Neighborly(56)

Not that he’s ever given off that impression. Not at all.

My self-esteem was so low when we met. All my confidence came from doing well in school and then at work. I was terrified of relationships, terrified of being truly seen for what I thought I was. I didn’t just have a fear of intimacy; I had a terror. It wasn’t only because of what had happened with Layton, but with Ellen, too. Doug broke through all that with patience and kindness. He was the first person who thought I was worth it. Thought I was worth something.

And now, here he is, hesitating when he should be saying hell no.

It’s just that he’s in shock. Of course he’s going to say no.

“What would your parents think?” I ask. I know it’s kind of a low blow. But they were entirely behind the idea of us moving to this neighborhood. They were willing to put up a whole lot of money to make it happen. His dad’s ex-military; his mom’s a Suzy Homemaker. It’s about as apple pie traditional as a marriage can be, and Doug reveres them both.

“I don’t ask about their sex lives, and they’ve never asked about mine.”

Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s one of the arrangements that was mentioned at girls’ night. Doug and I wouldn’t need to know the specifics of each other’s dalliances.

The air is charged, and not in a good way. Just talking about this is a threat.

I’d presented openness like it was cockamamie, a quirk of our neighbors that we can laugh about, but that’s not how he’s taking it.

“People can get jealous,” I say. “They can get obsessed. It’s hard for a breakup to be truly mutual. There can be gossip and lies. Why subject ourselves to all that? Do we need an orgasm that badly?” I mean the last part as a joke. He doesn’t laugh. And it occurs to me: he might need an orgasm that badly. I haven’t been stepping up in that department.

“Some people must be happy with the arrangement,” Doug says. He pauses a beat, but I’m too upset to answer. “You said people do it all different ways. You make up your own rules. Like, it doesn’t just have to be a license to screw around.” Do I detect an imploring note? Is he actually trying to convince me to give this a shot?

“Do you already know who you’d pick?” I ask, knowing that I’m treading on dangerous ground, but I can’t help myself. Some part of me always thought it would come to this, that he would realize I’m not good enough.

“No.” I’m hoping that he’ll reach for my hand, tell me I’m the only one for him, that he never even thinks of other women. But it would have to be a lie. I mean, he’s a man. He has eyes. Tennyson, Yolanda, even June when she’s done up right—they’re all incredibly attractive women. He might have already had fantasies about them.

“But you like thinking about who you’d pick,” I say.

“That’s not what I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about open marriages. I’ve heard that sometimes they work.”

“What do you mean by ‘work’?”

He stiffens, and again, not in a good way. “I’m just trying to talk to you. We’re adults, right? We can talk about things even if we don’t decide to do them.”

“But you want to do it.”

“I’m not saying that. Most likely, we’ll opt out. But can’t we just think about it first? There’s no rush to say yes or no.”

I know in my heart I’m not strong enough for an arrangement like this. Even before learning about openness, I’d imagined Doug with the other AV women.

“I love you, Doug. I don’t want to share you. I don’t want to be with anyone else but you.”

He nods, keeping his eyes on the road. His face doesn’t soften.

I’m so afraid of not being special anymore in his eyes. Of being replaced. Because whatever I do, even if I force myself to step up my game sexually, I can’t be new for him. I can’t be someone else. But how can I explain that when he won’t even look at me? When he’s barely looked at me for days?

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll say no.”

“You wanted to think about it.”

“But you want to say no. So do it.”

I didn’t want to say no like this.

Pandora’s box is already open, no matter what we do now. The idea of other people is alive in our marriage. We can opt out, but it doesn’t change that there’s an option.

“Are you being honest with me?” he asks.

“About what?”

After a pregnant pause, he says, “Listen, monogamy’s all we’ve known together. Sometimes, when someone’s so familiar . . .”

“It’s not so exciting anymore,” I finish for him. “You’re not that excited by me.”

“Or maybe it’s you who’s not excited by me. You used to initiate sex all the time. Now you never do.”

I initiated sex because seducing him was the only way I could get turned on. Because that was what I’d been taught. But I just don’t have the energy lately or the need to perform. I’m a mother now.

Is that why he’s seemed so angry lately? Because I haven’t been initiating? Or because someone told him what I said about not wanting him? He stayed at Gina and Oliver’s without me. He’s been talking to the guys. And he and Andie had that drink together, late at night, while I was passed out.