Washington, DC 2018

You Stand in the doorway. "I have a surprise for you." My heart lifts. Then I see you have Alexander in your arms. I see you's bringing my little baby to me. You walk over and my longing for our old trust and passion is replaced with a wave of oxytocin, the deluge of love for my little baby. I recognize something — it will be ok. I love my baby. That's what depression had taken from me. Painting smiles so the baby would be tricked into thinking I adored him, but now see? I really do.

"And another" you say. I can't look at you, Edward, any more because of my longing. Finally I do, I've fallen in love with you again. "A coffee."

"You're sweet but I'm trying not to—caffeine— with Alex..." It's funny that I don't have the same restraint with wine, but caffeine..the anxiety.

"Decaffeinated."

It's there on the bedside table and you are gone. I hear the car, the sound of the German engine. Alexander is already nursing and his eye lids growing heavy. Had he been awake in his crib? Content to self sooth, sensing somehow his mother has finally arrived, ready to nurture. Real nurture—genuine and unfettered?

Once Alexander falls asleep, I create a space next to me on the bed, a little nest of blankets and lay him beside me. It's only 7:30. Maddy-a good sleeper—will sleep until 9 unless I wake her. I finally sip my coffee. It's tepid, but knowing you made it for me sends reminiscent bursts of dopamine through my body. Desire.

I pick up my phone and text "thank you for the coffee. Thank you ..." I delete all of it and text again. "I'm glad you're back. I'll always—" I delete the last two words. "I'm glad you're back." Then I find a picture on my phone. The one with the four of us at mom's just a few days ago. Seeing your face again ignites me, almost makes me high. I hit send.

Then, like a teenage girl I wait. I put the phone down next to me, pretend it's not there. I get lost for a moment in Alexander's calm breathing. Little infant breaths. I look at my phone again. You've seen the message but aren't responding. It sends my heart plummeting. Love Bombing. You have to recognize this Annie. You have to see the pattern.

I text again ?" And wait.

Finally, "thank you"

I feel everything drop inside me and I hate the ambiguity. I text again "sorry to bother you at work."

Then it comes..." I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you..."

I open facebook and scroll pretending I'm not about to look up/ cyber stalk as people joke, pretending I won't be looking for Lenore. I know her name is Leora. But I'd prefer her to be Lenore. It is less sophisticated in my mind. I imagine she would block me. Leora Hall. She's easy to find on facebook. I recognize her from the pictures I found on your phone. Before You left. God, Edward really? You're the type to sext someone? I shudder both in disrespect and in rage. Back then, there on your phone she had no clothes on. In those, she was flush with dopamine. Cringe. Worthy.

Her page isn't even private and that sends a wave of anger, of what origin I do not know.

There she is...my husband's lover. She's not much younger than I am. She looks maybe older. Maybe 35. Could she be 5 years older than me? She is a different type of woman—aren't all women who have affairs. It's funny how I exclude myself from this category. It was one time, then just our friendship but that one time may be worse than all of Edward's. Long wavy reddish blonde hair. It's a mass of hair. Her eyes appear green. There is something modern about her—contemporary. She could be from New York not New England. Her pale skin dotted with freckles. I don't see her on a sailboat or having wine on the Cape. I see her in a restaurant, in New York. Her most recent post has 60 likes "being resilient is maybe the hardest and bravest thing about being human- and its so damn tiring" "Oh God," I whisper ...take a sip of my cold coffee. Hardest and bravest? Oh God.

"Film" her career is film.

New York City and Little Compton. I guess she does come from money.

There it is an Adjunct Professor at State University of New York, Purchase. SUNY. I'm connecting the dots but this is a a pointless exercise. I have no way, really to know how you came to have an affair with this woman. Well, maybe she visited Georgetown or there was a panel or something. I don't know. I plug in Purchase NY in maps. Close to New York City.

"I love trains!" She posts two months ago. She's taken a selfie on Amtrak. Is she coming to see you in DC? Is she returning home? Have you just made love to her Edward? I search 'train DC to NY" - it's almost three hours Edward. That's a lot of time for a busy independent film maker. And I can see from her website that she has written or edited a lot of films. She was even nominated for an Emmy for one of her documentaries about women in Iran before the revolution. Interviews of women clearly still westernized under the oppression of extreme Islam. Yet, it's transparent isn't it? Leora's lens. Trying to expose mysogenymisogeny but imposing colonialism, westernization. I imagine you two "unpacking that" over a rose, one of your dinners.

Edward I wait to feel insecure but I don't.

Next post - 91 likes "aim in life: to be able to say 'fuck it' out of joy and not anger"

And another:

"Trying to figure out how to live by the words of Brene Brown

"When you stop caring what people think, you lose your capacity for connection. When you're defined by it, you lose our capacity for vulnerability."

Then someone named Ken Morris writes Do you think she means: when you callously don't care what they think? Like f-you and the horse you rode in on?

yes, like we need to give and take from each other and be open enough to receive feedback and also not let it destroy us

I shake my head. I smile...but I am also reeling on the inside, a machine has started up. I scroll down...more. more. There are pictures of Lenore with friends at a birthday party. It's in a restaurant and there are a lot of other couples—I look for you, Edward. Were you public with her? Was the whole thing out in the open? No she's not public about your affair. I have forgotten my life and I am absorbed in these pictures of Lenore.

The phone rings. It's you. But instead of feeling that afterglow—that love I am angry.

"you didn't respond."
"no." I whisper

"What's wrong? Are you feeling all right?"
"yes. I just fell back to sleep."

"do you think mom can take the kids tonight?"
"why?"

"I want you to come to my reading....at Corner books."

"I didn't know—why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"

"The reading?"

"It's just—it's just promotion—

"Do you still love Lenore?"
"No. Annie, I told you—"

"how could you have moved in with her?" I'm staring at her now, a picture of her in her apartment. It's small...minimalist..." I am digging my fingernail into my flesh..the tender flesh of my wrist.

"I have to go. I guess you won't come...?"
"no. I will. Will she be there?"

"Who?"
"Lenore?"
"Leora? no."

I continue to scroll through her page, my mood drops. She has so many friends. She's donated to a charity and a woman named Patsy Fisher Dunn posts on her timeline: "Thank you, Precious Friend, for reaching out in love to help these precious critically ill children & their families. I adore you both."

Both?

I think of a life Edward should have. See how outgoing and social she is? People love her. Who writes on my facebook page? No one. I scroll more and then...there it is...I sink and shrivel...the audacity. They are in a club. She's wearing a black dress, cut outs on the neckline...she's thin, fit. You're staring into her eyes..you are both in profile. This time it's not Lenore that shocks me, her long hair perfectly quaffed, a casual softness around her face, the evidence of a tan in her strapless dress...silk pale avocado with a silk cream seam...she's radiating something—beauty? It's not her. It's you, Edward. It's your jacket—his smile...You's staring into her eyes. It's not the kind, charming husband of mine. It's someone else. I look at it for a moment. Then screen shot. I cut and paste the most recent post.

Her caption to the post, "being resilient is maybe the hardest and bravest thing about being human- and its so damn tiring"

I send the screen shot to Jack.

Then. "This is inspiring right?"

"You're bad" He texts back before I can find an emoji.

"This is REAL" I type. Just being mean.
"Are you home? Can you come to New York?"

"Today?" I laugh...as if I can come to New York on a lark. He can. He has a Cessna and it's nothing for him to reserve air time [check]. Of the two of you, he grew to be very conservative. He's the corporate lawyer. He's like your dad. Yet, between us there's still youth. We'd lost connection for so many years and then after your affair, we re-ignited something.

"Sorry I have big plans at Westminster playground ."

"when are you going to put those kids in boarding school."

"ha. ha."

"Ok tonight then?"

"Edward has a reading."

"Of course, dear."

I have no idea what his tone means.

"Late lunch? Here in DC. Mom will take the kids, I'm sure."

"Yes!"
I smile. "What about Ada's. 2:00?" Then, "want to come to the reading?"
"LOL. See you at Ada's"

With you-as of late— it's a vacillation in alternate hypnotic states. Am I normal with Jack? Sometimes-since you left I regress into these moments with Jack. The timing of your affair and his marital problems with Jane. We are both looking for an escape, maybe? We never resolved our youth—the tragedy. And as much as I won't broach it with you, Edward. To Jack, it never happened.

Then the phone vibrates again. It's Edward. "I don't love her. I love you."

"Ok" I text. "I'll see you tonight." Smiley face emoji with heart eyes.

"Weird weird weird," I whisper. Mom takes the children-of course she does..it's easy with her. She wants to alleviate this chronic weight I carry. She wants to see me come to life, but she can't that's reserved for Jack. It's all for jack. It's only with him that I am a person. It dawns on me, of course, that Jack was my first love—I was still young, it was before.

The drive from mom's is alive. It's spring. It's hypnotic in some way—returning me to then. I know it's then, first meeting Jack and it's the road, a fork and when I split from him, for his brother. For you, Edward. You are the anti-Jack. You was quiet. Studious. You were aloof, and -we all said- brooding around your family. Of course, I came to know you at Georgetown and really you were normal, they were fucked up.