© 2003 Jordan Shelbourne
(An unfinished tale)
"We need to talk," Edgar said.
Lynn smiled, although her heart was sinking. There was that look in his eyes, and when Edgar, chronically-afraid-of-confrontation Edgar, said they needed to talk, it meant he had been pushed to the breaking point. "All right."
He reached across the table and took her hand. "I love you," he said. Instead of reassuring Lynn, it made her more nervous. Talks that started this way never ended well.
"And I love you," she said, as lightly as she could.
"I've tried to be a good husband. I've provided and I've supported you in your decisions. I helped you set up your business and I have not interfered or offered suggestions unless you asked. I have always..." He trailed off for a moment and looked at some spot on the wall above her left shoulder.
"You've been a good husband," she told him.
When he looked back at her, he said, "I don't need to know his name."
"Who?"
"Him. The man you think of when we make love. The one you dream of. The one...the one who you're always wishing were there."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
He closed his eyes briefly. "You talk in your sleep, Lynn. You call him your Passion. Capital P. At first, I thought it was a memory or a dream; nothing more. We have no control over what happens in our sleep, do we? But...
"I was not a good lover when we met. When we married."
"No," she admitted.
"You bought vibrators. Dildos."
She said nothing.
"They're in the bottom-most drawer of your dresser, hidden behind sweaters."
"Yes."
"And you never told me."
"No."
"Why not?" He didn't let her answer. "Because you were thinking of him. Because you were always comparing me to this man, this passion of yours. I was good enough to provide for you, but not to learn how to love you?"
"I didn't want to hurt you."
"And this hurts less? To know that I have never pleased you, that sex was a duty, that when we made love--no, when we had sex, you weren't there, with me, you were thinking of him? It hurts. It hurts a lot. It--" He looked away, bewildered. His grip on her hand tightened uncomfortably. "It hurts a fucking lot."
"You're a good husband," she said dully.
"I'm a good provider. I'm a meal ticket. I'm a bed warmer. But I'm not a husband."
"I never cheated."
"I see." He looked down at her hand in his, and he let go, leaving his hand open, palm-up, on the table. "I can't compare with him. He's not even real, he's a memory, a ghost, an ideal. I can't even get it up for you now because you're just meat in bed. You're just-- You're his. I don't know if he knows that."
"I love you," she repeated.
"I wonder," Edgar said. He stood up. "Go to him. Get out of here and go to him. I'll be here. I'll wait for a while. If he's still your passion, I'll give you the divorce. You get a third. Not half, but a third."
"He's married."
"Then you had better hope she lets him go. I'm not going to be second choice here, Lynn. I don't want that. I don't deserve that."