Chapter 43: Reckoner

Viktor had told me early on that Marin would be more comfortable with he and I seeing one another if I was a part of their community. He said Marin had a name for women he dated who were not a part of their social group: his concubines.

Then he said, “The more you see of her, the less you will see of me.”

He gave no further explanation. Which was, obviously, a mindfuck.

Nonetheless, I made an effort, and Marin and I gradually became friends. Or, friends-ish. We met for lunch a couple times, and a happy hour here and there. It never felt like we related very naturally with one another, though, and our conversations sometimes fell into an awkward lull. Always they felt like effort.

My contact with Marin was sporadic. Every week or two we’d exchange a few texts—a friendly greeting, a mention of an upcoming event, something about nonmonogamy. Occasionally we’d hash out some recent issue between the three of us. Rarely we confided in one another like real girlfriends.

One recurring question we mused about was whether nonmonogamy was an orientation like being straight or gay. Was it a lifestyle? A hobby? A choice? A mindset? I didn’t know. I don’t think she did either. But it was weighing on her mind, because she was falling in love with a man she’d met recently who was monogamous, which cast her relationship with Viktor into an uncertain light.

What I knew of the conflict between the two of them was that she felt her needs were unmet. Somehow, despite his dogged, abiding affection for her, Viktor was unable to consistently provide her with the reassurance she needed of her primacy in his life. There was talk of them breaking up, which hurt to think about. I loved him privately, yes, but I didn’t want him at the expense of her. I didn’t want him like that anyway. I had never suffered the illusion that he and I could work. He was not safe enough for me. He was a man who fucked for sport. That would never work for me in a primary partner. My feelings for him were complicated—I loved him, fundamentally, as he was. I was fascinated by his mind, I adored his body, I loved having sex with him…but I did not want him to be my boyfriend.

Toward the end of my dating spree, Viktor and I had a dinner date unlike any that preceded it. We planned it only the night before, for one thing, which meant I didn’t have time to go through my usual shenanigans, to effectively turn myself into a perfectly decorated, partially hairless, selectively polished human doll. Instead, when we met after work, I was in jeans and a shirt with not even a smudge of make-up. I couldn’t be bothered. My job was turning me into a ball of nerves and, after more than a year of chaos in love and sex, I was shattered. I was smoking on pace with my drinking and sleeping poorly. Motherhood—and, ironically, my relationship with Jack—was the most stable aspect of my life. My family didn’t know much of what was happening, and neither did my friends. I didn’t want to reach out to them. I was ashamed of the problems I blamed myself for. Jessa was the only person in my life who knew the extent of my despair.

The previous week I had gotten into a conversation with Viktor via text wherein I revealed more about my inner world and feelings than I ever had. It made me uncomfortable to let him be a person I confided in. He was not that person for me, but I didn’t have the energy to hold in my feelings when he asked how I was. I was surprised the way he responded, with kindness and warmth. Maybe it’s why I felt okay showing up for this date as my actual self—authentic, resigned, and hurting—versus my glamourish, neurotic, insecure facsimile.

Given the uncertain state of his relationship with Marin, I wasn’t sure whether we’d go home together, but when I invited him back to my place, he accepted. We walked to the beach to share a joint. I was standing several feet away when I told him—it felt like a confession—that I loved him. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t want my words to impact him. I just for some reason needed him to know. Maybe I sensed our time together was coming to an end.

I was getting used to things ending. Or maybe better at recognizing them. I was pretty sure my job was also nearly over.

Viktor and I walked back to my house and laid down on my bed. He put his head in my lap while we talked, more words about him and Marin and how it might be fixed. The sweetness of the moment—holding him that way in the candlelight, him letting me—felt like it might break me. It was the most vulnerable we had ever been with one another.

Viktor mentioned he wanted to leave early to get home; Marin would be back soon from a date and he wanted to show her that he was there for her. I supported his choice, though I also felt disappointed the date had been all about him and her, and not at all about me. As he walked out the door, he turned back to thank me with greater sincerity than I had ever heard him express. For the first time, I felt like we were on equal footing.  

The next morning, I was getting ready for work when my phone started blowing up with incoming texts. I found it on the charger in the kitchen. I stood frozen as I read.