Coming from him, it was an uncharacteristic comment. I assumed the drugs were now shaking hands with the bourbon, and they were getting along. At sixty-three, he could still hold his liquor, but this might not be true with whatever drugs were strolling though his system.
“Thanks. She is a fine woman.”
“So was your mother.”
“I know, Dad… Listen, you had a good marriage, right? I mean, all along, right?”
“Why do you ask? Did you hear something?”
“No reason. I mean, I was talking with someone the other day about the Seven-Year-Itch. Well, Harold in fact. I don’t recall you and mom ever having any problems.”
He adjusted his posture to raise his back. This gave him a more dignified look as he refilled his cup.
“We had our problems, sure. All couples do.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they do.”
“Are you having problems with Susan? Does it involve Harry?”
“No, not at all. It’s just, well, we’re coming up on seven years.” Why would he wonder if it involved Harold? Several dots suggested themselves though I wasn’t sure where they might connect.
“The Seven-Year-Itch, that’s about infidelity. You’re not being unfaithful to Susan, are you? If you are, I’ll come over there and empty this bag over your head.” He nodded to the bag holding the stream from his catheter.
“No! Nothing like it.”
“Good. Doing things behind each other’s back is a sure sign of trouble. A couple has to be open about everything, even when it’s uncomfortable to do so.”
“Susan and I would never lie to each other.”
“That only happens when you’re doing something you don’t want the other person to know about. So, don’t do stuff you wouldn’t tell your wife you were doing.”
“What about feelings you’re having?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He seemed impatient for me to be more specific.
“You know, thoughts?”
He took a beat.
“Like what?” He had now switched to his fatherly voice, which he used when putting his impatience aside to show empathy instead. I could almost hear my mother’s voice instructing him now. He continued in a more quiet voice: “I have a feeling you’re having trouble telling me what you want to say.”
“Well, the Seven-Year-Itch thing. Did you ever think about having an affair?”
“Oh, Christ. Sure I did. All the time. Hell, I’m human, son.”
“And you never acted on it? You never had an affair, in all those years?”
“For twenty-five years I never had an affair. Nor did your mother.”
“Okay. Sorry I asked. It was rude of me.”
He studied his hand and the tube running from his wrist to an IV drip, then took a deep breath.
“Look, son,” he said. “I know I’m running out of time here. Nothing imminent, of course—I’m only in here now because I played too much Goddamn tennis and wore out my joints. What I mean is, things aren’t always as they seem, and you should know this. Your mother and I had a good marriage, but it took work, you know. We had to adapt as we went along. All couples do.”
He paused to drink the rest of his bourbon and water before continuing.
“Your mother and I didn’t have affairs, but that doesn’t mean we never slept with other people.” The only way this could have come out was if the drugs and bourbon were now having a party.
This news caused my heart to race. I had been prepared for him to admit to an affair, but not this, and certainly not the “we” that included my mother in a sentence concluding with the prospect of extramarital affairs.
“Isn’t that the same thing? An affair is an affair.” I may have sounded like a frightened child just learning his parents were getting a divorce.
“Not by a long shot! You have affairs in secret, at least that was the case for my generation. What you people are up to who the hell knows? But I had your mother’s consent, and she had mine. It was the best thing we ever did for our marriage.”
“Jesus.”
“Jesus had nothing to do with it… And that’s all I’ll say on the matter, okay? I just thought you should know in case you and Susan find yourselves in the same place some day. You have to consider all the options. Sometimes you need to blow some steam, or reset the governor. There’s no reason to blow up a marriage because you suffer from natural instincts.”
“No, I suppose not... What do you mean by ‘same place’? What place were you two in?”
“The place where you’re still fully in love with each other, but physically you’re no longer feeling it. Do I need to spell it out?”
“NO! I mean, no. I get it.”
“Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”
“It’ll take me time to digest, I suppose. But I understand the words—I mean what you’re telling me. You and Mom did what you had to do to save the marriage.”
“No! Not ‘save’ the marriage. At no point was it in danger. We wanted it to thrive in every way possible. We found a way.”
“I think I get it.”
“Good.”
“You and mom were pretty progressive.”
“Not as much as you might think. My generation got up to all sorts of mischief. A lot of us viewed monogamy like Santa Claus—a matter of wishful thinking. Believing in stuff that isn’t true or healthy for you can lead to trouble. You’ve got to face the facts.”
“Boys like girls. Girls like boys.”
“And they thrive on variety.” He stared at his now empty cup. “Look, what do you think a man thinks about when he gets to be my age, say, when he’s reviewing his life?”
“I have no idea. His successes? His accomplishments?”
“Some of that, maybe. But those are never the highlights.”
“No? What then? Family?”
“Family, sure. For me, your mother of course. But the true highlights are those involving romance, you know, where you’ve been with your love life. I’m speaking of the
