LONG WEEKEND

Do you remember, when you were younger, how time flowed freely, being unencumbered by duty, and a weekend at the cottage simply entailed tossing a suitcase in the trunk cuddled up with a plethora of alcoholic beverage? Welcome to adulthood brimming, overflowing, drowning your hold on life-work balance.

Here you sit, a sweating can of cider on the Muskoka chair arm, face warmed by the flickering flames of the fire, part of the circle of your dearest beloved friends. Oh, also, their partners, kids, pets, yeah: just like you remembered!

Around eleven, you are finally alone with your pals. You relish the crisp air, the crackle and crinkle of the flames, the cooling cascade of alcohol down your gullet. At this moment, it doesn’t get much better,

By midnight, where once you would have stayed awake, alert through to the sun-rise, now weariness invades, yawning infecting the assembled. and so with regret, with remorse, off you pad to bed, sliding with care in beside your life partner, the father of your child.

No longer the serene alarm clock of chirping birds, now it’s crying, clomping footsteps, that persistent pushing on your shoulder. Each day is like a road-race: at the starting gun it’s breakfast, assemble the necessities for a hike, changing for swimming; kids swimming, you lifeguarding, then changing for naps — now you nap too.

This second night there’s more synchronicity, not the previous pattern, a revision to the former status quo when flying solo, being a single, set the standard. Your unit is commingled with a multitude of other groupings, none of the usual, expected, normal modes coalescing. It’s all-new, transforming moment by minute, you find it tiring, troublesome, torturous. What had been a long-overdue weekend misted with memories, potentiality, is fraught with festering fecundity.

Just when your tolerance touches it’s toes, crushing them, a visitor, not expected, most welcomed, steps upon your sill: Leo Sill. Leo and you were quite the duo; platonically paired, suppressing the sexual sizzling, out of contact for decades. Now you stand, surrounded by his swarthy arms, snuggled up with his scent; you savour these sensual seconds. You flip through the files in your mind, trying to figure out how Leo came to be at your family’s cottage. Ah, your secretive, not-so-innocent Facebook fanciful forage!

As you walk, arm-in-arm into the great room, every eye examines, enjoining, enquiring. 

‘Hi, everybody, this is Leo. Leo is an old uni friend who just arrived. Leo, this is everybody.” Your voice sounds tremulous. Clay’s eyebrows careen upwards, his pupils pinpointed on yours. “Leo, let me introduce my husband, Clay, he’s seated at the head of the table.” Clay nods. You choose to look away. “I’ll find you a chair, set a space for you and then we’ll go around the table for introductions. Leo is fantastic with remembering names, so Leo, there’ll be a test!” 

You feel relieved to have the job of fetching a chair, getting a place setting, snuggling Leo far away, near Clay, so you can gaze on him without appearing to stare. Knowing Leo as you do, it comes as no surprise how seamlessly he integrates with the group, chit-chatting with charm throughout the remainder of the evening.

As bedtime looms, you and Leo find yourselves alone, staring into the linen closet, as you choose bed linens for the hide-a-bed, directly outside your bedroom, where Clay waits for you. Of course, being a helpful host, you make up the bed, plumping the pillows, leaving folded towels on the foot.

Your breath catches in your throat, as your hands touch. Wouldn’t you like to pause, to turn, but you join Clay in your marital bed? You are certain Clay can read your thoughts, envision your erotic longings. Your body is encased in guilt, dripping between your breasts, at the crux of your thighs, delicious, decadent, depraved.

“Got Leo all settled?” Clay’s rhetorical statement hangs between you. “So curious, however, did he track you down?”

“Mmm.”

“Funny how I don’t recollect you talking about Leo. Weird since he seems to have been a bosom pal.”

“Oh, Clay, I’ve often mentioned him, you know my friend from uni.”

“Oh, that UNNAMED friend, non-gender specific, leaving me to assume, wrongly, that he was a she.”

Clay leans on one elbow, gazing down at me, confusion cascading through his expression. You are silent. You have nothing to say.

“Darling, let’s go to sleep.” You yawn, “it’s tomorrow already!”

Clay lies back, shuts off his bedside lamp, right beside you, but with no physical connection, his hands across his abdomen, almost like he lies in a coffin. You find his stillness, his silence, his space scary, as you stare sightless, seeking to smooth your breath.

When you pass your arm across to caress Clay, your hand finds crumpled sheets, long cooled. If you had hoped to awake rejuvenated, you are groggy and grumpy. Sitting up, you discover a note from Clay.

Hi love,

Woke early. Didn’t want to wake you after the late night. Leo and I are going to explore the lake and get in some fishing. Should be home for cocktails around 4.

Lots of love,

Clay



You beg off participating in the group outing to who-knows-where doing -who-knows-what. You feel lighter and more at peace in the quiet solitude of the cottage, free to meander inside or out, at your rhythm, letting your mind sift through the sands of sensations.

You are a grown woman, married with a child, in love with your husband, not so enamoured of this cottage weekend with friends and their families. You feel trapped, trampled by too many of everyone. 

Three o’clock announces itself by slamming doors, chipper chatter. This is the witching hour; the fork in the road; time to decide which direction to go. Do you remain on your trail accompanied by Clay, your child, your life as you have known it for decades, or door number two?

Through the sunroom panes, Clay and Leo saunter up from the dock, ever closer, until, looking up, they enter the sunroom. You close your novel, a sincere smile on your face. You are again at peace.

Are you unfaithful, cheating on your spouse if you sin, lust solely in your mind? Is it okay to emotionally cheat, like you have with Leo? If you were in Clay’s position, what would be your response? Now to your dilemma: what will you do? What is to be your choice?