I’ve Talked About My Husband’s Affair But Not About Mine
Jesse and I were young and freshly married when we moved to an adorable little town with a river running through it, a dream for poor newlyweds. We moved to the area after my dad passed away in our home and I needed a change of scenery. We chose this place because Jesse served a chunk of time in this area when he was on his two-year mission for the church, and therefore knew people and families in the town, which is how we ended up with a two-bedroom home for $400 a month.
I got pregnant a few months after our arrival to this quaint east coast town. I gave birth to a baby boy ten months later and was in the middle of some serious post-partum depression and anxiety with some residual PTSD from my dad’s passing tossed in there too…a hot mess basically. I was thankful for my friendship with those missionaries, they became friends to us and I still keep in touch with a few of them. There was safety in knowing there were two gentlemen upstairs who would have our back no matter what. That’s the kind of people missionaries are. They serve. They love, and then serve some more.
Elder Fray lived as a missionary in the apartment above us with his companion (as they are called in the LDS church). As a fairly new outsider, the terms used in the church sound quite odd now that I think about them lol. They came over pretty often, sometimes just to check-in, and other times to have a meal or give us a message. The stairs to their place were on the outside of the house so we didn’t even hear them come in or leave. They were gone most of the day too, so we didn’t even hear the annoying stomps that sometimes come with living in a bottom floor apartment.
Elder Fray and I shared a connection. I think Jesse knew it too. Nothing ever happened. It was always unspoken. Rules are strict for missionaries and despite my attempts to sway them to break the little white handbook of rules, they hardly ever did. Obedient little bastards.
I have pictures of him and me, from his mission, together. We aren’t touching because that isn’t allowed, we are just awkwardly sitting next to each other, my baby boy sitting between us. He is wearing his white shirt and tie and name tag. We are both smiling… and now I am just thinking about it. What innocence.
There’s another picture, evidence of him and me. This time it’s a photo of me making a funny face and slightly pointing. We are at a picnic attended by the closest friends in the branch (a smaller form of a ward, which is basically a congregation). He’s behind the camera. When I look at it now, it feels like one of those scary/thriller movies where you know the person who took the picture is the culprit. I was wearing a brown shirt, and my cleavage was awesome which I can say now with confidence but when I saw the photo then, I remember feeling slightly embarrassed because how dare I try and tempt these young men with my boobs?
Before he left for home, he gave me a copy of those pictures which is why I have them. The ones of him and I, the one of me at the picnic, and a few I took of him and his companion outside of our house at night.
Four years — I think — later we reconnected this time on a first name basis since he was no longer a commissioned missionary for the church. Zack. I do not even remember who reached out first. Wow. I wish I did. I was happy to hear from him. He was off his mission and living in Utah. We texted and for awhile it was platonic and casual in nature. He was a lot of fun. We joked and laughed and shared stories I’m sure. It’s odd how much I don’t remember.
Eventually, we started sexting. He was so sweet. I was good at sexting and often helped my friends sext their partners or potential partners. It felt good to me. It always made me a better mom and better wife. I felt fulfilled and for some reason, it reaffirmed my love for Jesse. It sounds fucked up, but it was my truth even so many years ago.
He ended up breaking it off with me. He had The Guilts I think. I remember two exact things from that entire post-mission exchange. The first was my message to him saying I wish he would let me be the decision-maker for my life while he was breaking up with me. He wasn’t the one that needed to feel guilty. He was single. I was married with two kids. One of these things is not like the other. He had no reason to feel guilty, I had every reason.
The second was a message I sent to my bff about him. It was part of a thread of messages Jesse found and read on my phone. It said:
I love zf but I love Jesse more.
Another truth.
