Where I catch my son spying on our naughty neighbors

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“It’s kind of you to notice. I’ve been making a point to get to the gym. I’ve lost a few pounds; I feel stronger.”

“It’s working. I’m afraid I’ve gotten a bit lackadaisical about that.”

“I’m always looking for a work-out buddy, care to join me? I’m going later today.”

I ran my schedule through my head, thought about how good she looked, how good she’d looked naked last night, wondered whether if I trimmed up my husband would be more attentive, said, “I’d love to.”

Now, as you can imagine, there was one topic I wanted to talk about, her and William, but had enough sense not to jump right in, instead waiting for the appropriate moment. It arrived when she asked about Todd. Leaving out the peeping-tom part, I recounted recent events and said all was okay, which was true. Unlike William, neither Todd nor his sister had ever given me much trouble.

Then I said, maybe a little too eagerly, “You and William were getting along swimmingly this morning. Just a few months ago you two were fighting constantly.”

Her face lit up. “Yeah, it got pretty bad. Then one day we were arguing and I was tired and frustrated and I just burst out crying, sobbing really. I was at the end of my rope, inconsolable, and he just held me, didn’t try to talk me out of it, just held me. It was exactly what I needed. It was like, in that moment he realized I was not the mannequin he’d caricatured as oppressor-mom, but a human being, one he cared about, one he loved, one whose needs were important to him. He stopped doing those stupid teenage things, casually lying, rolling his eyes when I spoke, avoiding my questions, treating household chores as if he were Sisyphus, withholding information, disregarding my needs and schedules; now he’s honest, he listens, is respectful. The mother-son conflict just melted away; he’s an adult and I treat him like an adult, but it’s also like he’s still eleven, when we were best friends. Now we are again, but as grown-ups.”

Friends with some very special benefits, I thought.

* * * * *

Over the last year my friendship with Milla had deteriorated, her endless complaining about William growing repetitive and wearying. Now our friendship was reborn; Milla was upbeat, optimistic, energetic, joyful, and vibrant. The primary source of her misery had not only morphed into a source of support, but was satiating her most fundamental need. And believe me, I knew the frustration that came when that went unsatisfied.

I joined Milla at the gym that day, started doing so regularly. We’d go out for lunch or to shop or for a cup of coffee and, while I didn’t peep into her windows at night, I checked out the two of them in their backyard or coming out the front door. They took evident joy in each other’s company, listened to each other, offered each other affectionate and respectful courtesies, and, most nights, the lights were turned off early.

I probed, mentioning the men at the gym who hit on her.

“I guess if Mr. Right came along that would be great, but the fact is I don’t believe in Mr. Right anymore; is there really a man who will complete us, do we need a man to complete us? I’m in a good place; I like my job, getting back to the gym has done wonders with how I feel, I have good friends, and with William and I having worked things out, my biggest stressor has become my biggest pleasure. Yeah, I’d like a companion who knew his way between the sheets, but let’s face it, men our age are chasing twenty-something tale, older guys are interested but can’t perform, and while most twenty-something guys have serious MILF fantasies, they can’t trust them to keep their mouths shut.”

I noted, but did not mention, that she’d left out twenty-somethings who could.

I saw her point. While frustrated with my husband, I liked my life; I wasn’t interested in blowing up my marriage and I certainly didn’t imagine Mr. Perfect swooping in to replace him. But I did need to be wanted, fucked, cuddled.

* * * * *

Todd, if not my husband, noticed Milla’s increased presence in my life. I’d get home from the gym and he’d say, “Looking good Mom. You and Ms. Jovanovic hanging again?”

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