In the distance I hear Joe. I turn off the tap and follow the sound of his voice.
“No, I’m not bluffing. I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be. He’s on our side. It’s only a matter of timing,” Joe says. I spot him pacing the foyer and glancing out the front window every few rotations.
Objectively, Joe is good-looking. He has a thick head of hair and one of the brightest smiles I’ve ever seen. But lately, his grin doesn’t move me as it once did. I feel different inside.
“Tell him that will not be necessary. He’s here. Yes, right now. And I will take care of it. Give me twenty-four hours,” Joe says.
Uncomfortable with his conversation and my unintentional snooping, I step out of the shadows and announce myself with a wave. Joe nods at me.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Joe says before he hangs up. “Work,” he says to me while slipping his phone into his pocket.
I nod. The conversation isn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, but something is off. Whether it’s Joe’s demeanor or my suspicion is unclear at this point.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“We have a new donor who hasn’t delivered his pledge. He’s off in Europe on holiday and doesn’t want to be bothered. Pam’s working on his CPA while I’m looking at a money bridge.”
“Is there someone outside there?” I gesture to the window he’s been diligently watching.
Joe shrugs. “I didn’t even realize I was looking.”
I’m not sure I believe Joe about work or the window, but there’s enough history there to let it lie. “Rini’s serving s’mores in a few minutes.”
“I hope there’s another option besides s’mores. You know, for the adults,” Joe says.
I smile. “I had the same thought, but as a woman I know to keep that inside.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Joe says. He places his hand on the small of my back, directing me away from the dark foyer. Joe’s phone vibrates in the silence between us. I step outside his reach and fall in line next to him.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask.
“Probably.” Joe turns around, back to his spot in the foyer. He swipes his phone open but doesn’t speak. A muffled voice yells on the other end. Joe catches me watching him and waves me on. His impatience suggests It’s fine, but I’m not sure it is. I’m not sure anything is fine.
I’ve always safeguarded myself against obvious emotional shifts. Our first year of marriage was unremarkable, and I kept my work pace during pregnancy and my first year as a mother. My schedule stayed the same, my career path stayed the same, and I was completely unchanged. And yet, maybe I was wrong to think I could stave it off forever. Maybe all I really did was hold off for Aimee to rip me open and turn my world upside down. Her influence has been a slow burn—from patient to fellow mom to best friend and beyond—yet all of a sudden, everything in my life is out on the table for evaluation. It’s up to me to figure out what I want and what I’m willing to do to get it.
ADAM
This evening is nothing like what I expected. Eden and I stole away for some alone time earlier and now I have Aimee by my side, playing the role of doting wife in front of our dinner party audience. I have two women fawning over me, one in public, the other in private. Enjoying it is only a matter of keeping good boundaries.
Monogamy runs deep in my romance writer’s roots. I include characters across the spectrum of sexuality in my novels, but their relationships remain very traditional. One soulmate, one right person. Anything less than full, modern partnership is settling for less than they deserve. But what if it’s actually more? Having my cake and eating it too sounds delicious. Granted, it’s been a dangerous juggle in the same house, but under normal circumstances, this arrangement could be ideal. Maybe Eden was onto something I too quickly dismissed.
I pat Aimee’s hand and plant a kiss on her cheek while I make eye contact with Eden. She flashes me a small nod as I excuse myself from the dinner table, explaining that while it’s been a wonderful night, a writer has no days off when there’s a deadline to meet.
Inside the house I wait for Eden in the back stairwell. A few minutes later, she hops up to me with a grin and a kiss. I whirl her around and place her on the step above me.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” she says. She hooks her arms over my shoulders while I snake my arms around her ribs and down her back. She leans in, pressing her whole body up against me. I breathe in her hair.
“I love you,” she says in a raspy whisper.
It’s a good thing she can’t see my face because there’s no way to hide my shock.
I convince myself the queasiness is a sudden wave of guilt about having sex with Aimee yesterday and not telling Eden. That’s strictly against the rules; Eden’s rules. I certainly never wanted to hear when or if she had sex with her husband, and it was a thought I never allowed myself to have. But Eden had told me right off the bat that she expected to be informed when Aimee and I were intimate. To this point, it had never happened and thus I’d never had to own up to it. I didn’t know how to do it, but I was sure it wasn’t the right time after she said she loved me for the first time. And she’s kissing my neck.
For Eden, saying “I love you” is a step toward the traditional. Toward monogamy. Toward everything I’d been arguing for.
I told Eden that I loved her weeks ago. We sat at on a sidewalk patio alongside a cobblestone street in the city. The day had been muggy, but as the sun set brilliantly in the sky, the air settled to the perfect evening temperature. The air smelled of rosemary focaccia, sharp and sweet. Eden looked gorgeous in an emerald-green dress that made her eyes sparkle like the Caribbean Sea; her blond waves, the sandy shoreline. I was unable to hold back after the first bottle of wine. I told her I was in love with her. Without hesitation, she laughed at me.
What does that mean? she said. People say it all the time and they don’t have the first clue what they’re trying to convey. Do you?
Eden was someone who liked to buck convention, whether that was marriage, monogamy, or the basic phrase “I love you.” She wasn’t actually laughing at me, but the silly idea. She wasn’t saying she didn’t love me. She was simply being herself.
I told her I loved her again a few times after that night, but never absentmindedly like Aimee, who tossed the words to me like car keys every time I left the house. I said it to Eden only when I felt an overwhelming moment of connection. She never said it back, but she returned the sentiment with a look or a touch, an act of intimacy that felt bigger than my words.
I am gobsmacked to hear her say it back to me now, but it doesn’t feel like the victory I anticipated. Instead, unease brews in my chest.
“So what’s the plan?” Eden asks.
“For what?”
“Us. Like I said the first night, I’m ready now,” she says. “When are we going to tell Rick and Aimee the bad news?”
“What’s the rush?” I ask.
“It might make sense to act like it all came up at this retreat. Like the astrologer made us do it.”
I remove her arms from around my neck and step down to back away from her. “I don’t know about that. Aimee will have a lot of questions.”
“There’s nothing I can’t answer,” she says.
