
***
As my obsession with Cecelia grew, Charles and I talked at length about what was happening in our lives and in my heart.
“Why her?” he asked. “What’s the draw? She’s not even very nice to you.”
“I can’t explain it,” I said. “But it’s all-consuming. I go to bed thinking about her. I wake up thinking about her. It’s not anything I chose. It just is.”
We talked about my propensity to form unusually strong female bonds, to dive headfirst into my closest relationships. I thought long and hard about my best friend in high school and how jealous I became when she chose another friend and turned our duo into a trio. I recalled my girlhood crushes on camp counselors who occupied more than their fair share of space in my head. I reminisced about a female high school teacher whose after-school classroom became my daily destination, a space that I craved intensely so I could spend more time with her.
“Does this feel different than friendship?” he asked.
I nodded, even though I couldn’t quite articulate why.
Charles then confronted me with the biggest question of my life: “Are you gay?”
“I don’t know,” I told Charles as I began crying. “I joined this secret online group of late-in-life lesbians, and someone there said that you know you’re gay if you’re questioning because straight women don’t stay awake at night wondering if they’re gay. That’s all I can think about now. So, what does that mean?”
“I think we both probably know what it means,” he said. “And I’ll tell you this: I can be many things for you. I can be your lover and your husband and your friend. But if you want a girlfriend, I can’t be that.”
“I don’t expect you to be,” I said. “I never said I wanted to have a girlfriend. That came from you.”
“Seriously, Katrina,” he said. “If you want a girlfriend, go have a girlfriend.”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
By giving me his permission to explore my sexuality, Charles opened a Pandora’s Box inside of me that could never be closed again. After the kids went to bed, I began spending all my evening hours with Cecelia, sharing red wine and conversation. My desire for her was a living, breathing thing.
Charles and I discussed many ways to try to balance our relationship equation, to try to save our marriage. We discussed it with our counselor, Laura, and with our closest friends. He had, of course, told me to find a girlfriend, but it wasn’t easy when I did. It was far from easy. When I was with Cecelia, he was understandably lonely. And inside that loneliness was where all the fear and questioning and insecurity made its home.
“I wish you’d plan a boys’ weekend,” I said. “Reconnect with your old friends, go out for drinks, chase women, listen to music. It would be so good for you.”
But he stayed home.
“I wish you’d make some new friends,” I said. “Or connect with some old ones. It would be nice for you to have a drinking buddy, someone to play golf with. Why don’t you go find that person?”
But he didn’t.
And when those ideas fizzled out, I said. “Do you want to date? Would that make you feel less lonely?”
It made me queasy to imagine him alone with another woman, to think about his hands on the small of her back. It was hypocritical for me to feel that way, but in this one way, it wasn’t: He would always be the only man I ever loved. There would never be another beyond him.
The thought of him with another woman felt redundant to me. It felt like a replacement. One soft body for another. A head full of long hair exchanged for a head full of, perhaps, another color. Intertwined fingers that felt a little different, but mostly the same. Soft and supple from lotions and potions. Smooth from waxing. The familiar scents.
We had friends in an open marriage and asked them all the pertinent questions. How did it work? How did you keep your relationship primary? How did you establish rules and boundaries? How did it feel? How might it fail?
“It’s a beautiful thing to see the one you love happy and fulfilled,” Christine told me. “It’s a concept called compersion. When Steve comes home and tells me all about his dates, it fills me. I know without a doubt that I will always be his number one, and I love to see him so happy.”
I wanted to see Charles happy.
“But what about jealousy?” I asked her.
“I don’t feel any jealousy,” Christine said. “It’s all about establishing rules and boundaries and sticking to them. That way, there are no surprises and no secrets.”
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