So far, no regrets about yesterday.
Except for the slight pang of remorse I felt this morningupon waking, recalling last night’s drink-and-flirt session with Lenny. Did Igo too far? I can’t really remember what I said, which might just be for thebest.
Instead of dwelling on anything potentially negative, likemy marital malaise or my tendency to want to stray both physically andemotionally from all responsibilities—Ha ha! What a mess!—I continue readingthat delicious novel about absolutely nothing. The train eventually comes, andI move, book open and eyes reading, into a seat, enjoying the cheesy pleasureof escapism for the better part of the morning.
Getting up to stretch around New Haven is a ritual withme. I used to ride this train all the time to visit my aunt, who lived outsideBoston. It was an adventure as a teenager to take such a long train ride alone.I still love the feeling of watching the countryside roll by, glimpsing the NewEngland towns and clapboard homes along the way. I would put something by PhilCollins on my Walkman, tilt my head against the glass windowpane, and let mymind be still. That train ride always felt like a mini vacation, and on thisbright, April morning, it doesn’t disappoint.
I take a walk to the dining car and scroll through a listof incoming e-mails while waiting in line for a cup of coffee. There are aboutten different messages from Facebook friends commenting on Lenny’s latestvideo. Jamie in California has stopped writing about herself and her childrenfor once, deciding instead to drool over Lenny. I feel a high school–likeemotion rising in me as I read her gushing reports about how Lenny was “alwaysso creative, bright and clever—not to mention cute!” when we were teenagers.
How dare she act like she really knows Lenny? Whenwas the last time she even spoke to him? I wonder. She didn’t even make it toour twentieth reunion, thank you very much. There’s a territorial, nauseating,cheerleaderish feeling mounting in me. I try to push it away, but it just won’tbudge.
I’m jealous.
Ohmigod, I’m such a loser. Who gets jealous about awoman’s comments about a man who doesn’t belong to either of them? Why doesbeing around high school friends immediately put me back into high school mode?It’s like I’ve made absolutely no progress. I might as well be back inpre-calculus faking stomach cramps to go hang out behind the dumpster and smokecigarettes with my best guy friend, Tom. Inhaling deeply, we would dish abouteveryone and scheme ways to get alcohol out of his parents’ locked cabinet inthe basement. Then we would go off campus and sit by the duck pond, tossingstale bread into the water and dreaming about getting out of this little town.
Needless to say, I got a D in precalculus.
And after college, I moved right back to this same littletown, to teach kids who would then cut my class by lying about having stomachcramps.
Oh, the irony.
So, naturally, I do what any mature woman about to turnforty and married with two children would do. As the train pulls out of NewHaven and makes its way farther north, I text Lenny.
Looks like the new video is a hit!
It’s just a friendly little hello, like passing notes duringscience class, but it makes me feel instantly calmer. I’ve staked my claim onLenny, even if Jamie in California doesn’t know.
As I’m deleting spam, Lenny writes back.
Good morning, beautiful. You look lovely today. Got yourbeauty rest, I see.
Playful and just slightly too familiar. Either his job isreally dull or I’m the most exciting person in his gravitational pull.
I go with the latter.
Me: So true. I was mistaken for Gwyneth twice alreadythis morning. Speaking of fabulous, how’d the video turn out?
Lenny: Ah. Wouldn’t you like to know?
The compulsively charming bastard. Teasing and tempting me.My pointer fingers fly from key to key as I try to keep up the volley on myphone’s small screen.
Me: Breathless with anticipation. I checked my inboxwhen I woke up, but you weren’t there.
Lenny: I like being in your inbox.
Me: I was going to respond with “and I like havingyou there,” but that just sounds wrong.
Lenny: But, oh, it sounds so right.
Me: Yeegads! Sometimes I can’t tell if your tone istongue in cheek or molesterish.
Lenny: Yeegads? With tongue, definitely.
I am about to write back when Lenny interrupts me withanother text.
Hey—just got an update from YouTube. 200,000 hits on myhealth care reform video since it premiered yesterday. I think this thing isgonna go viral!
Going viral? Who talks like that except for Internethipsters and their hacker counterpoints? Not being fluent in tech-savvy lingomakes me feel old. I instinctively touch my forehead for confirmation of my ageand find that the ridge between my brows seems less pronounced.
Me: Congrats on maybe going viral!
Lenny: It’s only happened one other time in my life.Remember when I made out with Karen Zinns after Homecoming and I gave her mononucleosisand then she kissed some alumni linebacker the next day at the game and gavehim mono, and then he passed it on to Coach Bill?
Me: Now, that’s a fun way to get sick.
Doug Worthing: Huh? Is that your response to my text?
Did I just write that…to Doug? Where did he come from? Myheart drops in free-fall and I frantically scroll back to see what I’ve justdone. Then time sort of slows down as I prepare for the impact of this mistake.It’s the real-life version of the moment in the movie when a kid on a bicycleis about to get hit by a car and an onlooker runs into the street and screams“Noooooo…!”
How much has Doug seen? When did he replace Lenny?
I scroll up my phone to check the damage.
Meanwhile, Lenny continues our texting dialogue in ignorantbliss.
And to think, it could have been you I diseased.
I know this is impossible, but I feel like Doug is suddenlyin the room with me, reading over my shoulder. My cheeks are flushed like theywere last night from the embarrassment of illegal flirtationshiping.
I once read that deep blushing was a sign of sexualarousal, and as that thought enters my brain right now, I
