Cabin Affairs

Step 2. Next Exit: Matthew

Step 2. Next Exit: Matthew

Playlist: “Don’t Tell Me” by Madonna

So why am I making this long drive alone, you might ask? Where is my husband? If he wants to watch me in the act with another man, then why doesn't he accompany me?

Again, I ask you to consider logistics. You see, we are not just a married couple, we are also parents. That's right, I am a proud mom of two very loud and adorable monsters. We are a family.

According to the GPS voice monitored from my center console, there is an hour and forty-five minutes left for my drive to the cabin. The robotic female voice interrupts my musings, and I check the screen again; a place that I have glanced at an embarrassingly frequent number of times. The update is both surprising and reassuring. My mind has plenty of time to drift back to thoughts of my husband…

We met when I first started college at the naive age of nineteen. Matthew had already completed his undergraduate work, and at twenty-two, he was beginning his first semester at law school.

While his family was quite wealthy, they gave him little to nothing to live on, insisting that he learn how the world truly worked by earning his own way. Of course, his tuition, books, and rent for a private, upscale apartment were fully funded, but a man's still got to eat. I still silently thank them every day, because if not for their parenting strategy, we might never have met.

Matthew was working as a bartender at a local college club, humorously named The Library. I had been dancing with a close girlfriend of mine, clutching a beer that had been purchased for me by some hopeful man, who received only some light grinding through one song for his efforts.

A set of obnoxious and intoxicated girls began arguing. Before the crowd became aware, they pushed one another, causing a domino effect of falling college girls, too drunk to manage much balance in their high heels. I went crashing into a wall of sweat and muscle behind me, spilling two Long Island iced teas that he had just purchased from said bartender. While I was then the victim of a random chick fight and dripping in Long Island iced tea, this random stranger placed all the blame fully on me for his spilled beverages.

The angry giant in the college hoodie grabbed me by the arm as I desperately tried to extricate myself from his clutches with my friend. He was slurring curses at me loud enough that the room caught on through the blaring base of the music. That was apparently my damsel in distress moment as Matthew, the bartender, decided to swoop in and rescue me.

He pulled Mr. Hoodie off of me and wrapped him quickly in a sleeper hold. The bouncers escorted the i***t outside soon after. I was quite shaken by the incident, even though I was relieved to see the moron leave. Who wears a hoodie to a nightclub in summer anyway?

The handsome bartender found me a promotional tee-shirt to change into, and kept me company as my group of friends, who were my ride home, weren't ready to leave. He poured us both countless mocktails of his own creation while we talked, discovering early in our conversation that I was still under the legal drinking age.

In a bout of confidence I didn't know I possessed, I boldly programmed my phone number into his cell before leaving. When he texted me the next day under an overtly false pretense of getting the club's tee-shirt back, I was elated. I had dated in high school and had a couple of flings with boys in my past, but Matthew was a man. A gorgeous, intelligent, and kind man. I fell hard and fast.

Matthew and I dated for six months before he introduced me to his parents and told me he loved me. We had s*x, my third partner ever, on the same night. About one month later, a pregnancy test sealed my fate.

When I broke the news to Matthew, he laughed. My hackles rose, completely offended, and sure that I was about to be left alone as a single parent. To my astonishment, Matthew pulled out a stunning ring with diamonds set around a large round emerald, matching the dark green of his eyes.

"Now, I have the perfect excuse to give this to you so soon. I've been carrying it around in my pocket since we met my parents. I love you, Jenny Lynn. This was my grandmother's ring, until today," he told me as he knelt down on one knee. The rest of his words were romantic and sweet, but I hardly recall them now, as I cried throughout the whole exchange. Blame it on the hormones.

We were married before I entered my second trimester, with a whirlwind, yet lavish affair gifted by his parents. They genuinely seemed to accept me and care for me, which made my fairytale romance all the better. I finally felt like I had a family again.

My own parents had died in a car accident when I was much younger, and my aunt struggled to make the meager insurance settlement last me as long as possible. I was always grateful she stepped up to raise me. Aunt Cathy and I took on the world together, but my world was small.

A vast amount of my early memories are also spent with Eric's family in his bustling and boisterous two story suburban home. They lived three streets over, about an eight minute walk I could make in my sleep. He was the middle of five sons, who grew up in an Irish Catholic home, so one more mouth to feed at the table didn't seem to bother anyone. In fact, I was usually requested by Eric's mother, since I brought a soft voice to the sea of masculinity.

But this walk down memory lane isn't about Eric. It's about my loving husband, Matthew, and our life together. Our son was born a robust and healthy ten pounds, followed by our beautiful seven pound baby girl nearly a year later. Being a mom is my everything. I truly believe it is the best thing I will ever do in my life.

At Matthew's urging, I finished my Bachelors degree after dropping down to a part-time course load while raising the kids. I had always loved literature, so after graduation I found a remote editor's gig for an online periodical. It didn't pay much, but it allowed me the freedom to make our children my first priority.

We didn't need the money anyway. Matthew finished top of his class, receiving a highly coveted law clerk position, which later evolved into a high-paid Associate Counsel position at an AMLaw50 firm. Years of hard work and natural intelligence led to his eventual promotion as an Equity Partner. Add to that, his parents' overly generous nature towards us and their only grandchildren, and finances were never an issue.

Yep, I am a proud mom of two; an eight and a nine year old. Anyone with kids knows it is nearly impossible to just pick up and leave for a few days. Careful planning is required. This wasn't exactly the kind of trip we could tell our families about either.

In order to make this fantasy of his come true, Matthew generously offered to stay home with the kids for a week while mommy spent time with an old friend, Uncle Eric, as the kids always called him. He wasn't entirely wrong, I guess.

So, the long and short of my solitary drive comes down to logistics. Matthew is working and caring for our two children, while I drive hours away to a hunting cabin to f**k my childhood friend and send photos and videos to my husband periodically.

Matthew's last piece of advice to me before I pulled out of our driveway, “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks as long as you are living the life you want. Who cares what some moms at the PTO do? They’re probably miserable anyway. I think you are amazing, and I love you no matter what. Eric feels the same way, I think. Just make sure you are comfortable. You don’t have to do anything you don't want to. I’m happy as long as you come home. Don’t be so afraid of losing other people that you lose yourself.”

I realize I only have so many exits left on the highway, so I figure it is best to stop now and grab some fast food. I'll probably be arriving at dinner time and I have no idea what to expect of the cabin's rudimentary kitchen. That is my task for tomorrow, I tell myself.

I grab my cell phone and turn on the speech to text function. I hate people who allow texting when driving, as I am a very cautious person. Moms usually are. Carelessness is not the luxury of a caretaker.

That's right, me, cautious. Go figure.

Jenny Lynn: Hey, I am a little under two hours out. I was thinking about running through a drive-thru somewhere. Can I bring you anything?

Eric: Oh, yeah. I'm starving. I've been cleaning up around the cabin all day and I haven't started thinking about food yet. Grab me something too, please, and thank you.

Jenny Lynn: Such as?

Eric: Hmm. Fries and chicken tendies?

I actually laugh out loud. Even my nine-year-old son had stopped calling them "chicken tendies" long ago. That's what I love about my relationship with Eric. When we got together, we were ourselves again. There is a natural fluidity to our conversations that has never been duplicated. Time didn't pass for us.

Except that time has passed, I abruptly realize. A lot of time… We haven't seen each other in person for three years. Eric hasn't seen me from the neck down in all that time, and certainly not in anything as skimpy as even a bathing suit since before I was married. Sure, we video chat, but this week would be a whole new level of physical interaction.

We aren't kids anymore. I'm not the same woman he knew on the outside. I had two children, both of whom I breastfed for a year each. I had a small surgical breast lift and augmentation after that, but what if Eric doesn't like enhanced boobs? What if he doesn't like the way I look now in general? I don't need this week to deflate my self-confidence. I have matured into a real woman's body. I use retinoid cream at night, for crying out loud.

Forget the drive-thru! I am now sweating profusely in my panic, and I need to go inside the bathroom to freshen myself up before meeting Eric. It is too late to turn back now, but a few minutes to recollect myself will be vital. The napkins I keep in the glove compartment that are now shoved under my armpits are not going to do the trick.

After such a pit stop, I climb back into my black SUV, or as my kids so aptly refer to it, as my 'mom mobile.' I had reapplied makeup, lotion, and deodorant in the public restroom. The baby wipes that never left my purse from the second baby also served as a feminine refresher. I'm as improved as I am going to get.

While also loaded down with chicken tenders, fries, and Coke, I opt for a light salad and smoothie for several reasons. First, I decide it is both polite and less awkward to eat with Eric when I first arrive. Secondly, my now delusional brain has convinced its usually logical self that a salad will keep me looking thin.

I am a fit woman who does strength training and takes Barre classes three times a week. Yet, the idea of another man seeing me naked hoists a whole new set of insecurities my way.

I went all out for this trip, more than my last four vacations with my husband. I had my hair cut and re-dyed. I got a professional manicure and pedicure, which I usually considered to be a waste of money. I plucked, shaved, waxed, and groomed every part of my body that required it with incredible precision.

Matthew loved it and encouraged me every step of the way. Two days before I was supposed to leave for this trip, I texted Matthew at work about reconsidering. I shared my concerns and insecurities with him as directly as I could because that's the kind of marriage we have. That night, he brought me home new lingerie to help pack a bag. He always made me feel loved and seen. I wanted to show my appreciation.

Thinking about Matthew, I want to do this for him.

Thinking about Eric, I simply want to do this.

What the hell am I thinking?

"Sharp left turn ahead."

Fucking GPS and it's accurate description of my situation.