Or at least that's how she justifies it in her own mind.
She’s smart about her escapades, keeping her texts brief and anonymous. They usually meet in the mornings, when her husband is at work. It’s better for everyone if they can keep this a secret. Even her best friend doesn’t know. And that’s saying something. She tells her best friend everything. But not this, because Marcy knows that loose lips sink ships. And marriages. And she doesn't want her marriage sunk.
Marcy and Tom have been married for six years. It’s been a great six years, filled with vacations to the Poconos, a new car, and financial stability. Tom is kind, caring, and extremely affectionate. He still brings a card and a single rose for no reason. And Marcy loves that about him. Her mother tells her she’s lucky and she better not do anything to screw this up. Marcy’s mom knows that Marcy has trouble with men. She knows that even though infidelity is not her main crime, losing great men is. Marcy reminds her mother that it is her life, and she is well aware of how great Tom is. She would never ruin her marriage because she loves her husband.
So this morning, she makes a fresh cup of French press coffee, just the way Tom likes it. Light roast beans from Costa Rica and a five minute steep. She chats easily with him in the mornings, he’s rarely grouchy. They talk about which tie he should wear, the name of his new partner at the firm, and what she thinks about spending some time in the garden on Saturday morning. Marcy smiles like she always does, gliding past him at the table and stealing kisses while she cleans up breakfast. He smells nice, like a new Armani suit.
“You always smell so sexy,” she says to him while she wraps her arms around his neck from behind him. He kisses her hands and stands up to leave.
“And now I’m off, Fair Lady,” he says, kissing Marcy on the cheek.
“Can’t you just stay home, maybe stay in bed with me all morning?”
And even though she would truly love for this to happen, she knows he will go to work. And when he does, she will text her lover. They will decide on a place for their noon rendezvous. A place just outside the city, but never the same place. They will order room service, drink a few sips of some very expensive champagne, and then enjoy each other for a few hours.
And during that small window, when the curtains are closed and the sweat is thick between their bodies, Marcy will not think about her husband, or her happy marriage, or how much she would disappoint her mother if she screwed it up. No, she only thinks about the act, and the base, carnal desires that drive her to lies.
Marcy lies to her husband. To protect him, she’ll say. To keep the marriage intact. But the reality is inconsolable.