Alone Time

She let him know that he needed to come home right after work. Some nights, he’d stop at the Chili’s on the side of the highway and get himself a margarita. This was something he did alone, and she knew about it. They’d joke about how much time he spends alone. Given the choice, Mark would spend his entire life alone. It seemed like a fluke that he ended up married, but Rene also enjoyed her alone time.

Just not as much as her husband did.

While she sat on one of the highchairs in their kitchen, she asked herself if she would have preferred to find a photo indicating some kind of adultery. A photo of a naked woman in their bed or her husband kissing a stranger on a Ferris Wheel. Her friend Gabby regularly snooped on her husband’s laptop, and a few years ago, she’d confessed to Rene that she’d found an old email from a man and it was clear there had been an affair. Gabby didn’t ask for a divorce. She told Rene that had her husband cheated on her with a woman, she’d have been inconsolable, but a man just meant that she was married to a bisexual, and there wasn’t anything threatening about that. It actually made her husband seem more interesting. When Rene pulled the photo out from the bottom of Mark’s t-shirt drawer in a bout of unexpected spring cleaning, the word “interesting” was the first one that popped into her head. Maybe that photo would make her quiet, unassuming husband seem more interesting after nine uneventful years of marriage.

Instead it made her blood go cold.

Mark arrived shortly after six. Rene could feel his anxiety before he even walked in the door. When you’re close enough to someone, you can feel the emotion behind their everyday actions. The way they push the alarm button on their car. The way their footsteps hit the driveway. The way they open the front door. Did he know why she asked him to come home right away? He wasn’t moving as though he worried it might be an emergency. His response to her text message was a simple “Okay.” Maybe he could sense her emotions as well. Maybe he knew what the verdict would be before the trial even started.

The photograph had been placed on the counter next to a photo of them in Italy on their third anniversary. Rene had already decided that she would not apologize for coming across the photo. It had not been her intent. She was not an investigator like Gabby. She had always afforded Mark more privacy than most spouses would grant. When he told her he’d be out late, she never asked why. When she saw him staring at a beautiful woman when they were out somewhere, she didn’t chastise him for it. Once, after making love, he asked her if she would be opposed to opening up their marriage. She thought about it for a few seconds before replying that she would be fine with it, because she was confident she would benefit from it much more than he would. Mark was a handsome man, but Rene was a knockout. If he wanted to step out now and again, that was fine with her, but she could positively tap dance if she wanted to, and they both knew it. They went to sleep and never followed up on the conversation, but both seemed to understand that monogamy wasn’t something they loved, but something they preferred. People were trouble and marriage is hard. Mix more personalities into a relationship, and what good could come of it?

Besides, they did love their alone time. Mark, especially.

“What is this,” Rene asked Mark, even though the photo was fairly self-explanatory.

He leaned against the counter and looked down at the photo.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean for you to see it.”

“Clearly,” she said, clearing her throat, trying not to become emotional, “I want to know what’s going on. What is this, Mark?”

Mark shook his head. She could see that he didn’t have an answer for her. She wasn’t sure what the answer would be. Perhaps there wasn’t one. Not everything had an answer.

“I need you to know,” she said, contemplating reaching for his hand, “That I am deeply disturbed by this. Deeply.”

He picked up the photo and stared at it as though he were studying it. Looking for a clue. If Rene didn’t know that he was the subject of the photo, she would think he was seeing it for the first time. Mark tapped the counter with the bottom of the photo, and then set it down. He walked to the fridge, and pulled out a can of soda. It was this new brand that’s meant to be good for the gut, but it was still loaded with sugar. Mark was a chainsmoker who went to the gym religiously. Everything in his life seemed to be a contradiction. One thing cancelling out another. Rene knew she was no exception. There was something about him that was inherently single despite the longevity of their marriage. If nothing else, she was sure he was happy.

Now, the photo.

Mark popped the soda and took a gulp. He winced as though it were a shot. Another belt of the probiotic, grape-flavored nonsense, and that was that. He looked at her with what seemed to be a combination of remorse and relief.

“I wanted it documented,” he said, “I don’t know why. I’ve never been like that. You know me. You’ve known me for--You know I’m not like that. This was--I don’t remember. This was over a year ago. It was out of nowhere. I woke up one day and you were--I think you were at your sister’s house. You were helping her with the move, I think. I woke up and it was like--Like I had been dropped into another reality. Another reality in someone else’s body. Nothing felt familiar. Everything felt disturbing for me. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but there was no way for me to tell. I went back to bed, and I found I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even pinch myself to try and wake up. I realized I was awake and a panic attack set in. I haven’t had a panic attack since I was a kid. Not since the day my dad was in that accident where we almost lost him. Finally, I managed to sit up and--slowly--I felt myself coming back to who it is I believe myself to be. But, for some reason, before that happened, I wanted proof that the whole thing wasn’t--in my head. Imaginary. That’s why the photo exists. That’s--that’s why.”

It was the kind of confession that was just surreal enough to be believable. Rene had never experienced the kind of moment that Mark described. Her dreams were always colorful as opposed to visceral. There would be hues and tones as though she were floating through clouds, and when she woke up, she’d feel as though someone had placed her carefully in bed next to her husband. This is what she was thinking when Mark came around from behind her and put his arms around her. He leaned his head against hers, and she felt him exhale against her neck.

Her husband had not been himself. Then, he had. Somewhere along the way, he wanted to remember this day when he had not been himself. She didn’t know why. He didn’t seem to know why either. What was there to do with all that?

It occurred to her then that the photo was not a selfie. It was a photo of him sitting on the edge of the bed with tears streaming down his face. His mouth was open and you could tell that he was sobbing. If you looked closely, you could even see the places on his shirt where the tears had fallen. For some reason, it wasn’t until then that Rene asked herself who could have taken the picture.

A second later, her hands reached up to grab Mark’s arms and pull them even tighter around her. That was how she dismissed the question.

Everything could stay just the way it was.