We Take this Man by Candice Dow, Daaimah S. Poole Page B

it could be just that I’ve had blinders on. You know, I always felt like you get married and you just stick it out. Other women were never an option. But I guess when you’re away from home and away from your kids . . .” He sighed deeply, as if that was what pained him most. “You start losing focus and connection, and before you know it, you’re here.” I raised my eyebrow for him to explain, and he continued, “Thinking about how life would be with someone like you.”
    “So, one day, you’re happily married, and the next you’re sitting here with me . . .”
    “It’s been more than one day since I was happily married. It’s gone downhill from the moment I told her I was moving. All she really cares about is how it affects her. I’m a good man and I know it. I’ve told her several times that she won’t be happy till I’m really gone.”
    “So have you guys discussed breaking up?”
    “Well she won’t budge. I can’t afford to budge; hell, we
are
going to break up. What do you think?” He reached for my hand and scooted his chair close to mine. “I don’t know, but I’m glad that we’re talking again.”
    Talking?
That didn’t really settle well, but he pulled my hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “Maybe some things happen for a reason.”
    There were no more words needed to describe this feeling. So I made the suggestion to get back to work and Dwight seemed to appreciate it. We began looking at the problem on the computer. He tapped on the keyboard with one hand and casually kissed our clasped hands. As he tried to track down the problem, I admired him and imagined the possibilities.
    We primarily discussed work, but as the hours ticked by rapidly, we certainly got more acquainted. My mind had wandered down between his legs, as he rubbed my back, massaged my shoulders, and stared into my eyes. He was Mr. Right Now. Here and now, his touch felt right even if it was wrong.
    We probably would have had the systems up before six in the morning if we weren’t so touchy-feely. It was clear that neither of us planned on coming into work. I went to my desk to put an out-of-the-office message on my screen and Dwight did the same. We rushed out of the building before the early comers caught us. We felt guilty for doing our job.
    As we headed out of the building, he asked, “Where you going?”
    “Wherever you’re going.” He smiled and walked toward me, as if he thought it would be fine for us to ride together. I shook my head. “Dwight, we need to take separate cars.”
    “Oh yeah, you’re right. I’ll meet you at Bob Evans.”
    “Let’s go to the one near my house.”
    As I drove to breakfast, it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a bit of sleep and it would only be a matter of minutes before I crashed. What the hell was I surviving on?
    Though Dwight pulled into the parking lot immediately after me, he was standing at my car door before I could get out. The morning show radio hosts had posed a question about the increase of men wearing makeup and if you could handle a man that wore foundation. I unlocked the door after he tugged twice on the handle. I said, “I was listening to something.”
    “I know you’re hungry.”
    “I am but . . .”
    I was interrupted by his arm around my shoulder. We went into the restaurant and I was surprised how many people were there at six-thirty on a weekday morning. They were primarily elderly couples. When I commented about them, Dwight said, “That’s what it’s all for.”
    “What?”
    “The whole stress of marriage and raising kids is so we won’t grow old alone.”
    “That’s not what it’s all for.”
    “What do you think is the purpose of stressing yourself out while you’re young and vibrant?”
    “For love?”
    “You don’t have to get married to be in love.”
    “You got a point, but I think marriage is more than just so you don’t grow old alone.”
    He laughed. “Okay.”
    “Is that why you got married?”
    He laughed harder.