We live in separate rooms, leaving kids to choose with whom they want to sleep. The trouble is my wife still sneaks into my
room whenever she can, lying beside me and holding me tight, sometimes crying, sometimes just watching me. Half sleeping, I usually try to remind her that she should go back to her room. Her response is always that she doesn’t care and hold me tighter, arms and legs wrapping me like an octopus. I can feel her pain, but I don’t want to lie to her.
“My colleague is chasing me. We had lunch together.”
“Jack?”
“Yes. Aren’t you jealous?”
“No, he seems to be a nice guy.”
“But I don’t love him. You are in my blood; I can’t open my legs for another man.”
“Oh, lord! It is mid-night now. Do we really need to talk about this?”
“He kissed me.”
“He has more guts than I thought.”
“No, not that. He kissed me on the cheek, like a friendly kiss.”
“A Chinese kisses you on the cheek for friendship? What an idiot and coward he is!”
“Why?”
“He should have kissed you on the lips and kissed your really hard, with his tongue inside your mouth, so you didn’t have the time to think. That kind of kiss that would make you feel dizzy and being suffocated.”
“Is that how you would do it?”
“Oh yeah, I would also stare into your eyes and say I can’t get enough of you, and I have been thinking of you all the time.”
“Why didn’t you do this to me?”
“Please don’t make me say that. You know why.”
“Fuck you.”
“Points taken.”
Tears well up in her eyes again. All of sudden, she jumps out of my bed and storms out. The rest of the night, I am lying in the bed and staring at the ceiling.
Several things happen to me after our breakup. First, I completely quit smoking. Second, I start to work out every day. Third, I eyes are always on women, especially hot mums. My small pot-belly from the lousy life style in the past couple of years has quickly disappeared, my chest bulging, my waistline shrinking and my six-pack is visible, if not completely here. Whenever I work out on the treadmill, she will stand there and watch me, which makes me feel very uncomfortable.
“Excuse me, can I have some privacy, please?”
“You look great. God! you are 40, but you look like you are 28. Not bit of fat. All solid muscles. I want to touch it.”
“No, don’t!” But she already hugs me from behind, both hands stroking me from shoulder to waist.
“Oh, it feels so good!”
What happens next absolutely stuns me. Since my body change, all my pants become loose and fat, and shirts small. She has upgraded my entire wardrobe. She bought stylish t-shirts, jackets and tight jeans for me, something I rarely consider to buy for myself.
“How much is this t-shirt?” I point at the pile of new clothing on the floor.
“I don’t go cheap on you. $40.”
“Jesus! $40 for a t-shirt?” I exclaim in di*****elief, mentally calculating how much money could be saved for kids' swimming and skating classes and all that "Tiger Mum" crap.
“Athletic style. They fit your body, making you a lot younger. Remember if you want to be young, dress young and dress with a taste.”
I can’t help but admiring her buying experience. Those slim t-shirts and jeans do make me look great and stylish.
“Why are you doing this? You know I will go out meet someone. You are dressing my up for another woman?”
“I don’t feel good doing this, but this is something I am willing to do, like I need to compensate for all the pains I have brought to you. You deserve a happy life and I want to spend money on you. It is your money too. Someday, you will understand my love. I don’t expect you to love me back.” While saying this, she gently straightens my t-shirt and sizing me up and down approvingly.
“You know, I won’t go back….”
“I know, it is over and it is over…blah, blah….” She interrupts me. “When you go out dating, you are wearing things I bought for you, from head to toe.” Then she laughs.
Shit! I know it. I am almost moved. But those clothing are too nice on me to be returned to the stores.
Following months, every Saturday night, I go out meet someone I know from the Internet, hoping I could find my true love. Usually we meet at a 24-hour coffee shop. I drive back home at 3 in the morning. I did not feel chemistry in those dates.
Each time I come back home early in the morning, she is waiting for me, tears on her face.
“Hey, don’t cry. I am your ex now, well not technically, except for the paper work.” I gently wipe off her tears with my hand.
“I don’t know where my senses are now. I should’ve kicked you out.”
“Then kick me out. But before you do that, make sure that you are ready. You can’t handle three kids alone. I have to stay.”
“No, I can’t. I need you.”
“Hey, listen, if you need to go out and see someone, I am ok with that and I will take care of the kids.”
“Stop it! This time, I don’t think I will love anyone else. If someone truly wants me, I am here and come to get me. I am tired of chasing someone. I have chased you for 15 years. This time, I will let someone chase me. I don’t think I can find someone like you, who is handsome, tender, generous and with such big a heart, but you are not mine, damn it!”
“Nice to hear. No, you are still attractive. No one can tell you are a mum of three young boys. Look at your figure, better than most girls in their twenties. You will find someone, and this time, make him crazy, let him buy your flowers, give him
pains. What about Jack?”
“No, I have a feeling he is quite troublesome type if things are not going his way. I am a bit of worried about that.”
“Too judgemental. Give him a try. If he is not the type and hard to get rid of, let me know. I will give him a call and ask him to back off.”
“Oh, just drop the topic.” Then she comes to me and sits beside me, starting kissing me. But I turn my face away to avoid her kisses on my lips, something I can no longer do to her. She is obviously annoyed by this, in a fury, trying to force my face to her using both of her hands. It pains me to see her like this, but I have to be faithful to my heart. I don’t lie to her and she deserves the truth.
“I wish sometimes you could lie. Just give me some delusions in which I can live on.”
“You really want to me to lie?”
“No, you are who you are. I think I can share if that the way has to be.”
“No, you don’t. I can’t handle two women. That takes a split personality and a good liar and I am neither.”
“I’ve talked to Cindy about us. She said she wasn’t surprised that you would find someone quickly. Even she likes you. You make women really comfortable and you are a true man.”
“No, I haven’t found anyone, yet.”
“Do you really have to do this?”
“I don’t know. I follow my heart.”
“I know your heart is not here. I knew it years ago.”
She bursts into tears again.
For a couple of months, I have experienced her sentimental up and downs every single day. Sometimes she is joyous, happy for only being with me; sometimes very calm and thoughtful, moody probably from guessing what might happen between me and the woman I go out with; sometimes she sings Bruno Mars’ songs with me; sometimes she wants to discuss how I could move out at that very moment. I don’t know what to do, but one thing is sure is that I can’t go back. It is not an option.
Then I meet someone I really like.
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