Wife 22

Date: May 18, 12:52 PM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

I’m very sorry to hear about your husband’s job. Please take all the time you need. Going back to the beginning is often difficult and dredges up all sorts of emotions. But in the long run I think you’ll find it enlightening to return to the past.

Sincerely,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22

Subject: Re: Gambling

Date: May 18, 1:05 PM

To: researcher101

Researcher 101,

Sometimes when I log on to my computer I feel like I’m in a casino sitting in front of a slot machine. I have the same shivery feeling of anticipation—that anything is possible and anything can happen. All I have to do is pull the lever, i.e. press Send.

The rewards are immediate. I hear the machine churning. I hear all the lovely chimes and whooshes and pings. And when the symbols come up: “Kate O’Halloran likes your comment”; “Kelly Cho wants to be your friend”; “You have been tagged in a photo”—I am a winner.

What I’m trying to say is thanks for such a quick response.

Best,

Wife 22

From: researcher101

Subject: Unreachability

Date: May 18, 1:22 PM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

I understand what you’re saying completely, and often feel the same way, although I have to admit it worries me. It seems like we’ve gotten to the point where our experiences, our memories—our entire lives, actually—aren’t real unless we post about them online. I wonder if we might miss the days of being unreachable.

All the best,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22

Subject: Re: Unreachability

Date: May 18, 1:25 PM

To: researcher101

Researcher 101,

I do not long for the old, unreachable days. When I’m plugged in I can go anywhere, do and learn anything. Today, for instance, I visited a tiny library in Portugal. I learned how the Shakers weave baskets and I discovered my best friend in middle school loves blood-orange sorbet. Okay, I also learned that a certain pop star actually believes she’s a fairy, an honest-to-goodness fairy from the fey people, but my point is access. Access to information. I don’t even have to look out my window to see what the weather is like. I can have the weather delivered every morning to my phone. What could be better?

Sincerely,

Wife 22

From: researcher101

Subject: Weather

Date: May 18, 1:26 PM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

Getting caught in the rain?

All the best,

Researcher 101

20

WEEKEND FORECAST THE BUCKLE HOUSEHOLD 529 IRVING DRIVE

ALERT: Rapidly Developing Class 3 Marital Storm Saturday AM

Windchill: Cold. Extremely cold. Freezing out husband while trying to pretend nothing is wrong.

Hi: Making it through day without screaming.

Lo: Head in hands. Soft moaning. Constant bouts of shame and mortification imagining KKM employees emailing Cialis video to hundreds of friends and said video then going viral.

Visibility: Limited. Refuse to look above husband’s jaw in order to avoid eye contact.

Share Weather: send to [e-mail]

Instant Message from [e-mail]

Nedra: Poor William!

Alice: Poor William? Poor me!

Nedra: This is what you get for going behind William’s back.

Alice: Did you even watch the video?

Nedra: Want my advice?

Alice: That depends. What will it cost me?

Nedra: Forget you ever saw it.

Saturday PM

Heat Index: Very High. Boiling hot.

Hi: Sitting on the couch watching Masterpiece Theatre.

Lo: Mentally trying to count the number of times we’ve had sex in the past twenty years while pretending to watch Masterpiece Theatre. Can’t do sums in head. Use fingers to add. Estimate 859. What’s wrong with that?

Visibility: Poor to none. Dense fog while trying to guess the number of times we’ll have sex in the next twenty years.

Share Weather: send to [e-mail]

Instant Message from [e-mail]

Nedra: Do not withhold sex.

Alice: Why not?

Nedra: This is not about sex.

Alice: What’s it about?

Nedra: Intimacy. There’s a difference.

Alice: What do you suggest?

Nedra: Reach out to him.

Alice: What kind of a divorce lawyer are you?

Sunday PM

Wind: Calming.

Hi: Horoscope says unexpected romance on its way.

Lo: Viewing Cialis video for the eighth time. In my defense, repeated viewings of video are the best way to desensitize myself to the horrific public humiliation inflicted by my husband. I think I deserve a medal. I tell my family I deserve a medal. For what, they ask.

Drought Conditions: Improving. I sat next to him on the couch.

Share Weather: Send to [e-mail]

Instant Message from [e-mail]

Nedra: Did you delete the bloody video?

Alice: Yes.

Nedra: Good girl. Now move on.

Alice: Horoscope says romance is on the way.

Nedra: Sure it is, sweetheart.

Alice: I just have to be patient.

Nedra You have it good. You know that, don’t you?

Alice: Being patient is not easy for a Virgo.

Nedra: Or a divorce lawyer. CU.

21

26. Not emptying out the coffee grinds. Pee on the bathroom floor. Not shutting the bathroom door while peeing. Reading over my shoulder. Jeans inside-out in the laundry basket.

27. Three, okay, five.

28. Once a year.

29. In every way. In no way. I can’t answer that question.

30. A book of stamps.

31. He was waiting in the courtyard of the Charles Hotel. Wearing his Walkman. He nodded at me, we took off, and he didn’t say a word for the entire run. I, on the other hand, didn’t shut up—at least in my head. Asics, huh; must have wide feet. Why isn’t he talking? Does he hate me? Are we doing something wrong? Am I supposed to pretend we’re not running together? Why doesn’t he run with Helen? Helen of Troy? What is he listening to? Is this a date? Jesus, he’s cute. What kind of game is he playing? He smells like Coast soap. Are my thighs jiggling? Yep, he just touched my breast with his elbow accidentally. Does he know it was my breast? Was it on purpose? Why isn’t he saying anything? Well, screw him, I’m not saying anything either.

We ran five miles in forty-one minutes. When we got back to Peavey Patterson he nodded once more, then went left, to the executive washroom. I turned right, to the employee bathroom. When I got back to my desk, my hair stuck up in a messy, limp ponytail, there was an email waiting for me. You run fast.

32. That if we weren’t careful, it was possible to forget one another.

22

From: Wife 22

Subject: Hello

Date: May 20, 11:50 AM

To: researcher101

Researcher 101,

Sorry it took so long to get back to you. Things haven’t been great between my husband and me, which makes it hard to answer the questions. Especially the ones about us falling in love.

All the best,

Wife 22

From: researcher101

Subject: Re: Hello

Date: May 20, 11:53 AM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

That’s completely understandable given the circumstances, although I have to say you do a wonderful job with the questions. You seem to remember all the details, which, come to think of it, may have something to do with the difficulty you’re experiencing. You recall your past so vividly. When I read your #31 I almost felt like I was there. I’m curious. Are you able to experience the present with the same sort of attention to detail?

I hope things have improved with your husband’s job situation.

Sincerely,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22

Subject: Re: Hello

Date: May 20, 11:55 AM

To: researcher101

Researcher 101,

I’m not sure they’ve improved, but at least I’ve cut down the time I spend in the grocery store trying to choose between Minute Maid or Tropicana. Now I just grab the SunnyD. And no, I am not capable of experiencing the present with the same sort of attention to detail. But once the present becomes the past I seem to have no problem attending to it obsessively. :)

Wife 22

From: researcher101

Subject: Re: Hello

Date: May 20, 11:57 AM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

What ever happened to Tang?

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22

Subject: Re: Hello

Date: May 20, 12:01 PM

To: researcher101

Researcher 101,

You know, I can’t help playing “what if” right now. What if I had been a biker, not a runner? What if William had married Helen of Troy instead of me?

Sincerely,

Wife 22

From: researcher101

Subject: Re: Hello

Date: May 21, 1:42 PM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

In my experience “what if” is a very dangerous game.

All the best,

Researcher 101

23

I’m sitting on a bench, my phone in my hand, while a hundred or so children run circles around me. I’m on recess duty. Some of the teachers hate recess duty, they say it’s exhausting and mind-numbingly tedious, but I don’t mind it. I’m excellent at scanning the sea of kids, reading their body language, listening to the pitch of their voices, and getting to them moments before the illegal hair-pulling, Pokémon card trading, or Hello Kitty glitter lip gloss application begins. This kind of intuition can be either a gift or a curse, but I like to think of it as a gift. Recess duty is like driving. The surface is hyper-alert, leaving the rest of me free to process what’s going on in my life.

I took Nedra’s advice and never told William that I went behind his back and spoke to Kelly Cho. That makes two secrets I’m keeping from him now—the marriage study and my viewing the Cialis focus group tape. I did get a little hysterical while sharing my budget spreadsheets with him and said something along the lines of you have to try harder. He says he’s investigating openings at other ad agencies in the city, but I’m afraid it’s futile. Things are bad everywhere. Shops are closing and ad budgets are shrinking or disappearing altogether. He has to make it work at KKM. As far as the Cialis focus group, I’ve decided I will never go to another KKM product launch again.

And my job? I’m lucky to have one. When the school year ends, I’m going to approach the Parents’ Association about the possibility of making my job full-time in the fall. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll have to look for a higher-paying job. I need to bring in more income.

The bell rings and the kids start running back into the building. I open my Facebook app quickly.

Shonda Perkins

Alice Buckle

Definition of friend: Somebody you’ve actually had a meal with in the last year.

43 minutes ago

John F. Kennedy Middle School

Suggests you limit your child’s screen time to one hour per day, this includes texting, tweeting and Facebooking. This does not include conducting online research for classes.

55 minutes ago

Weight Watchers

Come back! We miss you!

3 hours ago

William Buckle added Tone Loc and Mahler to favorite music

4 hours ago

William Buckle added Deer Hunter, Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, and Field of Dreams to favorite movies

4 hours ago

Tone Loc? “Funky Cold Medina” Tone Loc? And William’s favorite movie is Field of Dreams? We are decidedly not in a field of dreams. A field of thorns, maybe. William was demoted for telling his entire company how many times a month we have sex, and I’m sneaking around behind my husband’s back, telling a total stranger about how he once touched my boob with his elbow. Like my namesake Alice, I’ve slipped down the rabbit hole, fall, falling, fell.

24

33. If it’s a subject that interests him.

34. I was sleeping with a guy named Eddie. I met him at the gym where I swam laps. Eddie was a trainer in the weight room. He was sweet and uncomplicated. He had these red cheeks and perfect teeth. He wasn’t my type, but his body—oh, my God. Our relationship was purely physical and the sex was amazing, but I knew it would never go anywhere further than that. Of course I hadn’t told him this yet.

“Hey, Al, Allie!”

It was Friday afternoon and I was standing at the counter at Au Bon Pain ordering a chicken salad sandwich and a Diet Coke. I had been in line for fifteen minutes. There were twenty or so people queued up behind me.

“?’Scuse me, ’scuse me. I’m with her.”

Eddie pushed his way to the front of the line. “Hi, doll.”

I had never been with a man who called me “doll” before, and I have to admit I liked it—until now. In the bedroom it made me feel petite and Bonnie and Clyde-ish, but here in Au Bon Pain it sounded cheap.

He kissed me on the cheek. “Man, it’s crowded in here.”

He wore a blue bandana tied around his head, Rambo-style. I had seen this bandana in the weight room, which was, as far as I was concerned, where a bandana worn like this belonged. We really hadn’t been out in public yet. Normally I went to his apartment or he came to mine; as I said, our relationship was really about sex. But here we were in Au Bon Pain and here he was looking like Sylvester Stallone, and I was mortified.

“Aren’t you hot?” I said, staring blatantly at his forehead, trying to silently telegraph you’re in Cambridge, not the North End, take that ridiculous thing off.

“It is kind of hot in here,” he said, slipping out of his jeans jacket, stripping down to a wife-beater. He leaned forward, his deltoids flexing, and put a twenty on the counter. “Make it two chicken salads,” he said, then turned to me. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Well, you did! Surprise me, I mean. Um—I think they have a no-tank-top rule in here.”

“I was hoping after lunch you might give me a tour of your office. Introduce me. Show me around.”

I knew what Eddie was thinking. That I would waltz him through the door and my colleagues at Peavey Patterson would see him and be flabbergasted and ask who is that gorgeous guy with the incredible body (which is exactly what I did when I first saw him at the gym) and whisk him away to be in some major ad campaign. He wasn’t completely off about his potential—he was charismatic and could probably have sold anything—paper towels, wet wipes, or dog food. But not in a wife-beater and bandana.

“Wow, that’s a great idea. I just wish you had given me some notice. Today’s probably not a good day. We have a big client in town. In fact I shouldn’t even be out getting my lunch. I should have eaten in. Everybody else in my office is eating in.”

“Alice! Alice, I’m so sorry we’re late,” a woman shouted.

Now Helen pushed her way to the front of the line, dragging an uncomfortable-looking William behind her. He and I were running just thirty minutes before. I’m pretty sure Helen was unaware of the fact that we’d been working out together. Or that I used his sunscreen. Or that even after showering I still smelled of it.

“There’s no saving places!” somebody yelled.

“Those people cut to the front of the line!” somebody else yelled.

“We’re with her,” said Helen. “Sorry about that,” she whispered to me. “It was such a huge line. You don’t mind, do you? Well, hello!” She broke into a huge smile at the sight of Eddie. Her eyes lingered on his bandana. “Who’s your friend, Alice?”

“This is Eddie,” I said, suddenly feeling protective, hearing the cat-and-mouse tone in her voice. “Eddie, this is Helen and William.”

“Boyfriend,” Eddie corrected Helen, leaning in to shake her hand. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Really,” said Helen.

“Really?” said William.

“Really,” I said, getting irritated now. Did he just assume I was single? Why shouldn’t I have a boyfriend, and why shouldn’t he look like Mr. Olympia?

“Hey, doll?” said Eddie. He kissed me on the neck.

William raised his eyebrows. His mouth dropped open the tiniest little bit. Was he jealous?

“Your sunscreen smells like coconut. Yum,” said Eddie.

Helen turned to William. “I thought that was you.”

25

From: Wife 22

Subject: Maritalscope?

Date: May 25, 7:21 AM

To: researcher101

Researcher 101,

I’m curious. How do you go about interpreting my answers? Is there some sort of a computer program that you feed data into that compiles a profile? A type? Kind of like a horoscope? A maritalscope?

And why don’t you just send me all the questions at once? Wouldn’t that be easier?

Wife 22

From: researcher101

Subject: Re: Maritalscope?

Date: May 25, 7:45 AM

To: Wife 22

Wife 22,

It’s much more complicated than a horoscope, actually. Are you familiar with music streaming services? Where you enter in a song that you like and then a radio station is created just for you based on the song’s attributes? Well, how we interpret, code, and assign value to your answers is very similar to that. We strip your answers down to emotional data points. For some of your longer answers there might be fifty data points that will need to be considered and tracked. For shorter answers, perhaps five.

I like to think what we have developed is an algorithm of the heart.

As far as your second query, we’ve found there’s a trust that develops between subject and researcher that slowly builds over time. That’s why we parcel out the questions. There’s something about the building of anticipation that works to both of our advantages.

Waiting is a dying art. The world moves at a split-second speed now and I happen to think that’s a great shame, as we seem to have lost the deeper pleasures of leaving and returning.

Warmly,

Researcher 101

From: Wife 22

Subject: Re: Maritalscope?

Date: May 25, 9:22 AM

To: researcher101

Dear Researcher 101,

The deeper pleasures of leaving and returning. Why, you sound like a poet, Researcher 101. I feel that way sometimes. Like an astronaut looking for a way back into the corporeal world only to discover the corporeal world has ceased to exist while I’ve been floating around in space. I suspect it has something to do with getting older. I have less access to gravity and so I float through most of my days, untethered.

Once, in ancient times, my husband and I used to lie in bed before we fell asleep every night and give each other our Facebook posts face to face.

Alice had a very bad day. William thinks tomorrow will be better.

I have to say I miss that.

Wife 22

26

The seventh grade is going on a camping trip to Yosemite. Which means I am going on a camping trip—hurray! At least I might as well be going on a camping trip given all the preparation I have to do to get Peter ready.

“Do you have a mess kit?” I ask Peter.

“No, but we have paper plates.”

“How many meals?” I start counting on my fingers. “Dinner, breakfast, lunch, dinner, breakfast. The plates are compostable, right?”

Peter’s school takes their green very, very seriously. Plastic is forbidden. Cloth napkins encouraged. During spirit week the Parents’ Association sells bento boxes alongside mugs and sweatshirts.

Peter shrugs. “I’ll probably get some crap.”

I do a quick calculation in my head. Drive twelve miles to REI to buy a new mess kit on Spare the Air Day, a day I should be carpooling, or at the very least taking the bus. Arrive at REI to find the only mess kits in stock are made in Japan. Leave defeated, because I will get in trouble (with Zoe) if I buy a mess kit that had to travel over three thousand miles to get to Oakland. Paper plates it is.

“If anybody asks, tell them the carbon cost of getting a new mess kit far outweighs using five of your mother’s paper plates, bought in 1998, back when greenhouse gases were a result of gardeners eating too much cabbage for lunch.”

“Black beanie or green?” asks Peter. He holds up the green. “Green. And did you remember to get the wet wipes? I want to have a backup in case the showers are disgusting. I hope they let Briana and me share a tent. We told Mr. Solberg that we were like totally platonic, we’ve been best friends since fourth grade, and why shouldn’t tents be co-ed? He said it’s under consideration.”

“Under consideration means no, but I’m going to wait until the very last minute to tell you,” I say.

Peter groans. “What if I get stuck with Eric Haber?”

Peter won’t shut up about Eric Haber. What a jerk he is. How loudly he chews, what a terrible conversationalist.

“Then offer him the black beanie,” I say.

I suspect Peter has a crush on Eric, but is too scared to admit it. I’ve read the LGBT literature, which says my job is to remain open-minded and wait until my child is ready to come out. To push him into this revelation before he’s ready will do nothing but scar him. If only I could come out for him. I’ve imagined it so many times in my head. Peter, I have something to tell you and this may come as a surprise. You’re gay. Possibly bisexual but I’m pretty sure gay. And then we would cry with relief and watch Bonanza reruns, which is something we already do, but it would feel different now that we had shared the burden of his secret. Instead, I try to subtly broadcast my approval for his pending life choice.