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about the first time Ashley came to the house. She had met my parents once in the city, but then she came out for Christmas Eve. I think that’s when my parents fell in love with her. She had talked passionately about her job and career aspirations. And then moved on to literary figures, understanding all my dad’s obscure references, from Plato to Gina Lollobrigida.
     
    Ashley’s grandmother was from Brazil, and her grandfather was from Hungary. An odd mix that gave her that slightly exotic look. She brought my mom some very pricey, aged wine from Hungary and my dad a Brazil soccer jersey for the World Cup that summer. My dad is a big fan of England, but he wore that Brazil jersey during the tournament—at least the two times we showed up.
     
    On New Year’s Eve, I told Ashley I loved her. I had never been the first in a relationship to say “I love you.” That line had always come first from prior girls I dated, and I typically had a “good grief” kind of reaction.
     
    But I wanted to be the first to say it to Ashley, because I meant it, and I wanted the declaration to be unprompted. She didn’t tell me she loved me back. It took another month for that. But I didn’t care. I had told her I loved her first. That was important to me.
     
****
     
    After her piano playing, Ashley and my mom went shopping and my dad talked business, the economy, interest rates, stocks, etc.
     
    It was because of my dad that I was in finance. He had opened doors for me and I always respected what he had to say.
     
    Nonetheless, given all the crazy thoughts that continued traversing my brain, I struggled to pay full attention and engage.
     
    The sun suddenly came out after my mom and Ashley returned. Ashley had brought her suit on that chance, and soon we were sitting next to the pool. Ashley was a little wary, looking over at my neighbors’ house. Last year, she had seen their seventh grade son jerking off from the fence while watching her sunbathe. My parents had been out of town that weekend, and I was determined to confront him or tell his parents.
     
    She pleaded with me, “Don’t, we don’t know it for sure and he’s just a little kid.”
     
    So I didn’t. But Ashley didn’t spend any more time by the pool that weekend—at least not in a swimsuit.
     
****
     
    On the train back, I was thinking of making love to Ashley, just having sweet sex with my wife. It had been five days. I had a hard-on the whole ride.
     
    I had always believed we had a pretty good sex life. It wasn’t crazy, in the thralls of passion sex like in the movies, but it was always loving, tender, and bonding.
     
    We were hardly the most adventurous couple in bed, but I always felt we were in sync; we clicked and it worked.
     
    When I came out of the bathroom, having just gotten ready for bed, Ashley was sleeping above the covers.
     
    My dumb luck , I thought.
     
    Opportunity lost.
     
    Still, it had been a really special day.
     
****
     
    Sunday was considerably stranger.
     
    Ashley headed out to Connecticut to see a college friend. I comforted in the seeming normality of things. It was like the conversation about the rumor had never taken place.
     
    Had I not talked with Craig and heard the details, I might well have mentally slid it under the rug as well.
     
    I pulled out a photo album from last year. There was a picture of Ashley in a white bikini in Florida, her boobs on display, sipping a margarita by the pool. Ashley’s smile looked so wholesome and innocent, her complexion so smooth and youthful that it still gets her routinely carded.
     
    I was imagining what Jim Murta had been thinking as he looked at her in that bathroom. That’s when I suddenly sprouted an erection—a major what-the-fuck-moment. And it didn’t go away. I had never masturbated in front of Ashley, and here was Jim Murta jerking his cock in front of my wife. Had he been a few feet away or was she watching him stroke it up close? Suddenly I had my dick out