Before that idea could get a firm hold Lisa began throwing up in the morning and complaining that her boobs hurt. Her period, usually as regular as the tide, did not come when it was supposed to. A simple test available at any drug store confirmed what we suspected. Lisa, despite her diaphragm, was pregnant.
Strangely enough this was the happiest time of our marriage. Lisa positively glowed at the prospect of producing a baby. Our arguments decreased to the point that I really thought that things were going to be okay between us. There was never any question about abortion, although both of us were firm believers in a woman's right to have one. During her second trimester hormones took over her body and an era of sexual delight emerged. We would do it any time, anywhere, in any position. We would sometimes drop down on the carpet and do it with our clothes on. That had to mean I was still in love, right? I shelved any thoughts of divorce I'd been having.
During her third trimester we dug ourselves in even deeper. Using money from both her parents and mine, we put down a down payment on a three-bedroom house near downtown. The papers were signed a week before she delivered and when Becky came home from the hospital it was to a piece of real estate that we actually owned.
It wasn't long before the problems began again. Lisa went through a vicious period of post-partum depression that she never really recovered from. By the time Becky was six months old I realized two things. One, I did not want to live with my wife anymore because I did not love her. Two, I was hopelessly in love with the small life we'd created and I couldn't bear the thought of being without her.
I hung in there as long as I could, as did Lisa who must have realized the same things. Our arguments grew more intense once again and more frequent. I thought about divorce often but could never bring myself to do it because I knew that would mean that Becky would be taken away. Finally the breaking strain happened. During an argument over why I was spending twenty dollars a week for lunch at work, I'd let the dreaded word slip from my mouth. I'll advise any married men out there that it is not a good idea to call your spouse a cunt in any circumstance. Lisa, enraged at this word, lost her temper and slapped me across the face.
I stood staring at her, my face stinging with the blow, my hands itching to return it. Sickened that we'd turned to insulting profanity and physical violence as a solution to our problems I picked up my car keys and walked out the door. The next day I filed the papers. Six months later we were officially divorced.
Thinking back upon all of that it seemed the entire thing was a bad joke. Comparing the love I felt for Nina to what I'd felt during the happiest portion of my relationship with Lisa was like comparing an orgasm to a urinary tract infection. There was no question that Nina was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Though I had no idea how she would react to having a broken ankle I knew that Nina would never strike me in anger over an argument about twenty dollars for lunch. I knew that I would never have to reassure myself that I was really in love with her. Love was a physical thing, a sensation that could not be mistaken for anything else. Once you feel its pull upon you, you are forced to laugh at all of those, including your former self, that have asked themselves, 'am I really in love'. As I found out, when you are really in love, you know it.
The physical aspects of the relationship between Nina and I did not progress much. We kept our affections mostly confined to brief kisses and frequent hugs at first. We stayed with the holding of hands in the car while driving or while walking together. I would be dishonest to say that I did not wish to further this, remember I had an adolescent's hormones, but I knew that it was very important to let Nina set the pace of this progression. This was Nina's first trip into this land and I did not want her to feel rushed.
It was plain that she wished more also. I could feel desire radiating off of her in waves when we hugged or kissed each other. I could see the unmistakable shine in her eyes, feel the trembling of her body. But I could also feel her fear. Fear of emotions and feelings that she had never felt before, perhaps had never even suspected before.
Our slow pace meant that when we DID progress, the weight that each new act carried was doubled or even tripled when it was allowed to take place. That made each one special and allowed it to be burned forever into my memory as well as hers.
On Christmas Eve she came over in the early afternoon, wheeling her Mom's car to the curb in front of the house. Tracy was out visiting some old friends and my parents were out doing some last minute shopping (something that was somewhat of a tradition for my parents). Nina carried a small, wrapped package into the house with her.
"I figured that since we won't get to see each other tomorrow," She told me as we walked to the couch and sat down. "That I should give you this today."
I took the package from her. "You didn't have to get me anything." I told her.
"Now what kind of girlfriend would I be," She asked, "If I didn't buy you a Christmas present?"
I looked up at her, seeing that she was blushing strongly. That was the first time that she'd referred to herself in such a manner.
"Thank you." I said gently. "Can I open it?"
"What ELSE would you do with it?" She wanted to know.
I grinned. "My we're getting mouthy." I said, sliding my finger under the seam of the neatly wrapped package.
"Who do you think I learned it from?" She shot back.
I opened the package. It was a new leather wallet with my initials engraved upon it. A gift that had probably cost her thirty dollars at least; a small fortune for a teenager in that time period.
"Nina, you can't afford this." I admonished, unfolding it, inhaling the scent of fresh leather.
"I know." She said conspiratorially. "That's why I shoplifted it."
I laughed, reflecting again that there had once been a Nina completely incapable of telling a joke. "Thank you." I told her, "It's very nice, much nicer than the Velcro job I have now." I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the corner of the mouth.
"Mmmm." She said, her eyes sparkling. "Maybe I'll go shoplift some more if this is what I get."
"Maybe you should." I answered, kissing her more firmly on the lips.
She kissed me back enthusiastically at first and then her circuit breaker kicked in. She pulled away, flushed. A brief moment of awkward silence ensued.
"Wait here." I finally told her.
I went upstairs to my room and opened my closet door. I rummaged around for a moment until I retrieved what I was after. When I returned, I handed a wrapped package to her.
"For me?" She asked with mock innocence.
"For you." I confirmed.
She took the package, which was the size of a paperback book, and hefted it a few times, testing the weight.
"Kind of light." She remarked, jokingly.
"But it's straight from the heart." I assured her.
She began to tear into the clumsy wrap job (wrapping presents is something I've never been able to do well, in either life), revealing the plain white box beneath. When the wrapping paper was a balled up mess on the coffee table she began working on the tape that I'd placed heavily over the lid. When, after considerable effort, the lid came loose, she began pawing through the tissue paper in the box.
At last she pulled a small object encased in clear plastic from the pile. It was a glass cylinder, slightly larger in diameter than a quarter, with metal threads on the bottom. She held it up to her eyes.
"It's…" She started doubtfully, her face scrunching in confusion. "It's…," A pause as she gathered her thoughts. "What is it Bill?"
"It's a forty amp fuse." I said proudly.