She sighed heavily. It wasn’t just theatrics, she really was at her wit’s end, and I knew why—she was running out of ways to dodge the truth. “Phil—” Now her voice wasn’t just flat, she made my name sound like a disease. “I’ve only got a BA in English, not a BS in some trendy science or an MBA. But that was good enough to get me a pretty good job as a legal secretary.”
Wait, what? Where the hell did that come from? “I was happy to stay home while the boys needed handholding, but they’ve outgrown that. I’ve decided to go back to work. I start Monday as a legal secretary at Lambert Hendricks Ross.”
She ignored me when I tried to ask why the hell she made that decision all by herself. “They’re going to pay for classes that I need to be a paralegal at Monterey College of Law right here in Seaside. That’ll mean a nice raise. They also said that if I wanted to I could keep taking classes toward my JD, but they’ll pay for only half of those. I’ve already made arrangements for after-school child care. You’ll have to take care of the boys when I have a night class.”
Yeah, right. Night class. And any other nighttime activity she might come up with. It was my turn to try to figure out what to say and, as usual, I blew it. “Jesus H. Christ, Kim! You decided all this without saying squat to me? That shows just how little you respect me. And you’re going to work at Lambert Hendricks Ross? That’s twisted, even for you.”
I shook my head, hoping it looked disdainful. “Come on, Kim, you know as well as I do what they’re like. They get wife-beaters off with a wrist slap, they put drunk drivers back on the road. They even put pedophiles back in the classroom.” Okay, they lost that last one when it turned out to be a case of false recovered memory, but still, they tried…
Her response was even quieter. No emotion at all, it was almost robotic. “Twisted, Phil? Even for me? What does that mean? Care to explain?” It would’ve been scary if I hadn’t known what she was trying to cover up. I had to hand it to her, she was a brilliant actress.
She paused, then waved her hand as if brushing away a fly. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter what you thought you meant. This conversation is over.” Some conversation. She’d recited from her script and ignored my responses.
When she leaned forward to stand up, she brushed against the edge of the table. Wincing and inhaling sharply, she rubbed her left breast and winced even harder. She was obviously in pain.
“What’s wrong, Kim?”
“Nothing. I’m through with—
“Don’t give me ‘nothing.’ You’re hurting.” I softened my voice. “Just because we’re arguing doesn’t mean I don’t care. Please tell me what’s wrong. Please.”
“I said nothing! Leave me alone! You can’t do anything about—” She collapsed back onto her chair, smothered a sob and buried her face in her hands, muffling her next words. “Eyebound bumpen pressed doctor tukka my opsee.” At least that’s what it sounded like. What I thought it might mean scared me.
I reached across the table, touched one of her hands, and spoke as gently as I could. “I couldn’t understand, Kim. Please take away your hands and tell me again. You’re scaring me. Please.”
She didn’t react for a moment, then finally dropped her hands but kept looking down at the tabletop. “I found a lump in my breast last Friday. It turned out to be just a cyst. The doctor drained it, but I reacted to the needle. He prescribed some antibiotic pills and gave me a topical anesthetic cream that I’m supposed to put on it twice a day, but I forgot the cream this morning. It still hurts a lot.”
I’d assumed that what I found beneath her breast was someone else’s semen. Talk about feeling like a complete shit for jumping to a totally wrong conclusion! I went around the table, knelt by her chair, and took her hands in mine. She leaned her head against mine and we both sighed in relief that the animosity had cleared, at least for now.
I asked if she’d like another cup of coffee, she said she would, and we talked about inconsequential stuff until lunchtime. I sent her upstairs for a nap and spent the afternoon trying to make my story about working at home sort of true. Dinnertime and bedtime passed without incident. We went to bed and cuddled instead of making love.
But there was still Germ’s damn aloha shirt that smelled of Kim’s perfume. She got to sleep a long time before I did.
The smell of dinner cooking greeted me in the kitchen but didn’t improve my mood. Kim looked up expectantly from the kitchen table where she was tapping on her iPad, but I just headed for the bedroom to change without saying anything. I expected her to follow and ask what was wrong, but she didn’t and shortly called us to dinner.
As usual, the boys kept interrupting each other with their minute-by-minute recounting of everything that happened at school. Kim and I offered an occasional mmmhmm and asked questions at appropriate times, but said hardly anything to each other. The boys were so engrossed in their play-by-plays that they didn’t notice Mommy and Daddy weren’t on speaking terms, and tore off for the family room as soon as they finished eating.
Kim and I sat for a few minutes, then she broke the silence. “Okay, give. Apparently we haven’t finished our little talk. What’s got your knickers in a twist now? You’re acting like some bully stole your favorite toy.” Apparently her day didn’t go all that well, either. I decided to quit pussyfooting around.
If she could weaponize my name, I could do the same with hers. “Interesting choice of words, Kim. I’ve got a feeling that Germ’s been borrowing my favorite toy, as you so cleverly put it.” I waggled air quotes around ‘borrowing’, of course. “I just hope the two of you don’t decide that he gets to keep it.”
Kim actually sputtered before she could say anything coherent. “What in God’s name are you talking about?” She was so flustered she forgot to wield my name.
“I’m talking about how and why that aloha shirt Germ keeps in the pool house stinks of sweat and cigar smoke and your spendy perfume. I hope it was just a teenybopper makeout session and not some presidential boinkathon.” As soon as I said it I had the feeling that maybe I’d gone too far.
She exploded before I could even try to take it back. Quietly, of course, so as not to upset the boys. “You asshole!” she hissed. If Kim never swore, she never ever used words like asshole. I knew I was in deep shit, I just had no idea how much deeper it was going to get.
She took a few deep breaths, then started low and slow. “I shouldn’t have to do this, but I’ll explain about the shirt. Then I’ll explain the facts of life, using words so simple even you’ll be able to understand.” I hoped that insulting me a few times would satisfy her. What a pipe dream!.