Hi, Emily! Sorry to call at this hour, but I have terrible newsmy wife died in a crash last night Can you let me in? Simon slurs, his words hanging together because hes drunk.
I feel the sting of his request. Even though weve been at odds for a month, I let him into my flat. All the arguments weve had vanish in the face of his grief. Im already feeling responsible for his loss, remembering that Simon and I have been lovers.
Simon doesnt say a word; he pulls me onto the bed. I dont resistI want to soothe him, to hold him, to help him forget for a moment. I cant tell him now how selfish, reckless, and selfish hes become. The night rushes by in a sleepless blur.
In the morning I rouse Simon with difficulty. He has no memory of the night before. Emily, why am I here? We were fighting, he asks, genuinely puzzled.
I dont remind him why he came. I only suspect his drunken ramblings are a mixture of truth and fantasysomething hes capable of. His phone rings; the caller ID reads Lily. Thats what he called his wife. He drops the call and looks at me apologetically, as if something is finally clicking.
Are you an idiot? I snap. You buried her yesterday. How could you joke about it? Get out, you wretched fool! I throw him out the door and never see him again.
Ive lived alone since I was twenty; my parents died one after another. I never rushed into marriagesuitors always swarmed me like bees to honey. Some were stingy, some generous, some already married. With Simon I lasted longer than anyone, because I truly fell in love. I knew he had a family, but I also realized he was a born actorlying, inventing stories came as easily as breathing. He showered me with lavish roses, extravagant gifts, wild nights, yet he never forgot his Lily. He never mistreated his wife, and I wouldnt have been shocked to learn he kept several mistresses. He was a charming, insatiable lover.
While my friends settled down, had children, and built stable lives, I kept seeing Simon, fully aware there was no future. He would never leave his family, so our fights grew more frequent and pointless. Finally, Simons last reckless act puts the final nail in the shaky foundation of our affair. I am free again, searching for a new kind of happiness.
Ian shows up one day. He lives in a small village but works in the city. We meet on the commuter trainhes heading home from work, Im visiting my aunt. He sits next to me, we chat, exchange numbers, and Im impressed that he isnt married. We start dating.
If I compare Ian to Simon, its night and day. Ian is frugal, blunt, and a bit rough around the edges, but I accept his flaws because Im tired of chasing perfection. He invites me to his familys cottage: Mum wants to meet you. Im already pregnant, so I think of wedding dresses and veils, not of a motherinlaws gaze.
We arrive at Ians home; the table overflows with hearty country fare. I cant eat; the nausea returns, and I feel faint. Ians mother eyes me disapprovingly and says to her son, Take our guest to the veranda, let her rest, then keep the food coming. She barely acknowledges me afterward.
The next day Ian silently sees me off at the station and returns to his mother, who clearly dislikes me. I rush into wedding plans, but everything collapses. Im rushed to hospital before I even get home and suffer a miscarriage. The doctor, seeing my distress, comforts me: Dont worry, love. If the babys not healthy, its better this way than to endure a lifetime of suffering. I think, Fine, Ian isnt meant for me. He and his mother seem content enough. I end the relationship with a cold calm, regretless.
Among my lovers was a schoolmate, Ethan. Hed been flirting with me since we were teenagers. I kept him as a backup, letting him think I might one day accept his proposal. He eventually marries a woman with a child, later having a son of his own. About ten years later, Ethan shows up, apologetic and eager to leave his marriage. He rambles about his unhappy home, his mismatched temperament with his wife, the chaos of his life. I listen, nod, and offer the occasional purr of sympathy. One night he bursts in, beaming, Emily, Ive just had a second son! Celebrate! I choke out, Congratulationstell your wife to leave, Ethan, forever! Tears stream down my pillow that night.
At school my best friend Blythe seemed to have it allhusband, daughter, comfortable home. I envied her. Her husband, Mark, never intrigued me. I visited her often; Blythe barely noticed Mark, and we would gossip about anything and everything. One afternoon Blythe breaks down: Emily, Ive fallen in love with a married man, David. He has two kids. I warn her, Dont ruin your own family or his. Youre already happy; dont chase a married lover. She sobs, I cant live without David, Ill abandon everything for him! I try to reason, but shes already out of reach. She stops calling, stops inviting me over.
Months later Mark appears at my door. Hey, Emily. Hows life? Still single? He sighs, Blythe left me. I feel sorry for the abandoned husband and we spend a night talking, which turns into a morning of intimacy. Mark stays with me for six months, and I consider it happiness. How could Blythe have turned down such a perfect man? Yet Mark never proposes; he soon leaves again, this time for a younger colleague with a teenage daughter. They marry and have been together for twenty years.
Blythe eventually marries David, and they claim to have a love story worthy of a novel. I dont believe stolen happiness goes unpunished; two families have suffered because of it. I havent seen Blythe in over twenty years.
People ask how Im doing. Ive tended to broken, wounded, drooping wings of countless hearts, only to watch the men fly back to their wives. Time keeps slipping away. As my grandmother used to say, Every girl has her season, and it fades. My season has come. The carousel of my life has stopped. Princes no longer knock on my window. I adopt a pedigree cat named Whiskers to have someone to care for and confide in. I remain single, childless, and my plans never materialise.
