Pina Coladas

         Does he think I’m asleep? I lay next to him in bed, back turned to him, breathing steady, fully aware of the distance between us. The way he turns the newspaper pages that he’s reading is so loud. Sleep for me would be impossible while he’s awake. He is always louder than he thinks he is.

                 He definitely thinks I’m sleeping. He put down the paper on top of the bed covers and slides out of bed. The frame squeaks. Where is he going? I hear the junk drawer in the kitchen open.  

                 He comes back to bed, sliding into the sheets in the same way he slid out, filling in the molded dent in the mattress that has formed over the ten years of sleeping here next to each other. He picks the newspaper back up, and I hear him starting to write something. Is he writing on the newspaper? Did he grab a pen and paper from the junk drawer? What is he writing?

                 I imagine spinning around, seeing his reaction. Would he hide what he’s writing? Would he not flinch, would he not even notice that I had turned over?

                 The next morning, I wake before he does. His face buried in his pillow, turned away from the newspaper folded on his nightstand. I reach for it, pinching the edges at the fold to grab it gently and quietly. I start walking out of the bedroom when a pen falls out from within the fold of the newspaper. I bend down to pick up the pen, and a small white piece of paper flutters to the ground. 

I see what he wrote. He did grab a sheet of paper from the junk drawer. And the pen. Our pen. From our wedding. Of every pen he could have grabbed, he grabbed one with our names on it, our wedding date. Was he just so oblivious to the pen? Was it dark and he didn’t realize what one he grabbed? Or did he intentionally write this note, in response to another woman, with our pen. I fear that this man becomes more oblivious to his surroundings as time goes on.

  Sand Dunes, tomorrow at noon.

                  I open the newspaper to the inside fold where the pen and notelet were just living. Circled in blue ink, our blue ink from our wedding pen, is a personal ad. My eyes scan the black printed words over and over.  

                                                     I’m the love that you’ve looked for

Come to me, and escape.

                 He’s going to meet a woman. He’s going to leave me. And he didn’t even try to hide this. I look back at him, head under the pillow and arms twisted wildly in the sheets.  My heart sinks.

                 I folded the notelet and the pen back in the newspaper and returned it to its spot on the nightstand. I mentally clocked their meeting location, and I went for the shower, cancelling all plans for the rest of the day.

                  At quarter of noon, I’ve settled into my chair along the boardwalk. I had been to this spot many times before, so I knew I would have a clear view of the Sand Dunes. He arrived early, just like I knew he would. I watch him for a few moments. He’s pacing, four steps back and four steps forth. He’s smiling. He’s anxious. Giddy even. I feel heat reach my eyes.

                 I stand up from the chair and start walking towards the Sand Dunes. He sees me. He doesn’t appear to be fearful, or indicate from any facial movement that he feels he’s been caught.

                 “Jenny? It’s you?”

                 He thinks I am the woman that wrote that ad. He thinks, in some magical twist of events, we are so cosmically aligned to have met here due to some serendipitous ad.

                 “I didn’t know that you loved the Sand Dunes. I didn’t know… that you wanted to escape.” He lifts his eyebrows, like a young boy waiting to be told he’ll be rewarded.

                 I stare at him. In this moment I have two options: pretend it was me that did write the ad in the first place, and by some romantic chance, he is the only one that responded to the ad. It must mean we are destined to be together. Or, I could take the kitchen knife that’s cradled in my purse at my side and plunge it into his neck.

                 My heart rate picks up. I put one hand on the zipper of my bag.

                 He breaks the silence, chuckles lightly, “I never knew you felt like we were stuck in a boring routine. Why didn’t you tell me?”

                 “You answered the ad, why didn’t you tell me?” I start unzipping my bag.

                 Now is when I see guilt spread across his face. Perhaps now thoughts are entering his little oblivious brain that he has done something wrong, planned to be unfaithful, and has been caught. Now is when thoughts enter his brain that I am not here to meet him in response to the ad, I am not the original author of that ad. Now is when he begins to be aware of the truth of this situation.

                 I was glad to see him sweat. A powerful feeling of being in control pricked at my skin. My life and my relationship had become so dull, gloomy and uninteresting. But now, I had a situation where I could harness the command back. Claim my authority. If anyone was escaping anyone, it would be my decision, my choice, my plans. Not his.

                 “I knew you’d read the paper. I knew you’ve been bored with us. I thought this would spice things up. It was risky, sure, but I was hoping it would turn out this way. ” I lie, Cheshire-Cat smile smeared on my face. I return the zipper on my bag to its closed position.

                 A smirk spreads across his face, curiosity twinkles in his eyes, no trace of guilt left. Oblivious little man cannot even detect a clear lie.

                 “Do you want to go get pina coladas?” He reaches for my hand, and we walk out of the Sand Dunes.