Back at the Mall

"I saw that," I say.

"Saw what?' he says. He is all innocence.

I nod to the beautiful blond that has just breezed past us. I noticed her, I know he noticed her.



"I don't know what you're talking about." His stock answer for when I bust him for looking at other women. He has done it since the day I met him, on more than a few occasions I have had to ask him to close his mouth lest he catch flies. He still denies it....every time.


We are back at the mall again after twenty-five years. There was a time where we shopped together quite a bit. He denies this vehemently too. Especially if his friends are around. It was before we were married he says, he did a lot of things with me he didn't really want to do. He contends that he only went shopping with me because he thought he was going to get something out of it. And, he adds, I was much nicer back then.


He knows way better now.


But today we are back. Well, truthfully, we've been back before, but we are at the mall in the no kid mode and everything feels a little....different. We go to lunch and yes, still when I see the strollers, I pause. He does too. We look at each other and know what we are both thinking. Both kids away at school is an adjustment. Our house is empty and feels strange.




We adjust differently, but together. And things have kept us busy.


My husband, like a lot of people these days, has been working like a crazy person, often well into the night. I, on the other hand, have the same schedule, but my job is in jeopardy every year. I worry about my husband, because like most men, he's obsessed with our financial future. He can recite line and verse of our retirement investments in his sleep. He worries about it constantly. I am a horse with blinders on. My greatest financial achievement is when I can find the checkbook. My husband has folios and spreadsheets. I forgo buying lunch for a week to put money in my new boot stash. This is where financial planning begins and ends for me.


Anyway, back to the mall.


We sit down in our booth. He orders a beer, I order a glass of wine, and it feels fun. This is a part of the new that's kind of nice. No soccer games to go to, so why not? Of course I ruin the moment by imagining myself loaded on our front steps hollering for my long gone, grown kids to come in for lunch.

"I think you should buy something for yourself," I tell him.

"Jane, you buy enough for the both of us," he says.


Everything but a door and welcome mat; I walk right into that one.



"I'm serious," I say. "You're working your butt off and you're stressed out all the time--buy yourself something that gives you pleasure." Our pretty waitress fills his water glass, he smiles at her.

"Not that," I say.

Again with the 'what?' Some things never change.


"Honey, life can't be all work and no play, no wonder you're miserable," I say.



He reminds me for the gazillionth time that we currently have two kids in college. State colleges and no aid, still not chump change.

"No," he says. He changes the subject. "Why do you insist on using chop sticks when you are so unbelievably bad at it?" I remind him that we are at P. F. Chang's. He asks me how many Caucasians I see, then asserts no one will take offense should I cease flinging food around.

"What do you want?" I persist. "I want to not have to work so hard, I want to be more certain of our future. I want you to stay out of that temple you call The Gap," he says.

"Honey what do you really want?" I ask. "Really want?" he asks. "Yeah, really, if you could just buy yourself a gift today?" I ask, hoping.

He pauses. I have been fed and lubricated with wine, the talking will continue. Indefinitely...He knows this.

I want a new stylus," he says finally. "A stylist?" I ask. I am momentarily worried. Is this going to be one of those conversations where my life permanently changes. Upshot, I would have been right about the mall back in the day. It's always nice to be right. Maybe...

"A new cartridge for my turntable," he says. Giving me the 'I don't care if you bleach it; you are still blond to the core' look.

My husband is a true vinyl snob. Anything and everything he has ever really loved musically he hunts ravenously for in vinyl. I cannot tell you how many musty dark shops I have followed him into looking for The Who's "Who's Next?" or Dire Straits' "Brothers in Arms" in vinyl. I hate these places and annoy him relentlessly when he makes me go with him. "Oh honey, I found what you're looking for," I say. I hold up a Toni Basil "Hey Mickey!" album. He looks up, back down, shuffles through. I do not amuse him.

"Jane the stylus I want is almost five hundred bucks," he says. I try not to look shocked. If the man ever knew what I spent on art supplies, I would need a three day head start.

"You love music, you listen to it almost every day, and I know it relaxes you. Just buy it," I say. "It's a lot of money," he sighs. "But not if you truly get enjoyment from what you're buying," I say.

I'm afraid I'm losing ground. He is so practical. For the millionth time I wonder how we've lasted so long. But I know why, and that's why I am being a pain in the ass today.

Four years ago this man converted part of our house into an art studio for me. New layout, new walls, new windows, the right lighting, shelving, a work table, closets-- right down to French doors and crown molding. For an art studio. It was not cheap. All this for me to paint mediocre paintings of doe-eyed women and flowers, because painting gives me pleasure. You could drive by my modest colonial twenty times and never know the gift that is inside my house. He built this for me.

"Honey, the house is so quiet now," I say. "Sometimes I think it bothers you even more than me. Let's learn how to do this. You listen to music and I'll paint. We'll go to the mall again on weekend afternoons. We'll have a glass of wine in the middle of the day. We'll do other things in the middle of the day. When the kids are done with college we'll go to Europe. Together.

The check comes, he pulls out his wallet. "The mall I could take or leave," he says. "I don't like the mall--you do."

"We had fun today," I say.

"We did," he says and smiles.

We head to the stereo store.