Decision

Edwina hadn’t been in the bathroom alternately weeping and wordlessly growling for more than 30 minutes before she realized it wasn’t the kind of place that would offer a solution or a release, private as it was. Wanting her marriage to run smoothly, she had to decide whether to speak to Orville in a pleasant-but-distant manner, give him the utterly cold shoulder, or confront him directly about the receipt she’d found in his car. After four years, the only tactic she’d ever used was the first: pleasant-but-distant. Maybe her overuse of this tactic had led to a gap between them? But no, Orville had been absolutely wrong to do such a thing without consulting her! What made him think it was acceptable? Had he considered NEVER telling her? They were supposed to be “one flesh,” she thought, absurdly. Ha! This was the second time during this emotional upheaval that she’d made herself laugh! “One flesh” was a religious idea, and she was not religious, and besides, their “flesh” was so different! Edwina was tiny, nervous, dark (her mother had been East Indian) and liked to keep busy regardless of the task; Orville was large, blonde, sad-eyed, and given to rumination. She’d found an island of calm when she met him; he’d found stimulation to keep him going. They were good together, weren’t they?

It was going to be hard, but she’d have to ask Orville about this eventually. She couldn’t live with him unless she knew why he'd done it. But not right away, not tonight. The football game was over; Orville had eaten half the pizza. He looked up at her and smiled his quiet smile when she came back into the kitchen. “You OK? You were in the bathroom a while.” Edwina smiled back. “I’m…I’m having my period, you know.” She was, in fact, having her period, but it had never been more than a minor inconvenience until now. Now it was going to be a reminder of his treachery: she wasn’t pregnant and perhaps never would be!

She looked at what was left of the pizza and felt sick. “I’m going to check my email,” she said. “I’m expecting a question from one of the profs.” Edwina was a lab assistant in the Chemistry Department at Randolph Community College. Not an instructor, not even a grad student, but a full-time lab assistant, which meant that she demonstrated procedures to freshman and sophomore classes, kept track of supplies, cleaned up after sloppy experiments, and reported regularly to the two chemistry professors. She was ALWAYS expecting a question from someone. But she was not going to check her email, she was going to look for an internet counselor, someone to talk to as soon as possible.

To think that she and Orville shared this desktop PC! It now seemed crazy. If she had been going to find a secret anywhere, it should have been on this computer! But their online lives were relatively tame, she was sure of that. Orville had a business page on Faceook. Sometimes he’d read articles about new trends in medical supplies. He emailed with his brother Ted in Vancouver frequently. That was it. His parents, retired and lazy in Florida, were strictly telephone people. Edwina was determined to do SOMETHING before giving up and going to bed, but talking directly to Orville was last on her list. She was worried about her own emotional stress and wanted a way to deal with it. Her friend Lisa had raved about an online counselor, and Edwina had been curious. Now she would find one of her own. She searched for “counseling for marital difficulties.” So many websites! So many cyber-entities offering help of all sorts!

Tired and beginning to feel hungry, Edwina closed her eyes, moved her hand in a flimsy circle, and placed her index finger on the screen. Opening her eyes, she saw “ReGrow: Flexible Individual or Couple Sessions Via Phone or Video Chat - ReGrow and ReNew Your Relationship - Qualified Counselors Ready When You Are!” A list of individuals with accompanying tiny profile pictures appeared when she went to the actual ReGrow website. Again, to save time, and because she had little idea what she wanted from this, she closed her eyes, moved her hand up and down this time, and touched the face of the trusty Dell. When she allowed herself to look, she saw that she was, in fact, touching the virtual face of one “Placido D. Halbert, MA.” Placido it was. She’d email him immediately! So, she’d actually not fibbed about checking her email, she thought, and again, laughed at herself. Was laughing at oneself a sign of insanity? That was something to ask Placido. Or Mr. Halbert. He appeared to be elderly, but he had kind eyes, and of course the white beard. She liked him already.

— Macoff