(Were We Ever Meant to Be – Part 4)

Two days later, I opened Kath’s profile again. I looked through her photographs until restraint felt more dishonest than desire.

That was the explanation I gave myself: restraint was dishonesty. I did not call my silence respect for her boundary or loyalty to my wife. I called it denial. By changing the name of the act, I made surrender sound courageous.

“Hello, Kath. Busy?”

“Not really. Just reading to kill time.”

“Can I call?”

“Why? Didn’t we discuss everything two nights ago?”

“Please. Just for a few minutes.”

“Why, Marco?”

I told her the truth. “I miss you. I only want to see you again.”

The message remained marked Seen for several minutes. Then she called me.

“Thank you,” I said as her face appeared.

“Don’t thank me. You are still impossible to refuse.”

She was wearing a sleeveless shirt and shorts. When she noticed where my gaze had settled, she adjusted the camera.

“I’m looking at your face,” I protested.

“Of course you are.”

I asked whether she missed me. She tried to evade the question, then surrendered.

“Yes. I miss you too. Are you happy now?”

“Very.”

Her expression grew serious. “Let me make something clear. We are both married. We both have children. I am talking to you because we are friends and because we shared a past. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Loud and clear.”

She told me it would be our last video call. I asked for one call a week. She refused, and I knew—or convinced myself—that she would answer the next time anyway.

When she mentioned that Jay might not return until the following year, I asked when she expected me to visit the Philippines.

“You must miss Anna,” she said.

“I miss everyone I love.”

“Including your wife?”

“Why do you always bring her into our conversation?”

“Who should I mention—Mayette?”

Her teasing turned coarse. She asked whether I missed the sex I had had with Mayette. Irritated, I blurted out that I had not slept with anyone in Korea—not once in eight years.

She laughed. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“Marco, you have needs. Are you telling me that in eight years, you never once paid a woman there for one night of sex?”

“Never.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I would never pay a woman for sex.”

“And why should I believe that?”

“Because if I ever sleep with a woman, I want it to happen because we both want it—not because I paid her. There should be desire on both sides and something real between us, even if neither of us knows where it will lead.”

Kath gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “That sounds very principled for someone with your history.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Where was all that concern about what a woman wanted when you kissed me in your office and then—”

She stopped, leaving the rest suspended between us.

“And afterward?” she continued. “When you went home to Anna, did you kiss her too?”

“Kath—”

“Did you hold her the way you had just held me? Did you tell her you loved her?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Of course not. It never is when you are the one explaining it.”

I could have reminded her that I stopped when she pulled away. I could have insisted that what happened between us had never been entirely one-sided. But neither answer would erase the truth beneath her questions: I had wanted honesty from her while living dishonestly with both women.

“Believe whatever you want.”

“And Anna? What happens when you go home?”

I told her that Anna and I had not had sex since Kenneth was born. Diabetes had diminished her desire, and intercourse had become painful for her. We did not even share a bedroom during my visits.

“I’m sorry,” Kath said quietly.

“We found an arrangement that preserves our marriage and gives both of us peace.”

The arrangement was difficult to explain. Anna and I had forgiven many things without becoming truly compatible. The distance created by my work in Korea had probably saved us from the daily disagreements that once exhausted us.

Kenneth gave us another reason to remain a family, although I rarely admitted how much of the emotional labor of raising him Anna carried while I lived abroad. I called from Korea, sent money, came home when my schedule allowed, and told myself that provision was presence. The unanswered video call earlier that evening should have reminded me of the distance between my son and me. Instead, I had spent the night trying to erase the distance between Kath and me.

“Then why stay?” Kath asked.

“What else should I have done—find another Mayette?”

“I don’t know.”

“In Korea, I finally understood who I should have married. If I ever begin another relationship, I want it with only one person. If I cannot have her, I would rather have no one.”

The declaration sounded noble in my own ears. It converted years of infidelity into evidence of constancy: I had betrayed Anna with other women, yet because none of them mattered as Kath did, I could still imagine myself faithful to one great love. I did not ask whether devotion to an idealized woman could excuse disloyalty to the real woman I had married.

Kath turned partly away. “Who is she?”

“You know.”

“Say it.”

TO BE CONTINUED