“Have you ever cheated on your wife?”
The question angers me. Is she assuming because I’m a professional athlete that I’ve cheated because others have? I start to shake my head but quickly stop myself. “I feel like I have,” I tell her.
“Care to elaborate?”
Not really. “I met a woman. We’ve spent time together, and I’ve introduced her to the kids.”
“Has Elena’s boyfriend met the children?”
I look out the window. It’s raining, and the only thing I can see outside is cars and an array of different colors moving down the sidewalk. If you find yourself caught in the rain in Portland, there is no one to blame but yourself. It’s guaranteed to rain. You might as well carry an umbrella with you. Or start watching the weather reports, as I have.
“He hasn’t, and I never intended for the woman I’m seeing to meet them as well. It just happened.”
“Let’s go back to why you feel like you’re cheating.”
I sigh and rub the front of my jeans, and then readjust the way I’m sitting. “I feel like just because Elena asked for a divorce doesn’t mean we are divorced or separated. I don’t know. I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around it.”
“How did you start seeing this new woman?”
“We have the same friends, and she won me in a charity auction. Since the night I met her, I’ve been attracted to her—which also happened to be the day I returned from seeing Elena and met her boyfriend. I was angry at my wife, the world, everything. Then this beautiful, drop-dead gorgeous woman walks in, and instantly I wanted to know her. I wanted to be with her.” I look down at my lap and brush some imaginary lint away. “I can’t help but wonder if I would’ve cheated on my wife with this woman. Thinking like that makes me sick to my stomach. I tried to stay away from her. Found every excuse I could. I accused her of using my friends to get places in her career, but none of it mattered because the first moment we were alone, I kissed her.”
“And that makes you feel like you cheated?”
I shake my head. “The other night, we slept together, and ever since, I have felt like I’ve disrespected my marriage. I hadn’t even filed for divorce yet and already slept with another woman. I can’t wrap my head around how this makes me any different from Elena.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not the person to tell you that your feelings should be different. You’re the only one who can. Everyone is going to have a different opinion. Some will say you’re separated. Others will say you’re not. It’s not something anyone can decide except for you. Does the woman you’re with feel the same way?”
Once again, I look out the window. The rain hasn’t stopped, and according to Autumn, it’s going to rain all day or at least drizzle, tapering off in the evening, only to pick up again overnight. I watched her broadcast last night because I needed to see her but I am too much of a coward to knock on her door and face the music.
“I don’t know how she feels. I don’t want to tarnish the night we had together. It seems mean to go to her and say I feel like I’m cheating on my wife, especially since we’ve been dating and whatnot. Are you suggesting I step back from her?”
“No, I’m not suggesting anything. We just met, and we’re establishing a baseline. I think you have a lot to work through, starting with your feelings. I’ve gathered you feel like you’re cheating, but also feel like you would’ve done so once you met this new woman. Am I correct?”
I nod because she’s right, and I hate myself for it. “Autumn is her name,” I tell Eileen. “She’s amazing, and I’ve never been so attracted to someone that all I do is think about them. With Elena—we had been caught up in a tornado, and our relationship went from there. With Autumn—we locked eyes, and I knew right off that she was dangerous. Which again, is so incredibly stupid because she’s harmless.” I stand and start to pace around the room. There are bookshelves along the wall, each shelf filled with books, photos, and knickknacks. On the next wall over, it’s painted dark blue, while the rest of the room is a cream color. But hanging on this wall are the diplomas Eileen has received. Her bachelors, masters, and her Ph.D. are all encased in ornate frames.
Eileen stays in her chair, with the pad of paper resting on her knee. Each time I look at her, she’s watching me, observing my every move. What does she see? Does she see me as a football player or some messed-up dad and husband needing advice? Or something else?