the
problem?"
"I don't know," she sighed, walking into her
office. He followed, hands glued to his hips and stood over her as she dropped
into her chair.
"Rachel, you have to fuck your husband, you have to
talk to your husband. That's life, Honey. Why is he sleeping in the guest room?"
"Jake, you can't expect me to explain it to you when I
don't understand it myself. He just is. He was working late, Hunter was falling
asleep in our bed, he's getting too big for me to carry him to his bed, I don't
know. He just started doing it. And I never said anything. Then he never said
anything. And now it just- is."
She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.
"Honey, you have to communicate. You need to ask him
what's going on, you have to talk about your feelings. You can’t tell me that
he hasn’t tried to have sex with you since January.”
“No, he hasn’t,” she argued.
They’d had a good sex life in the beginning, she thought
anyway. Not amazing, she’d never felt the toe-curling ravenous thirst for sex
with Kenneth that she’d always read about in books. But it was decent, and it
made her feel awful that Kenneth never came on to her anymore, feeding her
insecurity and making her feel even more undesirable. She’d always been a
little uptight, but he never said it bothered him, so she’d convinced herself
he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore.
“And don’t tell me I should take the lead," she
finished, "Because I’ve tried. I’ve told him straight out that I wanted to
have sex, I’ve tried wearing slinky nightgowns, lighting candles, all of it.
There’s just no chemistry between us anymore.”
“Did he ever complain about sex?”
“Not really. I mean,” she hesitated, “He did complain
sometimes that I wasn’t present."
"Huh?"
"You know, in the moment.”
“So where were you?”
“I don’t know. In my head I guess.”
“With Dylan?” he asked seriously.
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
The truth was she sometimes was with Dylan, and sometimes
she was with some dark brutal stranger who objectified her and simply wanted to
fuck her stupid, and a million other obscene things that ran through her head
but she could never say out loud. It was more humiliating than admitting she’d
sometimes thought about the grocery shopping, or whether she’d locked the
office before she left.
“Let it go, Jake,” she said coolly, “I’m not the least bit
concerned about my lack of a sex life right now.”
That was an exaggeration. She was concerned. She’d obsessed
over it since before Lauren was born, her libido growing as she’d hit her
thirties. But she’d never been able to get past the guilt she felt over her
sexuality. Virtuosity and modesty were drilled into her over and over growing
up, and when she’d finally risked letting herself enjoy her body, it had ruined
her life. It almost killed her.
So she’d retreated to the demure, respectable girl whose
sexual identity was overshadowed by the shame she’d learned from her mother.
And Savannah was right, it had kept her safe.
“What's going on with you that you're not telling me?"
He wasn't going to let up.
"Jake, I don't know really. I'm just tired. My anxiety
has been terrible, I don't know. I'm worried about Hunter doing well in school,
I don't want to screw up my kids, and you know, it's not exactly easy to live
with somebody right after they failed an attempt at saving some kid who broke his
neck on a football field," her voice rose, tears welling in her eyes.
“Don’t cry, dude,” Jake said concerned, “We’re just
talking.”
"Did you know that kid’s on life support? He might be
brain dead? And listen to this. Do you know whose kid he is?” she yelled, not
caring if Lauren could overhear, “Do you?"
"Simmer down,," Jake demanded as he walked over
and closed her door, "Whose kid is it?"
She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her face,
summoning the courage to say it out loud.
"It's
problem?"
"I don't know," she sighed, walking into her
office. He followed, hands glued to his hips and stood over her as she dropped
into her chair.
"Rachel, you have to fuck your husband, you have to
talk to your husband. That's life, Honey. Why is he sleeping in the guest room?"
"Jake, you can't expect me to explain it to you when I
don't understand it myself. He just is. He was working late, Hunter was falling
asleep in our bed, he's getting too big for me to carry him to his bed, I don't
know. He just started doing it. And I never said anything. Then he never said
anything. And now it just- is."
She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.
"Honey, you have to communicate. You need to ask him
what's going on, you have to talk about your feelings. You can’t tell me that
he hasn’t tried to have sex with you since January.”
“No, he hasn’t,” she argued.
They’d had a good sex life in the beginning, she thought
anyway. Not amazing, she’d never felt the toe-curling ravenous thirst for sex
with Kenneth that she’d always read about in books. But it was decent, and it
made her feel awful that Kenneth never came on to her anymore, feeding her
insecurity and making her feel even more undesirable. She’d always been a
little uptight, but he never said it bothered him, so she’d convinced herself
he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore.
“And don’t tell me I should take the lead," she
finished, "Because I’ve tried. I’ve told him straight out that I wanted to
have sex, I’ve tried wearing slinky nightgowns, lighting candles, all of it.
There’s just no chemistry between us anymore.”
“Did he ever complain about sex?”
“Not really. I mean,” she hesitated, “He did complain
sometimes that I wasn’t present."
"Huh?"
"You know, in the moment.”
“So where were you?”
“I don’t know. In my head I guess.”
“With Dylan?” he asked seriously.
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in annoyance.
The truth was she sometimes was with Dylan, and sometimes
she was with some dark brutal stranger who objectified her and simply wanted to
fuck her stupid, and a million other obscene things that ran through her head
but she could never say out loud. It was more humiliating than admitting she’d
sometimes thought about the grocery shopping, or whether she’d locked the
office before she left.
“Let it go, Jake,” she said coolly, “I’m not the least bit
concerned about my lack of a sex life right now.”
That was an exaggeration. She was concerned. She’d obsessed
over it since before Lauren was born, her libido growing as she’d hit her
thirties. But she’d never been able to get past the guilt she felt over her
sexuality. Virtuosity and modesty were drilled into her over and over growing
up, and when she’d finally risked letting herself enjoy her body, it had ruined
her life. It almost killed her.
So she’d retreated to the demure, respectable girl whose
sexual identity was overshadowed by the shame she’d learned from her mother.
And Savannah was right, it had kept her safe.
“What's going on with you that you're not telling me?"
He wasn't going to let up.
"Jake, I don't know really. I'm just tired. My anxiety
has been terrible, I don't know. I'm worried about Hunter doing well in school,
I don't want to screw up my kids, and you know, it's not exactly easy to live
with somebody right after they failed an attempt at saving some kid who broke his
neck on a football field," her voice rose, tears welling in her eyes.
“Don’t cry, dude,” Jake said concerned, “We’re just
talking.”
"Did you know that kid’s on life support? He might be
brain dead? And listen to this. Do you know whose kid he is?” she yelled, not
caring if Lauren could overhear, “Do you?"
"Simmer down,," Jake demanded as he walked over
and closed her door, "Whose kid is it?"
She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her face,
summoning the courage to say it out loud.
"It's
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