the freezer…”

  “French fries!” Portia declared, jumping at the suggestion. Ed groaned.

  “You want French fries now too?”

  “Uh huh,” Portia said, bobbing her head and rocking from side to side. She looked down at the floor: “But they’re Quincy’s favorite!”

  Ed couldn’t help but laugh. It was her standard ‘go to’ excuse for wanting something. If she wanted to go see a movie, it was because Quincy wanted to (especially movies about princesses. He apparently loved those). The cutest part was she pronounced his name Kensy.

  “Okay,” he said, clicking on the fryer. They had another ten minutes on the chicken anyway. He went over to Jessica and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and rocking gently. She smelled of lavender and rosemary. “How was work?”

  “Miserable,” she said. “Kevin’s still out on vacation and Georgia called off. We still haven’t submitted any reports and the fiscal year ends in a week.”

  “Ah,” he said. She rested her head on his shoulder.

  “And I didn’t get to the gym like I was planning.”

  “It was too cold this morning,” he said helpfully.

  “I still need to. Did you know your butt molds to the shape of the chair you sit in all day? Mine will be a giant square soon.”

  He pinched her butt. She jumped and burst out laughing. “Not square yet,” he offered.

  “No,” she whispered in his ear, giggling. “Not just yet.”

  She pulled back and smiled at him, lascivious and wicked in one moment. He leaned in and kissed her.

  “Ew, gross,” Quincy said. They broke apart, laughing. He stood in the doorway, watching them. Ed hadn’t heard the piano stop. “Is dinner ready? I’m starving.”

  “A couple minutes. Why don’t you set the plates and get us some ice?”

  Quincy sighed and went to the cabinet. He was always less likely to object to tasks with the promise of food in the near future.

  They made small talk as the food cooked. Ed tossed fries in the oil and then after a bit pulled the chicken out, giving it time to cool off. Portia washed her hands and helped her brother. Jessica slid the cookies into the oven.

  “If you keep making cookies my hips are going to be huge,” she whispered.

  “Just gives me more to hang onto,” he whispered back, carrying the chicken to the table. She swatted him on the arm. They didn’t get to have sex often, not since Portia, and when they did she was usually the one to bring it up. Neither were comfortable with the quick frantic moments of passion praying their kids wouldn’t catch them.

  Eating as a family was more important to Ed anyway, to be honest. They usually got a chance to eat as a family one or two nights a week. The rest were in front of the TV, glued to the screen, or separate meals when different family members went to different activities. He treasured these moments and knew they wouldn’t last.

  They sat around the large mahogany dining table, waiting until the fries were done, and then tucked into the food. Ed was hungry. He’d had a terrible day at work, busy taking care of clients and fixing computer problems. The banking industry never slowed down, and it was a Friday. That meant everyone wanted to have their computers fixed by Monday. Sometimes he was there all weekend doing repairs and hard-wiping computers.

  There was no talking while they ate. Everyone was too focused on their food. The cookies were left out to cool. After the food was gone Ed served them up. He let Quincy have two and Portia one. He gave three to Jessica, knowing she would eat two and then decide she didn’t want the third. She usually refused the third cookie, vindicated knowing that she had at least some self-control. He’d never admit that it was contrived.

  “So what do you guys want to do tomorrow?” he asked, settling back in his chair. Jessica rounded up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Portia looked on the verge of nodding off and Quincy was back on his Gameboy. “Want to go see a movie?”

  “Yeah,” Portia muttered, bleary eyed. She yawned.

  “A movie sounds good,” Jessica agreed.

  “There’s nothing good out,” Quincy said, “and the movies I want to see Portia is too young for. Can I go to Kyle’s house? His parents just got him a Playstation and a bunch of new games.”

  “I don’t like you playing those games,” Jessica said. “They are so violent.”

  “What happened to the good old games, like pong?” Ed asked, his voice edged with sarcasm. “Couldn’t kill anyone on pong.”

  “You laugh, but I think those games make kids more violent.”

  “Or less violent, depending which theorist you ask,” Ed said with a shrug.

  “Do you always have to be contrary?” Jessica asked, but the question was more playful than angry.

  “I disagree with your assessment that I’m being contrary,” replied Ed, smiling.

  “So can I go?”

  Ed looked at his wife. He had no objection to it, but he also knew that if Jessica did have a problem with it, then it would have to become his problem as well or there would be hell to pay. Women were funny like that. They would overlook a thousand dangerous things that their children did, but the moment they picked one to focus their passion on it consumed them. One minute roller coasters were the bane of existence, the next alcohol and cigarettes. If Jessica had picked video games as the new target of her ire, then he wouldn’t bother opposing her. Better to just agree in the short term until she forgot about it later.

  She decided to let it slide. She threw up her hands for show, and said: “Okay, you can go to Kyle’s. I’ll drop you off in the morning on my way to Yoga.”

  “Cool. Thanks mom,�
�� he said, hugging her and then disappearing. They wouldn’t see him the rest of the night.

  “I still think those games are dangerous,” she said to no one in particular.

  “Which is why he doesn’t have one of those consoles of his own,” Ed offered. “But we can’t sequester him. He’s going to experience that kind of stuff sooner or later, and the more we forbid it the more he’ll want to do it.”

  She shrugged, not really agreeing but also not willing to argue. Ed picked up Portia—she was almost snoring—and carried her upstairs to her bedroom. Jessica followed. They tucked her in and stood together for a few minutes, watching her sleep.

  “She’s beautiful,” he murmured as they left. He gently closed the door. Jessica was staring at him, hand on his arm. There was a hunger in her eyes, subdued by a note of apprehension. Portia was a notoriously light sleeper. “You’re beautiful too.”

  His voice was mechanical, lacking passion. He fought down a wince. Come on Ed, you’re better than that, he thought. He took her hand in his, hoping for the passionate thrill to shoot through it.

  Nothing.

  There rarely was.

  Her anxiety was turning to worry in his silence. He leaned in, and kissed her, pulling her close. She melted into him, grateful, and he guided her to their room. He pushed the door closed and flipped the lock as she pulled his shirt off. He carefully unbuttoned her blouse and removed her bra, an easy maneuver. He intentionally fumbled a few times, to add authenticity.

  He let his mind wander, pulling a few stored thoughts and images up. Just something to get him started, but today it wasn’t having the desired effect. He fought back a curse as she worked on him. Come on, come on…

  “Not in the mood,” she asked, anxiety back in full force.

  “Just distracted,” he lied, pulling her away and laying her back on the bed. He knew how to make her stop worrying, a practiced skill he’d mastered many years ago. He began kissing her body, touching her in all the right places. Her back arched when he slid his fingers across her stomach, and he wished he could feel that same spark when she touched him.

  His phone beeped. It was still in his pants on the other side of the room. Salvation. He could check the message—probably from work—and use it as an excuse to slip into the restroom. He kept a stash of little blue pills in an ibuprofen bottle for just such an occasion. She was allergic to NSAIDs so he wasn’t worried about getting found out.

  “Ignore it,” she mumbled, gripping the sheets.

  “Might be important,” he said. He knew it wasn’t. At least not important enough that he couldn’t spare twenty minutes before checking it.

  But that wasn’t the point. He stepped away and picked up his pants. She sighed, covering herself and frowning. She’s more suspicious than she’ll ever admit, Ed knew, overcome with guilt.

  “More important than me?” she asked under her breath, just loud enough that he could hear. That’s where Quincy gets it.

  He flipped open the phone and clicked the message. “Oh, honey it’s just…”

  His voice trailed off.

  The number was unlisted. He would never dare to save it in his phone, but he knew it by heart.

  A chill shot up his spine.

  No, no, no, why now?

  “It’s just what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  Damn it all. I can’t. I can’t, he told himself, knowing he would. It wasn’t even a weakening of resolve. There just wasn’t any.

  “A work emergency,” he mumbled. “I have to go.”

  He tried to focus, but his mind was whirling. “You have to go now?” she asked, disbelief seeping in. It was tinted with despair and confusion, and quite a bit of self-consciousness. She pulled the sheets higher, covering her chest too.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shrugging his shirt on and pulling up his pants. He caught her eyes and followed them to his crotch. He was standing at full attention. Damn it, he thought. I need an excuse. Something. Anything. But nothing came. “I’ll be back after midnight.”

  “I’ll be asleep,” she said, her voice flat. She was trying not to cry.

  I’ll stay. I should comfort her. This isn’t fair, and definitely not acceptable. I should stay.

  He paused at the door on his way out, turning to face her. “I love you,” he said.

  Silence.

  He closed the door, miserable and thrilled at the same time. He hated himself but that didn’t change anything. He took another glance at the text on his way down the stairs, grinning like a buffoon:

  Seven simple words that set his flesh with Goosebumps.

  I’m off tonight. Want to come over?

  The phone snapped shut.

  ***

  His stomach hurt. It felt like shame.

  Two years of these late night phone calls. He’d called off work four times in the last three months, each time swearing it would be the last. Each time he left the younger man’s apartment he was filled with self-loathing and despair, promising it would never happen again. But a few days later the shame would turn once more into despair and he would frantically await the next phone call or text.

  Alex zipped his pants and flashed Ed a smile, his piercing gray eyes full of excitement and vigor. Ed felt another tingle, followed by sharp jealousy. Alex was promiscuous, a fact he flaunted. They had fun, Alex repeatedly said, but that was the end of it. Ed was okay with that, or at least he wasn’t willing to press the issue. The only time he’d asked Alex to do something outside of the college-kid’s bedroom had resulted in stony silence and months without contact.

  Its better this way, Ed knew. Safer.

  Though, what did that even mean? He loved his wife…or at least he wanted to be loyal to her. These midnight excursions were threatening everything he knew. Everything he loved. I’m normal. I want to be normal.

  But that hadn’t worked. He tried. Oh how he had tried. First it was out of sheer fear. Of his father. His teenage years into early college he’d slept with a great many young girls. He’d never had an issue finding them—he was handsome enough—nor had he had trouble pleasing them. His youthful vigor and enthusiasm were all it really took.

  Yet it was the tail end of college when he learned what he was missing out on. One chance encounter (though looking back it hadn’t really been chance) with a college roommate and he’d been forever changed.

  That was after he met Jessica. She was pregnant with Quincy at the time, and he did love her. In his own way. They were building a life together, and since then his roommate had moved on. They’d never seen each other since, and Ed never had the guts to try anything else like it.

  Until he met Alex.

  Let’s stay or something, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He had to leave as well. Jessica would be worried and he’d been out too late as it was. And worse, part of him really did want Alex to go. From his life. Never to return. I was fine without you. If you hadn’t shown up, my marriage would be happier, Jessica would trust me more, and I wouldn’t be risking everything.

  “What are you thinking?” Alex asked. His piercing eyes were staring at Ed, shocking him back to reality.

  “I’m thinking of how complicated life is,” he said finally. That’s a copout. It’s complicated because I make it complicated.

  “It doesn’t have to be. You could leave her.”

  Ed winced. “I wouldn’t leave Jessica.”

  “Even for me?” Alex asked, pretending to pout.

  Oh God, please don’t ask that of me…

  Alex laughed. “You’d have a lot of fun with the other guys I bring around.”

  That hurt. So thoughtless. The words helped Ed make his promise—hollow as it was—that this would be the last time. “I couldn’t leave the kids,” he whispered mostly to himself. Alex shrugged.

  “Nah, maybe not. But you’d be happier. You wouldn’t have to keep pretending.”

  “I think she suspects…”

  Alex laughed. “Dude, she knows.”

&n
bsp; Ed narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Come on, how many guys married as long as you spend that much time with their tongue between their wife’s legs? By this point in your marriage it’s supposed to go: she spreads, you pump, and game over. All she’s got to do is ask one of her girlfriends how often they get licked and she’ll know something ain’t right.”

  Alex spotted the anxiety on Ed’s face and quickly added: “But the bitch has it made. Even if she knows you aren’t into her, she probably has more orgasms than most married women. Hell, if you give her one orgasm a year you’re better than most husbands.”

  Ed wished he could get mad at Alex, especially for calling Jessica ‘the bitch,’ but he couldn’t. He was too worried that he might be right. Does she know? He wondered that a lot. Would she say anything to him, to jeopardize their stability? Or would she just put up with it for the sake of the marriage? For the sake of the children?

  How can I justify forcing this loveless marriage on her.

  It had been so much easier pre-Alex. He hadn’t been distracted, and all of his focus was spent making sure they were happy. A few online subscriptions—another thing he was masterful at hiding—had been enough to keep himself satisfied. But Alex had reawakened something in him, and his building realization was that Jessica didn’t stimulate him emotionally. Sure, with pills he could fake the physical side of it, but the game had grown exhausting. He was depressed, worn thin, and sinking. Alex had revitalized him, despite being unavailable emotionally.

  “Why aren’t you in a relationship?” he blurted, cursing the question. The last thing he wanted—despite his self-proclamations—was to scare the gorgeous tanned man-whore away again.

  Luckily, Alex only chuckled. “I don’t do the dating thing. Clubs. One night stands. Those are for me.”

  Ours isn’t a one night stand, Ed thought. He didn’t say it, afraid that voicing the concern might make it so. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize…

  This.

  What the hell is this?

  “I should go,” he announced, climbing out of the bed. Alex was halfway in his shirt, and he watched the young man’s eyes explore his body. His face heated up from the attention.