December 1981 – Fairfield, CT

"I'm gonna go get my boots from the closet," Michael said as he walked out of their bedroom.

Angela called after him, "I'll get your bag."

"Thanks!" his voice carried.

Angela reached for the giant duffel on the top shelf of their closet. She had to strain in a twisted, tippy, one-footed fashion to even get her fingers on it. When she felt it, she opened the eyes she'd squinted in the process, and saw her tiny, red dress from that New Year's Eve, so long ago. It could've easily hidden behind anything, but in this case, it was hanging behind her favorite maternity suit. She felt a heavy sadness cover her, as she lowered off her toes, the bag forgotten.

She scooted the back hangars away from the wall and unhooked her dress. Holding it in her hands, she moved her thumbs over the material. She loved this dress. She'd felt so sexy and free that night. The desire she'd evoked from Michael was nothing short of luxurious, and she had felt severely in need of pampering that night. Not to mention, it was the first of many such moments, all neatly hallmarked by this pretty piece of nostalgia.

She also hated this dress. As bad as she felt thinking it, considering her sweet son for whom she wouldn't trade anything, a ghostly part of her - who was getting more and more confident in her appearances - wished she'd never gone out that night. And even if she had, looking at this relic made her feel even heavier than what the 15 pounds she'd recently gained bespoke. What if I never fit into this again?

Michael came in the room with his boots and a new garbage bag. He slid the boots in and spun out the excess air like a tire swing. He looked up from his boots. "You get the bag?"

"Hmm?" Angela jolted from her thoughts and dropped her hands with the dress down at her sides.

"The bag?"

"Oh…no, I didn't. Sorry. It's right there," she pointed up at the top of the closet.

He looked at her, a little confused, but stepped past her and easily pulled it down. "You alright?"

Angela had been making a considerable effort to fly under the radar. Part of the ritual, alongside busyness and smiles, had been to reveal as little of herself as possible. She'd been wearing baggy clothes, eating sparingly (in public), and making her advances in the dark. So far, no sirens had gone off anywhere. Except now, in her hands, she held a most conspicuous tattler, and she was scared. She knew how much he'd liked her in that dress.

"What's that?" he tried again.

She was turned away from him and kept staring at the red cloth in her hands. Slowly, she stepped into the spotlight. "It's my dress from that New Year's," she said quietly.

"Ahh!" he smiled widely. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. "I can't believe that was five years ago… What a great night," he said dreamily.

Her brows furrowed. Doesn't he get the disconnect?

He continued, in between kisses under her ear, "I'll never forget watching you walk out onto that dancefloor. Mm-mmm! You were on a mission."

She smiled a little, despite her curious brows. Surely, he doesn't think I'm the same woman now…? Doesn't he miss her? I do.

He let out a quick laugh into her hair. "You know, for the life of me, I can't remember what songs we danced to? Any of them. But I'll never forget the way you felt."

He says that like it's a good thing…doesn't he see I don't feel the same now?

She spoke tentatively, "What do you remember?"

He rested his chin down onto her shoulder. "Mmm – I remember your hair looked like lightning with those lights they had. I remember this little number," he said, picking the dress from her hands, "fortunately, covering almost nothing - and it really showed off, more than covered, what it did," he chuckled. "I remember I spotted your legs from across the room. They were so long and curved just right. I wanted to keep staring at you, but I was afraid someone else would ask you to dance." She smiled.

He paused to think. "…I remember you had this bright red lipstick, and I was dying to kiss you as soon as I was close enough to ask you to dance." He laughed, "You really worked me over - you just stood there, checkin' me out, for like a minute, before you said, 'yes'!" He tickled her side, and her involuntary giggle instantly preceded a fiery blush, thinking how she must feel extra squishy. But he kept talking, holding her from behind.

"And I remember your big, brown eyes, all blacked out in some kind of eye gook - you looked fierce. And it wasn't just you standing there, swinging those amazing hips around, driving me mad... It was your attitude. You didn't want anything. You didn't owe anything. You were there for you… I remember the first couple songs, you had your hands up behind my head." He smiled widely, now, remembering, "and you were, like, dragging your nails a little across the back of my neck – Man, I thought you were gonna eat me!" His laughed.

"And then you spun around, and backed that ass up into me," he smacked her butt. "Mmm!" he shuddered pleasurably. "It was everything I could do to not…"

"You did," she smiled dryly.

Michael laughed softly, lifting her hair, and kissed his way to her other ear. "Trust me, honey," he mouthed along her skin, "I didn't do anywhere near what I wanted to."

She looked down and grinned, in spite of herself.

He leaned forward and grazed the side of her face with his lips. "You felt like heaven," he said softly.

Angela closed her eyes, suddenly very sure why she was still so enamored. She opened her eyes and hugged the arms that were hugging her.

"Funny how alike our perspectives are. That was the worst week," – at the time, she amended internally. "I'd spent every day since Christmas, crying my eyes out, or staring at the wall." Michael started to slowly twist them back and forth as he listened.

"I really wanted to be by myself, but around other people. I remember, I had a couple shots, and I didn't get to dance even a minute before you came up to me." She laughed, "It kind of ticked me off, at first. But then I opened my eyes and saw who woke me from my daydream." Angela leaned back against him and smiled as she spoke. "The most perfect surprise." He smiled, nuzzling in near her neck. "I remember seeing your fantastic dimples for the first time. I remember your beautiful brown eyes were just looking for trouble - and I wanted all of it." She bumped her butt back into him, and they both laughed. She made a quarter turn of her head, and said at him, "And, for the record, that minute I took to check you out was time well spent." He laughed softly. She smirked and turned back forward. "That black, button up shirt you were wearing pulled right at the top of your delts. I specifically remember feeling your arms through your shirt as we started to dance, and wanting them all around me, holding me close, making it better...Ugh! I was in so much pain…" He squeezed her tighter, and she squeezed him back, but didn't release. She thought some more and smiled again. "It was pretty dark in there, and I remember kind of feeling my way around you like I was blind," she laughed, a little embarrassed. "Your shirt was tucked into your jeans, and I could feel how toned and fit you are…" Angela looked down, and her smile faded fast. A couple seconds went by, and Michael adjusted his position so he could see her face a little better. It was looking at the ground, and clearly sad.

"What is it?" Michael asked softly.

Angela didn't speak for several seconds. She stared intently down his arms around her, her dress still in his hands. Suddenly, even afraid, she had to know. "Do you still… want to be with me?"

"What?"

"All that stuff you just said, about how I looked and everything, and how you liked that. It's just… do you still want to be with me, even if I don't look like I did."

Michael kind of laughed a little. "Ah, Angela. So, you gained a few pounds. So what?" He moved his hips snugly up against her and brought one hand up so he could squeeze her left breast thoroughly. "Mmm - You're nice and soft," he grinned.

Okay, I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that…but he seems okay with it.

He turned her around by her waist. "Besides, you still drive me nuts." He looked down at her mouth, and moved a little farther in. "I still want to kiss you every time I get close."

"…Unless I'm making you mad," she dared tentatively.

He laughed softly. "…Nah, pretty much even then."

Angela joined his laugh, wishing she felt the same.

"How do you do that? Separate out being hurt and mad from sex?"

He laughed a little. "You're comparing apples and oranges," he said incredulously.

Her eyebrows challenged him even before she spoke. "Don't you feel closer when we have sex?"

"Of course."

"Do you ever wonder why that is?" she said with a half-serious smile. Joking was always the smoothest way to confront him. "Because it's an emotional thing! How can it not matter if we're at odds?"

"I don't know that it doesn't matter, so much as I don't care anymore."

"What?" her nose crinkled. "Yes, you do."

"Okay, fine. I forget."

Michael smiled widely as he slowly got even nearer her mouth. "I forget everything when you're this close to me."

She stared at his mouth and took a much-needed breath. I guess you've got a point…


Michael was still holding Jonathan on one hip, when Angela got in one last hug goodbye at the entrance to the jetway. She'd been in a bit of a daze since that morning, when they'd stopped packing his bags, and jumped right to the farewell. Her normally dreamy afterglow felt stuttered with fear and paranoia.

"Be careful," Angela said dutifully.

He put Jonathan down and kissed her solidly. Quietly, just to her, he said, "Am I ever?" At her shocked look, he laughed. "What's gonna happen in Iceland?" he shrugged.

He picked up his backpack and gave Jonathan a high five as he started to walk away. "Daddy, I don't want you to go." Jonathan's head went down, and his lip went out. Michael turned and looked down at him.

"I know, Little Tiger, but you're in school now. And I'll be back soon," Michael said, going for upbeat.

"No, you won't."

Michael's eyebrows acknowledged his son's remark. He sighed and squatted down to his level. "You're right. It's a long time, but you're going to do real well here with your mom. You practice your reading? I'll bring you a book back from Iceland about these ponies I'm going to film. They're really special. We'll read it together?"

"I don't want to stay here. Can I go with you? Please?" Jonathan pleaded. He dug in his pocket and found a penny. "Here, you can have this if you take me with you!"

Angela's eyes shut against the hurt – her son's, hers – and didn't see Michael looking up to her for help.

"I'm sorry, Little Tiger. There's no way I can take you," he said sadly. He rumpled Jonathan's hair as he stood back up.

Michael touched Angela's elbow. "I'll call you when I get there." Angela nodded, but kept her eyes shut for a few more seconds. When she opened them, Michael was walking into the jetway. Jonathan's teary brown eyes were watching him, and he was still holding the penny.


It had been a 7am flight, and Jonathan was now fast asleep in the backseat. Angela hurt so much watching her son watch his daddy leave. Honestly, it also felt really crappy to be the parent with whom her son was obliged to stay. Stop it, Angela! Your son is going through way worse. You saw his little face. Quit being so self-involved. She stole a worried glance into the rearview mirror. My poor baby. He doesn't understand any of this.

The bright morning sunshine gleamed through the windows, and she was grateful for the large lenses on her sunglasses. The air was clear and cold, and she kept the heat on high.

Now, driving home, with the toasty air encircling her in the otherwise quiet of the gently humming car, Angela's thoughts found their way back to this morning. What was that? Did he mean to-? That's what it felt like…

She'd been on all fours, smiling coyly over her shoulder as she scooted to the end of the bed. Michael had been standing on the floor behind her, his hands and eyes freely enjoying her. She'd shut her eyes, loosening herself to their dance. Everything had been going hot, sensual, and perfect...

Then he said it. "You mind if we turn the lights off?"

Her eyes had flown open just as the room went dark. What the hell?

Now, in the car, Angela's thoughts spiraled much as they did on the bed. All that time telling me how sexy I am, and then he doesn't want to see me? She was so mortified, she wanted to throw up. Though she was constantly questioning her experiences with him, was almost sure she'd detected an uncertainty to Michael's voice. It seemed like he didn't know what to do to fix his "problem". Maybe he had no idea how much weight I'd gained. I had been trying to keep our sex life as much in the dark as possible. Maybe he just didn't know…and now he does. Angela started to breathe faster, and, instantly, the car was unbearably hot.


They pulled up to their house and trudged their exhausted bodies into the house.

"I miss Daddy," Jonathan said sadly, as they walked through the kitchen door.

Angela gave her son a long, solid hug. "I know, honey," she said quietly.

Something in her stopped herself from saying, 'Me, too'. She stood and spoke shyly, "What do you say we have some ice cream for breakfast?"

Jonathan shook his head, "I'm not hungry. Can I go watch TV?"

"Sure, sweetie."

I wish that was the case for me. Oh! That was so humiliating! He can't even stand to look at me! Angela plunked down at the kitchen table with a half-gallon of chocolate peanut butter. Filled with self-loathing and a growing apathy, she sucked on the mound of ice cream stuck to her spoon. At least he doesn't have to see me for a few months. Dropping her head to her chest, she let out a defeated groan.


January 1982 – Fairfield, CT

Mona made a perfunctory knock on Angela's front door as she walked in. "Hello, dear!" Mona said cheerily as she took off her gloves, hat, and coat, and dumped them on the bench.

"Hi, Mother," Angela smiled. "Welcome back! And how is Waikiki at New Year's?"

Mona walked over to where Angela was reading an article on the couch. "Crowded. Next time I'm going to Kauai. Everybody says it's quiet."

"You want a quiet vacation?"

Mona shrugged, "It depends."

Angela acknowledged her mother's reasoning with her eyebrows, and Mona came to sit down next to her. Neither said anything, but Angela felt her mother's scrutiny.

"Angela."

Here we go. "Yes, Mother?"

"What's going on?"

Angela was a little thrown. She'd expected a more direct question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean what's going on with me? It's a lovely Sunday afternoon. Jonathan is playing in his room, and I'm working."

Mona's eyes narrowed. "Stop that. You know what I mean."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Mother, what is your question?" She bit her back teeth, bracing for the truth.

Mona rolled her eyes dramatically, mocking her daughter. "Fine. How's work going?"

"Excellent."

"How's Jonathan?"

"He's still sad Michael isn't here."

"Are you?"

"He left last week."

"I didn't ask that."

Angela sighed, and shrugged. "…What do you want from me, Mother?"

"I want you to tell me what's got you so upset that your appetite clearly has to pick up the slack!"

Angela slapped the magazine onto her lap. "I'm fine!"

Mona just looked at her. Several seconds went by, and Mona raised her eyebrows, prodding.

"If you're waiting for an exposition, you needn't bother."

Mona spoke softly. "What's wrong, Angela?"

Angela felt tears start behind her eyes. "…I don't know!" She sniffed up the fast-dripping mucus that had instantly appeared in her nose. Looking down, she spoke quietly, but her voice still cracked, "I've tried everything. I don't know what my problem is."

Mona flat-lined a smile, and leaned in to give her daughter a good, half-minute hug. Rubbing her back, she put her hand to Angela's face. "It's never the food, baby."

"What is?"

"The problem."

Angela threw her hands in the air. "Well, I don't know what it is. I keep thinking back to how I did things before. I remember what I did, but I'm missing something. It's not working the same."

"Of course, not." Mona piped up. "You're a different person now."

Angela frowned, but if her mother had even an inkling of a solution, she was going to do everything she could to concentrate. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, something, or some things, are bothering you. But you can't expect your mind to process things the way it did when you were 20."

Angela's head tilted. "I guess that makes sense, but how do I figure out how it works now?"

Mona shrugged. "How did it occur to you before?"

Angela rolled her eyes. "I thought that wasn't helpful."

"Hey, smart-mouth, the answer probably wouldn't be the same, but you must've found it by looking at yourself honestly at the time. Think about your situation before, what were you going through? How did what you did, or discovered, match up with those circumstances?"

Angela let out her breath, and leaned back against the sofa. She rubbed her forehead. "I don't know."

Mona shrugged. "Well, even if you bypass how you did it before, just focusing on what's going on with you, and being honest with how you feel, is what really matters. Maybe it'll help you get rid of pent-up tension. Goodness knows that outlet's taking a hit for the next few months…" Mona rolled her eyes.

Yeah, not too sad about that right now.

Instantly in her mind, Angela heard, or maybe felt, 'That's a lie.'

Angela's eyes widened, and her head rose slowly, stunned.