It’s hard to move on in a small town. Maybe that’s why Jeanine and I have struggled so much to strike a balance between our ups and downs. In the past fifteen years, our marriage has gone through many seasons. Some of them linger, like these Nova Scotian winters that often don’t let up until May. We were in the middle of a long-awaited summer when I ran into Ted.
I was stuck in the produce section of our local grocery store. Partly, because I was marvelling at how well we were doing—we had made a New Year's resolution not to order takeout except for special occasions, and here I was, in mid-March, filling a cart in the name of Chinese night—and, partly because I forgot my phone in the car, along with the list Jeanine texted me. She was in the car, too, and was doubtless shaking her head at my forgetfulness, expecting me to return short-handed.
I had the list mostly memorized. I remembered that I only needed seven items. I already had the ginger root, wonton wrappers, shallots, and bean sprouts. I knew we needed dark soy sauce and cherry sauce. The last thing was bok choy. The problem was that I didn’t know what type of bok choy she wanted. There was baby bok choy and Shanghai bok choy. I had spent the better part of five minutes handling packages of both, trying to determine which one she used the last time. I had already put each of them in the cart, then thought better of it and returned each one to the shelf. I thought about abandoning my cart and going back to the car for my phone—that’s what Jeanine would have wanted me to do—I worried that if I did, a grocery worker would take up my cart and reshelve the items I had gathered. I imagined returning to the store and being met with glares from grocery workers, disgusted by my poor shopping etiquette. Besides, I was in a rush.
There was a snowstorm in the forecast. The idea was that we were going to cook dinner together, then have a romantic night inside, storm watching. For weeks, Jeanine had been complaining about how sore her feet were, saying that they needed a massage. In our relationship, a foot massage almost always leads to sex. I thought I would surprise her by offering one after dinner. I was also going to surprise her by stopping by the liquor store on the way home and picking up a bottle of Sangiovese. We used to drink boxes of the stuff until Jeanine’s perimenopause kicked in, then she abstained from drinking altogether. Although she claimed it was the red wine headaches, I always suspected that Jeanine’s changing metabolism and late-thirties weight gain were the real reasons for her abstinence.
The liquor store was closing at five, and it was already past four. By the time I finished in the checkout line and drove through the now adding-up snow to the liquor store, I was going to be cutting it close. I had to decide which bok choy to choose and fast. I was fairly certain that baby bok choy was the one she wanted, and I knew that if I chose wrong, the night would be ruined. I was about to finalize my decision when I heard a familiar voice behind me, “Kyle?” the voice asked.
I turned to face the speaker. At first, I didn’t recognize him. He was in his late fifties, maybe even sixty, and tall—taller than me. He had a bottle of kombucha in his hand, and it looked like he was headed to the register with it. His hair was full grey, and deep-set lines ran the length of his gaunt, freshly shaved face. From the look of the neck sinew that stretched up out of his blue puffer jacket, I knew the thin body beneath his layers was fit.
“How are things?” he asked me.
As I scanned my memory for signs of recollection, I smelled a hint of his expensive smelling, bergamoty cologne. That’s when it hit me.
“Ted!” I sounded too optimistic, despite the quiver in my voice. “I’m doing great. Doing great,” I repeated, like someone suffering from echolalia. I was taken aback. His voice had grown slightly gravelly, his once full face had sunken, and he looked about thirty pounds lighter than the last time I saw him, yet he seemed as cool as ever. I sensed that he felt my awkwardness, which put me ill at ease.
“Good,” Ted said, “I’m glad to hear it. How’s Jeanine?”
I told him we were both doing very well. I gestured to the cart and nervously told him about the night we had planned. He smiled this wry little smile and nodded along as I rambled. Afterward, he said that if we wanted some company after dinner, he was free for the evening. I lied that I would pass on the message to Jeanine. Without looking, I threw the closest bag of bok choy into my cart and told him I had better get running, before the liquor store closed. As I started to walk away, he asked if I would like his number. I apologized and lied again, saying that I would, but couldn’t, as I had forgotten my phone. I told him that I really must be going. Ted said, “That’s too bad. Take care, Kyle.” His use of my name felt as patronizing as ever, and I was happy to be out of there.
Since Ted was walking toward the registers behind me when we met, I walked in the opposite direction and wandered the aisles for several minutes after our encounter. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t end up behind him in the checkout line. As I feigned browsing sauce labels in the ethnic food aisle, I thought about the times Jeanine and I spent with Ted.
We were going through a rough patch. We had been married for five years, and the relationship was starting to feel stale. We both wanted to have kids, and we tried for those first few years, but nothing happened. Our fertility specialist said that I have low sperm motility, a condition called asthenospermia, which means my sperm are poor swimmers. Jeanine has a condition, too—Some sort of hormonal imbalance. The doctor actually said that our odds of getting pregnant were practically negligible.
Even before that, sex had started to feel like a chore to me. It wasn't like it used to be. It was all dates and cycles. Jeanine even had an app that would send alerts when she was most fertile. Whenever that happened, she expected me to stop what we were doing and go straight to the bedroom. That may sound idyllic to some men, but it was joyless. Once we finally learned that our efforts had been a waste of time, that was it. I couldn’t be bothered anymore. After our first year of celibacy, Jeanine accused me of being gay. After our second year, she threatened divorce if we didn’t do something drastic.
When she first told me about Ted, we had been drinking. I don’t think that was a coincidence. We were both thirty, and she explained that she had been talking to an older guy, in his early forties. When she made her proposal, it felt more like an ultimatum than a question. The relationship had been reduced to working overtime, arguing about divorce, and getting drunk together on the weekends. Still, I didn’t want to lose her. Of course, I didn’t want to do what she was proposing, either.
She said that Ted told her he was interested in both of us, but it never seemed that way to me. Sometimes, I wonder if she lied about that. I know now that Ted lied. Back then, when he had brown hair and a muscular build, early forties seemed plausible. After seeing him in the grocery store, I knew there was no way he was that young. Unless Jeanine lied about that part, too. Either way, seeing how old he had gotten brought me some comfort.
A part of me wanted to tell Jeanine how weathered and whittled down Ted looked, like someone just starting remission. We never talked about Ted, though. There was no point, really. We have had some memorable fights in the ten years since we knew Ted, and not once has his name been mentioned. Divorce has been threatened, and rethreatened, and names have been called, with zero utterances about Ted. The closest reference came a few years ago, when Jeanine slurred, “You] never made me orgasm!” during one of our nastier bouts. At the time, her inflection hurt me. I don’t think she remembered saying it by the following morning, which was a relief.
When I got to the checkout, Ted was gone. As I loaded my things onto the belt, I realized I grabbed the Shanghai bok choy. Suddenly, I distinctly remembered reading “baby bok choy” on the list. It was too late. I would barely make it to the liquor store as it was. Jeanine would have to settle for the leafier vegetable.
I finished paying and rolled my cart into the foyer. I lifted the bags from my cart and stood behind the threshold of the automated sliding doors as I scanned the parking lot for our car. There was a curtain of billowing snow in front of me. If I wandered in the snow looking to see where I parked, I would be soaked before we made it home. I decided to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust. When I finally saw our car, it was parked alongside the cart corral, which is where Jeanine told me to park so I wouldn’t forget my parking spot again. Ted was standing by the passenger side window.
I knew it was him from his tall frame and blue jacket. My heart raced. I watched for a few minutes, waiting for him to leave, but he didn’t. With each lull in the snow squall, I could see them more clearly. Jeanine kept laughing. After a while, Ted pulled something from his pocket and leaned against our car with his shoulders hunched and his hands together in front of him. I could see Jeanine’s smile illuminated by her phone. I knew that if I went to the car, it would only be awkward for me; Ted would keep talking. Besides, Jeanine looked like she was having a good time, and I didn’t want to upset her. I want her to be happy, so I turned around to exchange the bok choy.