To say that Annette Marie Perette and I had drifted apart is an easy way to say neither of us was to blame for the separation that had formed between us. A wall of spite, anger, resentment and loneliness and begun to form in our first year of marriage and despite a week or two here and there where we managed to bond around some sort of common ground we had lived essentially separate lives for twenty years.
That said it worked for us. Anne had little to no ambition for anything and married to me I allowed her to live a life of almost complete isolation. She did what needed to be done to raise our sons but essentially nothing else. The isolation I felt during the twelve hours each night and two hours each afternoon she spent asleep and led me to seek intimacy where I could, typically from an innocent but willing woman who either had never found the right man or had, much like Anne, simply chosen poorly.
Anne had only called me on my indiscretions twice. She had caught me with my first, a young silly little thing with a button nose and curly hair who giggled too freely. Our relationship, the curly headed brunette and I, had never progressed beyond flirtation and love notes but Anne had caught us and exploded in a fury I never expected from her. Eventually she seemed to accept my explanation and even for a time reached out to me. The changes didn't last though and we soon found ourselves back in old routines strangers passing in the kitchen each morning as we made our coffee. Anne and I seldom even eat together.
She caught me again, years later, not because she was clever or looking. I firmly believe she very intently looks away from suspicious activity to protect herself. She caught me because I wanted to get caught. I was tired of the whole thing and at 36 felt I had one last chance at long lasting love that would see me cherished and appreciated in old age.
Her reaction was even more unexpected as she settled in, dug her ground, and fought for me. We sought out counseling and talked late into the night chewing through cigarettes. I let the young woman go and enjoyed my wife both emotionally and physically until time and our very natures pushed us back to where we had always belonged.
Anne, I am certain is not blameless but she is not responsible. The responsibility for my life long loneliness, womanizing, degenerate ways lies solely on my own shoulders. I do not blame anyone. I could have married better to begin with. I could have left. I could have, and this is the hardest one for me to believe, been more the man she wanted and less the man I am. This is the hardest to accept because it is quite simply put the one thing I asked of her and the thing she never attempted to do for me.
Twenty-one years married, sharing a house and a bed if not our lives, we had found ourselves in a kind of detent. Never considering her the most self-aware woman she surprised me when she came to me one evening and asked me to take her out. She wanted to talk and she didn't want to do it at the house. I of course agreed, it was a simple enough request and besides I owed her. I had spent the better part of the afternoon not in my office but holed up in a hotel room watching porn and drinking beer with my new barely of age mistress. We went to the French restaurant in old town knowing it was quiet, the food was good and the wine was plentiful. We drove in silence and I began to write up my defense for having taken up with young woman. I presumed that's what it was all about. I considered of course that she was going to simply ask me for a divorce but that was a long shot. She would make out fine at first but she couldn't live the rest of her life on half of what we had saved up to this point.
She remained quiet if not silent until the young woman had taken our order. I had selected a bottle of Bordeaux I knew to be perfectly acceptable. It was also early enough in the evening that it was almost half price.
As we waited on the wine I waited on her. It was a struggle to stay silent for me, especially as I waited for the impending doom she was about to deliver. The bread arrived first and I took to slicing it. I had served us each a buttered hunk of break when the wine arrived, was poured, sampled, and approved. I think she waited for me to have my mouth full intentionally.
"I've been thinking. I've been watching you and thinking. It's never good when I think, I know. I am stupid. But I have been thinking and you are acting old. You know you aren't old, right. You are only forty-five. I was thinking about your birthday and how you were turning fifty and that I need to do something special for you but you aren't. Dave, you are only forty-five. What's wrong?"
I chewed as fast as I could but not fast enough and it left too long a pause.
"Do you know how long it's been? I mean, I know I don't do much for you. I never have. I understand that. You told me once I am like fucking a pillow. I get that. I'm not very good at it. But do you know how long it's been.
"A couple of weeks?" That was always the right answer. From time to time we had gone longer but it was always a couple of weeks.
"It's been five months. It was a week before our anniversary."
"I'm sure we made love on our anniversary." I knew we hadn't. She wasn't feeling well. I had persisted and we had tried but looking down on the pained expression on her face I couldn't muster the slightest bit of an erection. I had rolled over and resolved I wouldn't even try again.
I wasn't being mean. I was protecting myself. The rejection was too much to bear. She was right. It had been five months.
"If you'd like, we can try tonight."
