Free Still Life with Husband by Lauren Fox

is to watch Woody Allen marathons and pick out all the references to Bergman. He tells me that he’s been researching Irish history, planning to take a walking tour of the country someday. I confess that I’m a closet fan of cheesy science-fiction novels, explaining in detail the plot of my favorite one, about two modern-day sleuths who time-travel to ancient Peru. We tell each other our life stories, magnified and heightened for maximum punch— I fell off the jungle gym when I was seven and broke both wrists! My sister convinced me that she and our parents found me in a junkyard one day when they were getting rid of their old refrigerator! I can practically feel sparks shooting off me and landing in his lap. And then, without warning, David glances at his watch and actually jumps.
    “Oh, no! Emily, I was supposed to be back in the office an hour ago. I have to go!”
    “I’m sorry,” I say, wondering if he blames me, if he’s going to go all Type A and anxious and fly out of here.
    Instead he rolls his eyes and smiles and says, calmly, “Do you think my boss will believe me if I tell him I was interviewing a confidential source?”
    “I don’t know. What kind of story are you working on?”
    “A history of the Nirvana Chocolate Company.”
    “Any chocolate-related scandals that would require top-secret interviews?”
    “There was the hot fudge debacle of 1957.”
    “Really?”
    “No….” He shifts in his chair. I’ve managed to pass two hours without mentioning Kevin. I edited him right out of my life story. I never lied, never said I was single, but I sure as hell sinned by omission. “But, look,” David continues. “Before we go, I should tell you something.”
    Shit. He has a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend. He’s married! He’s not even wearing his wedding ring! I can’t believe this! I’m crushed. I concentrate on keeping my face impassive. He looks embarrassed. Well, he ought to, the jerk!
    “I hope you don’t think this is weird, but I Googled you.” He blushes and looks down for a second. “I checked out some of your work. I read an article you did last year on Internet dating, and something a couple of years ago on holiday guilt. I talked about it with the editor-in-chief, and I think you should be The Weekly ’s relationship expert. You know, an article every week on the ways people meet and date in Milwaukee….” He scratches his stubbly chin and pauses. “I think you’d be terrific for the paper.”
    I’m overwhelmed with something like relief (which almost manages to squelch the absurdity of David’s idea). It’s accompanied by a rush of excitement: he Googled me! And he likes my work! Followed on its heels by something very much like guilt. Here’s my chance. It has to be done. A sudden, surprising tidal wave of love for Kevin washes over me. I feel him in my head, which is where he lives when we’re not together. Everything I have thought, for the past nine years, I have sifted and sorted and filed away in the Tell Kevin Later folder. “I’m no relationship expert,” I say.
    “No?”
    “I mean, I’m…” Tell him. “I’m just no expert.”
    “Will you think about it? I think we’d be lucky to have you.”
    Oh, God. “Okay. I will think about it.”
    “Can I see you again?” he asks softly, as we both stand up to go.
    “Yes,” I say, hot with shame and self-loathing. Yes.
     
    I’VE DONE NOTHING WRONG. WHAT HAVE I DONE WRONG ? Nothing.
    What’s more, I’m looking forward to seeing my husband. I am guilt-free (for the most part) and I’ve done nothing wrong! And I’m looking forward to having dinner with my husband, Kevin, and telling my husband, Kevin, about my day, including my appointment with this editor, and my new assignment. Relationship expert! I am looking forward to discussing it all with Kevin. Because I have free will, and I will keep not doing anything wrong. It’s not that I regret seeing David Keller, or even liking David Keller, which,