On The Mend

I remember everything about the day I found out that my husband had been cheating on me with multiple women. I remember waking up and putting my rings on (I took them off every night so I wouldn’t lose them in my sleep) and snorting at the position Princess, Adam’s pit bull, fell asleep in the night before. I remember walking into the living room and seeing Adam asleep with ESPN still on the television, his Packers blanket barely draped over his legs. I hate that blanket. Born and raised a Bears fan I would never understand my husband’s obsession with a team whose fans wore blocks of cheese on their heads. Unfortunately for me my husband happened to be one of those idiots.

I walked past my destination -- the kitchen -- and towards him then kissed his forehead. Surely if I had known what the asshole was doing behind my back I would have whacked him with a pot instead.

The kitchen was a mess of beer bottles and paper plates stained with pepperoni grease. I wanted to puke from the stench of it but had no choice but to clean it up; Adam wouldn’t even if I bribed him with sex. I cleaned as I finished my morning cup of coffee and headed upstairs to change for work. At the time, I worked as an English teacher at New Trier, an affluent high school north of the city. During the summer after Adam finished with playoffs (if the team was lucky enough to make it that far), we headed up to our apartment in Milwaukee: the middle ground between his hometown of Madison and my hometown of Barrington, Illinois. My job was perfect for our living situation.

I was required to dress professionally for work, something I hated doing but Adam loved. He grew up in a house where his mom stayed home every day and took care of his two older brothers, Aaron and Chris, himself, and his little sister Nikki. He used to tell me stories of how she wore nothing but comfort clothes and, after a few years, lost her sense of self-worth. Seeing me in professional clothing made him proud of me, he’d say. I used to tell him stories of how I wished I could be like his mother -- raising babies and living comfortably. He’d pretend not to hear me and change the subject.

I knew when I married him that Adam didn’t want kids yet. We had the discussion multiple times: he didn’t want to make that commitment until he was sure hockey wouldn’t interfere with his abilities to be a good father. I understood that -- I mean, I wasn’t trying to tie his career down. But after two and a half years of marriage and the “big twenty-five,” I was ready. Adam still wasn’t. He’d become attached to city life and didn’t want to move into the suburbs. I told him that we didn’t have to -- children could be raised in the city as well as they could be raised in the suburbs. Again he pretended not to hear me every time I brought it up and I eventually learned not to even bother.

But that didn’t stop me from window shopping at baby stores and buying infant clothes when I couldn’t stand just looking any longer.

Adam didn’t know it, but I had four boxes tucked away in the closet of the guestroom filled to their brim with bibs, onesies and other essentials that we’d need for a newborn. They were hidden underneath the winter down-comforter that I replaced the regular one with every Fall. He never went in the room, let alone the closet, so I knew they would be they when we were ready. When he was ready -- I was ready from the minute I married him.

Unfortunately “our” time would never come.

As my day went on and I held class discussions about novels the students were supposed to read before the end of the year, the last image I had of Adam being the one of him on the couch, my phone was ringing constantly. I stopped the discussion a few times during the day to check the texts being sent and remind myself to listen to the voicemails during my lunch break. The texts were all from a teammate of Adam’s.

I need to talk to you.
Can we meet when you get to your break?
Sophia, this is important. Please get back to me ASAP.

I knew that this particular teammate wouldn’t say these things unless he meant it, so I quickly texted back telling him to meet me at a diner down the street in an hour. I admit that I rushed through class after that, wanting to know what was so important that it couldn’t wait until I got home. Of course since I rushed time seemed to go slower than usual, but eventually it was time for my lunch break. I signed out at the main office and sped to the diner.

When I walked in, Patrick Sharp had already ordered my food (I’m not a very picky woman and will eat almost anything put in front of me) and was sipping on a water. That was sign number one that something was wrong: stick a professional hockey player in a restaurant and you’re looking at, at least a $40.00 bill, he won’t order just a water.

“Where’s your food?” I asked him as I stuck a fry in my mouth.

“I’m not hungry,” he responded quickly. He was tapping his fingers on the table and I looked at him like he was crazy. “Really, I don’t even think I’ll be able to eat after I tell you why you’re here.”

With unintended attitude, I told him to get on with it. This was taking longer than I had wanted it to due to his beating around the bush. I knew Patrick wouldn’t deliberately waste my time but I did have other things to attend to that day: class, grocery shopping, and making dinner were the top three things on my list.

“Adam is cheating on you.”

Here’s what came as a surprise to Patrick and my mother: I didn’t start crying or freaking out. At least not right away. I’m not one for causing a scene and I can think of no better way to do so than to scream in agony that my husband has been sticking his toothbrush in mouths where it didn’t belong. Instead, I simply blinked and stopped eating.

“Okay.”

I scooted out of the booth, kissed Patrick’s cheek, and left him sitting there, shocked, as I headed back to the high school. I taught the rest of the day as if nothing happened and resisted the urge to cry every time I caught the photo of Adam and I out of the corner of my eye.

I’ve heard many stories about women who’ve been cheated on and ninety nine percent of them claim that they “had a feeling” about what was going on. I am in the one percent that had no fucking idea. I couldn’t imagine Adam doing something this terrible to me, to our relationship. I didn’t want to. We had the ideal relationship, one that people could only dream of being in, and I refused to believe he would do something to jeopardize it.

Later that afternoon as I put away the groceries and contemplated exactly how I was going to confront him, Adam walked through the front door with a bouquet of orchids: my favorite flower. They’re my favorite because they represent strength and beauty at the same time -- two things I hold highly on my scale of importance. It’s not that I’m conceited because I’m far from it, but I think there’s so much beauty in the world that people tend to overlook that needs attention. I’m more than willing to be the one to see past ugly exteriors to find inner beauty and I’ve found that people or things with the issue of being cast-off from society’s definition of “beauty” tend to have more strength than a simple and shallow magazine cover.

“Hey, baby,” he handed me the flowers, “These are for you.”

“Thank you,” I responded and let him kiss me. “Can you put them in a vase for me? I’ll get started on dinner.” Yeah, I was acting like everything was okay. I didn’t have any other options -- he came home too soon for me to think of something extravagant. “How was the thing with the kids today?”

His team held an event for a charity that day where little kids got to go to the rink and skate with the players. Adam loved those days -- the kids always brightened up his day and it made him feel good to know he did the same for theirs. I tried explaining to him that having children of his own would only make this feeling better but he didn’t seem to get it. Obviously. Since my womb was still empty and probably filled with cobwebs by that point.

“It was awesome.” He twisted the top off a beer and kissed my cheek. “It’s so cool to see kids playing hockey. It’s like a legacy, ya know?”

Actually, I didn’t know. But I pretended to.

“Totally.”

I had every right to be short with him and to be pissed at him so I don’t understand why, at the time, I felt like such a bitch for treating him the way he deserved to be treated. I guess I can say that I’m too nice to people. Even when they’re assholes.

We got through dinner, chicken tacos with rice and more beer, then cuddled on the couch to watch the Cubs game. I laughed when they lost and laughed even more when their loss kicked them out of the running for playoffs. We may have lived on the North Side but I’m a Sox fan until the day I die. I headed up to bed at around eleven, Adam trailing behind me.

It was when he tried kissing me that I exploded.
In the beginning it was calm.

“How many?” I asked him as he continued to try and I continued to push him away.

“How many what?” he replied.

“How many times have you cheated on me?”

I remember him pulling away from me and standing up then throwing his t-shirt back on. I remember sitting up and holding the covers against my chest and saying “Well?” and, more than anything, I remember the look in his eyes when he told me he didn’t know.

Adam’s eyes are the prettiest blue I’ve ever seen and they’re always happy eyes. I’ve met people before with sad eyes, dull eyes, and teary eyes so I knew what they all looked like but when he said “I don’t know” and his eyes changed, I didn’t know what to call them. Lifeless? Drained? Guilty? To this day I still don’t know even though I continued to see them look that way as our divorced continued on its track.

“You don’t know? How can you not know?”

“It’s…it’s hard to explain, Soph.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world.”

That was a lie. I had to be at school the next morning but knew that if this conversation continued going South I’d call in and head directly to my lawyer’s office -- which is exactly what ended up happening.

“Soph, it’s really…You’re going to…”

“I’m going to hate you even more if you don’t tell me the truth right now.”

“Who even told you?”

“It’s not important.”

“It was Tazer, right? That little shit wouldn’t shut his mouth even if Kaner was trying to stick his dick in it!”

Normally I’d laugh at the joke but this was no laughing matter.

“How many?”

“Soph…”

“More than five?” No response. “Ten?” Silence. “Fifteen?” With each increment my heart shrunk faster in disbelief. And when he finally told me the number it evaporated into dust.

“Thirty eight.”

I didn’t speak to him for a few minutes. I sat on the bed and collected my thoughts, finally standing after keeping silent. I walked to the closet and grabbed my duffel then packed it with clothes I’d need to last me two days. As I did, Adam kept trying to get me to talk to him but I refused. After walking out of the bedroom and grabbing my purse and keys, I turned to look at him.

“Was it an affair?” I asked, ready to hear him say yes. At least then there would’ve been feelings involved rather than a meaningless fuck. I would’ve much preferred him to say yes, but instead he shook his head. “Was it in our home? Either of them?” He shook his head again. “Was it ever with the same girl twice?” No. “It was on the road then?” He finally nodded his head and I looked at him with tears in my eyes.

I nodded in acceptance and walked out the door.