13. What It Is Is A Problem

August 2021

It happens when I’m covered in sweat. On my first run after having Beth, thinking I may have the look of a slightly squashed tomato, but proud of myself for lasting as long as I did. Exercise after kids should be a resume skill under the category: Creative Problem Solving. So, riding the high, I turn the corner and stop to stretch my limbs and drown myself with the water from my bottle. I watch the wind blow through the wildflowers that line my side of the forest trail and gift myself time to daydream, admiring enjoy how the trail winds forward like a river. Everything at home is noise. Here is a stillness long overdue save the warm wind that teases my cheek. Then there he is, running toward me, after rounding a curve in the trail.

“Because, of course,” I mumble aloud.

He slows to a stop. My skin itches to be elsewhere. What I wouldn’t give to be showered, fresh, and dressed. And perhaps just ten to fifty pounds less. Oh well. I straighten my shoulders, pulling my abs up and in while he turns his attention to his phone and turns off his music. He grins. That same left corner of his mouth turns up. The luxury of being able to run with music, I think aloud.

“What was that?”

“I said because, of course. Hello.”

“How’s your run going?”

“Just finished. Can’t you tell? I look a mess,” I say, patting my hair down and back with a hand before I can stop myself.

“Nah. I like you pink and sweaty.”

He slides his sunglasses down and watches me, waiting for my reaction. His eyes irritate me, and I feel mine flash back at him in annoyance. I resist the urge to respond until he looks at the beads of sweat that rest between my breasts, watching them roll south.

“Why are you sending me risqué texts when you know I don’t have an ex? I have a husband.”

He pauses and then moves to stretch his calf behind his knee.

“Having some regrets about life lately. And God, I love it when you speak to me in French. More of that, please.”

“Well, don’t take them out on me, Henry. I’m married and mortgaged, with two kids on my hips, and I’m putting a fence in the yard next, for the dog.” I list these details, ticking them off with my fingers.

Henry removes his glasses and shifts his weight off of his bad knee. Good, I tell myself. He’s aged. I remember how we used to go for runs with each other in Ravenswood, taking turns running faster than the other and laughing at our competitive streaks. I would rub his knee after we collapsed, cooling off in the yard behind my 3-flat apartment. He would push me down onto the grass in the backyard and lick the sweat off of me. I remember catching his finger between my teeth and biting it, testing him.

“It is what it is, Caroline. You’re in my head. Permanently.”

“Until I’m not.”

He answers by tilting his head away from me — a coward. I’m aware of the breath I exhale, releasing my anger with quiet intent. His eyes are sad for a moment, but only briefly.

“What it is is a problem.” I resist kicking at the gravel rocks, swiping the sweat off my cleft with a finger instead. I remember how it dipped in and think of the showers I’ve been having lately. I frown and make myself look at him. I would much rather stand relaxed and unbothered by him. If I could show him that he doesn’t affect me, he wouldn’t get to me these days. If I could be cool instead of playing it cool. Oh, I want to be far away from him. Go away, I say with my eyes.

He frowns, and neither of us knows what we want to say. We both watch the same cloud.

“Do you remember that day when I told you I had broken up with Ben?”

Henry nods and twirls his glasses by the temple, letting it knock against his thigh. Once. Twice. Again.

“You were single. I was single. The last time that happened was five years before that. But you did nothing. You said nothing. I met Adam two months later, and that was it. Your last window. You left me on a shelf. So why are you testing the waters with me now, Henry?”

“I don’t want to play with you.”

“No? Just want to fuck with me, is that it?”

I think about words once said that were soft. How they’ve been shoved away. How everything is jagged now.

“Caroline,” he sighs, but I’m done.

“That’s enough for now, I think. I need to buy diapers,” I say, sticking my earbuds back in and turning the music up. Pushing myself to run back to the car, I shove the pain from my body out of my mind. I try to ignore that he’s given me a head start and pretend not to see the distance we put between each other. I see his face through my rearview mirror when I drive away, shielded again by his sunglasses.

When he tried to apologize later that night, I left his texts on read without reply. Instead, I climbed into bed with Adam and poured myself into loving him, riding until I collapsed and leaving him happily dazed while I cleaned myself up in the bathroom.

I’m determined to forget how Henry’s eyes darken like a forest when he looks at me. I can see them staring back at me in the mirror or when I close my eyes at night. He follows me into my dream. I wake up in an angry mass of sheets to nurse Beth. Adam rubs my back and whispers words of reassurance. This is a quiet hell, my conscience tells my heart, rubbing absently at the soreness in my breast after nursing Beth back to sleep. I shouldn’t be responsive to him after all these years. I push the unasked questions away, wanting to eliminate further questing.

I refuse to avoid the trails on my next run, but I’m relieved not to see him there for now.