Roland reaches for the pitcher of lemonade and refills his glass. His forehead is glistening with sweat and his cheeks are flushed. Maggie leans across the table and pats him with her paper napkin. “It’s muggy for May,” he says, aggressively spraying Off! into a swarm of mosquitoes until she can taste it with every bite of her hamburger.
He starts folding and refolding his napkin. “It’s been a long time since . . .” He looks up at her nervously. “Since we discussed our situation.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“You’re still not pregnant,” he says. “I’m starting to get concerned. Maybe our timing’s been off, but still.”
She hasn’t told him she’s been using her diaphragm. She hides it in her underwear drawer under her many “top salesperson” brassieres.
“I think we should see Dr. Surrey again,” he says. “He was very optimistic. He might have a tip for us.”
The pine trees bordering their land begin to close in on her. The sun is disappearing, bringing more mosquitoes.
“Roland, are you happy?” she asks him.
“About what?”
“In general. With us. Our life?”
“Yes. Of course,” he says. “Obviously, it hasn’t been smooth sailing, but I think the best remedy is to start a family. A child will be just the thing.”
Gazing out at her expansive backyard with the geraniums blooming in clay pots and the manicured lawn ready for a swing set and sandbox, she can’t find the words to tell him the truth.
“Is there any Jell-O left from last night?” he asks her.
“Do you really think a child can fix this?”
“‘This’?”
“I’ll get the Jell-O,” she says, dropping it, escaping inside to regroup. She returns moments later with a glass dish of green Jell-O.
“Lime. My favorite,” he says, smiling appreciatively.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she tries again.
“Do what?”
“Be in this marriage.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry, Rol. It’s just not working.”
“You’re telling me this now?” he says, incredulous. “Like this?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else . . .”
Roland looks confused; his eyes go a bit out of focus. He stabs his spoon into the Jell-O and breaks it up into pieces. “It’s obvious your fertility problem is causing you great stress,” he says. “I wish you would quit being so stubborn and let me make us an appointment with Dr. Surrey.”
“It’s not about my fertility problem.”
“We’ll regain our footing as soon as we start a family,” he says confidently. “Let’s make the appointment next week.”
“Don’t you see what’s happened to us, Rol? Everything’s become about having a baby. There’s nothing else.”
“That’s not true,” he defends. “It’s not all about that.”
“It is for you.”
“Of course I want to start a family,” he admits. “I want to be a father. I’m not going to apologize for that.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” she says. “It’s just not the end-all for me.” She feels herself getting emotional and wipes her eyes with a paper napkin. “I’ve been convincing myself that I’m ready to have a child.”
“You’re saying you’re not?”
“You know I loved working,” she says. “You pretended to support my independence at first, but it turns out you weren’t being sincere.”
“I wasn’t pretending!” he cries. “I just didn’t realize it precluded having children.”
“It didn’t. It doesn’t. It’s more like our difficulty trying to have a child has exposed the bigger problem.”
“Which is?”
“Isn’t it obvious, Rol?”
“Not to me.”
“There’s no passion between us,” she says. “Maybe there never was. I’m not even sure we want the same things anymore.”
Roland looks away, hiding his face. “This would all just go away if we had a child,” he murmurs obstinately. “The passion would come back, our goals for the future would realign.”
“Would they?” she says. “You don’t even know mine.”
“Tell me then.”
“Well, for one thing, I love translating.”
Roland lets out an exasperated huff.
“I’ve been trying so hard to be the person you want me to be,” she says. “Trying to give you a baby, ignoring how much pressure it’s put on me, pretending not to notice that it’s slowly killing our respect for each other and whatever attraction may still be there. I want more, Roland. My work with Godbout has helped me get in touch with that part of myself again.”
Roland sighs and his shoulders collapse. He looks tired. He must be, from working so hard at denying their fundamental differences, perhaps from the moment they first met.
“Roland, you married me because I came along at the precise moment in your life when you wanted to start a family.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I know you care about me,” she concedes. “But becoming a father has always been your focus and the priority in our marriage.”
His head drops. She reads his silence as a grim acknowledgment of her point.
“Is there someone else?” he asks her, not looking up.
The question catches her off guard. She didn’t think he’d ask, and she hadn’t planned on bringing it up, if only to protect him. But she doesn’t want to lie. He deserves better.
“Ah,” he says, guessing before she even decides how to answer him. “So we’re that couple. I’m the clichéd cuckold.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Who is it?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Yes, it does,” he snaps. “Very much, in fact.”
“It’s my first love,” she admits. “I ran into him in Dunham last fall. We haven’t actually spent much time together, but the old feelings are still very much there.” She omits the part about having slept with him the one time. Roland would be shattered.
“So you’re leaving me for another man,” he says. “Let’s don’t pretend it’s about my wanting a child and you wanting to translate books.”
“We haven’t been happy together in years,” she says softly. “How I feel about Gabriel may be the impetus for ending the marriage now, but it’s not the reason.”
“Right. You want to be a full-time translator.”
“You’re being petty, Roland. Godbout has encouraged me to spread my wings, gain some confidence. And I like this feeling. I want to keep exploring it.”
“With another man by your side. Your ‘first love.’”
“You can’t honestly tell me you’ve been happy in this relationship?” she says.
“Who’s ‘happy’ anyway, Maggie?”
“I’d like to be.”
“We have a marriage,” he states portentously, making it sound as though the marriage is something they own, a possession not unlike their car or their house. “We’ve endured for this long, through some very difficult situations. It’s a damn shame to throw it all away now.”
“I don’t want to just endure,” she says wearily.
Roland is quiet for a few moments, defeated. Maggie’s heart swells with fondness for him. “You’re a good man,” she says. “Intelligent and reliable and stalwart. Let’s just be honest with each other, for once.”
“What’s your plan exactly?”
“I thought for now I could move into the house in Knowlton.”
“You’d move back to the Townships alone? Or with him?”
“Alone. I’d be near my family. You never go up there anymore,” she says. “Hardly ever at all. It’s not like you’d miss it.”
“I could sell it,” he points out.
“You could,” she says. “But let’s face it, Roland. Even if we stayed together, I’d be alone. You’re never here.”
“That would change if—”
“We had a child,” she finishes, exasperated. “Exactly.”
She gets up and carries their plates into the kitchen. Roland follows her inside but goes to the living room. She hears him pouring himself a drink. She cleans the kitchen and then joins him. “I’m sorry,” she says, not knowing what else to say.
Sitting here in this grand room, surrounded by her precious Swedish furniture with the ice-blue silk upholstery, flocked wallpaper, white marble fireplace, and view of her sprawling garden through the picture window, she’s absolutely certain she’s doing the right thing.
“We have nothing to show for our life together,” he says mournfully.
She sits down beside him and reaches for his hand. She notices a couple of wiry silver hairs on his knuckles, and for some reason this makes her want to cry.
“But you’re right,” he says, surprising her. “We’re a mismatch, aren’t we?”
She squeezes his hand. “We tried valiantly. We really did.”
He nods, and what she sees on his face is relief. In spite of his hurt feelings and pride, she can tell he’s beginning to wrap his head around the fact that he’s free to start over with someone who wants exactly what he wants: a simple, fertile girl with matching aspirations of parenthood and housewifery. It was never going to be Maggie. And although he’d never admit it out loud, she can tell he’s cycling through the same realizations in his mind.