If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...
It’s 6 pm. I’m feeding the baby her dinner, waiting for my husband to call. He’s out of town for a while and I miss him dreadfully.
The phone rings. The caller ID reveals an unfamiliar caller.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Trish?” a man’s voice asks.
“It’s Jay. Do you remember me? From college.”
“Oh my God! Jay! Hi! How are you?!” my heart is fluttering with excitement. While I’d like to think I don’t know why, I do. I know damn well why I’m excited. This guy, this man, is H-O-T hot and I always wondered why I never…
“Well, anyway, remember when you were still here, I told you I had a friend who lived near you? I’m here, in town, visiting that friend…and I…uh…thought maybe we could have lunch or something.”He sounds nervous. Maybe. I might just be wishing he sounds nervous.
“Sure! Do you mind if the baby comes along?”
“Of course not.” He pauses for a moment and I almost speak to break the awkward silence. “Will your husband be joining us?”
“No. He’s not home this week. He’d love to meet you, though, I’m sure.”
After we set a date and time, we end our conversation. I’m still nervous and very excited. I finish feeding the baby and go through my closet for something to wear. I even frantically sort through my stock of makeup, and lay out on the bathroom counter what I’ll use the following day to make myself pretty. I usually only feel this way for my husband, and I wish I didn’t feel this way now. Doesn’t it make me a bad person? To find another man, other than your husband, the father of your child, attractive is bad, right?
The following day we meet for lunch and he’s just as I remember him. Tall, dark, handsome. Taller than most men I would ever even look at. And still preppy. He’s wearing Dockers pants and a red striped polo shirt. I think he’s wearing cologne, but I’m not sure. He smells good anyway. It could just be detergent or deodorant. He opens doors for me, comments on how much the baby looks like me, and pays for my lunch.
At the end of our lunch I comment that it’s close to baby’s naptime. I imagine he’ll tell me he had a wonderful time but he needed to return to his friend’s house.
Instead he says, “That’s a shame. I’ve had a blast talking to you and catching up.”
“Me, too. Listen, do you want to come back to my place for coffee?”
An hour later we’re comfortable in my living room, while the baby sleeps in her room, talking about anything and everything. I feel a definite tension between us, like we have things in our minds to say to each other but don’t. I feel comfortable enough around him to touch his arm at certain times during our conversation. The nervousness has faded into familiar comfort, just like I felt during our college days.
Jay says quietly, “I really liked you back at school.”
I laugh and say, “I liked you, too! You were such a great friend.”
“No. I mean, I really liked you.”There’s an odd silence again as he stares a hole in my head. He says again, “I really liked you. You remember the day we had lunch, and you tried my black beer?”
“Yeah. And Tanya was there, acting like an idiot.”
He chuckles while rolling his eyes, “I hated her.”
“Me too!” I say, amid laughter. “What about that day?”
“I wanted to ask you back to my place so badly.”
“For coffee?” I suggest, grinning slyly.
Jay kisses me and I like it. I like it a lot. I like it so much that I let go of all my inhibitions and let my temptress out to play.
That never happened. It never will happen. It’s just a scenario I play in my mind sometimes at night, when I’m alone and lonely. Sometimes the scenario takes place after one of our many college lunches. Sometimes it takes place in his car.
I remember Jay well. Maybe too well. I even found a picture of him on the internet and I look at it sometimes. There were several times in college when we were so close to acting on something, some unspoken desire, and yet we never did. The electricity, the desire, was definitely there.
But, for most of the time I knew Jay, I was an engaged gal. I was taken and absolutely in love with my fiancé (now husband.) I was the kind of girl who would never even entertain a thought as lurid as the one I play in my head now. I always felt that imagining cheating on my husband meant I may as well do it. I feel like trash when I think about Jay. And yet, something about it makes me wish I had acted on my feelings before, when I was in college with Jay. I’ve never thought about Jay while with my husband, and I never will.
For now I just think, “Shoulda, coulda, woulda.”