The Comfort Zone

Maggie took the long way home. Her step was slow, her breath ragged. She craved the shadows, hurrying through the pools under streetlights, lingering in the darkness between.
Her knees wobbled under the weight of her grief. Turning into an alley, Maggie leaned against the chill brickwork and let out a shuddering breath. Pressing her forehead to the dampness of the wall, Maggie’s nails dug through moss until they scraped against the abrasive cement. For a moment, she feared she would come apart at the seams, that all the sadness would explode outward and it would be like she had never existed, but, somehow, with another gulping breath the sensation eased. The scuff of a foot against the pavement behind her encouraged her to push on. What if it’s someone you know?
Heart broken. Maggie had only felt this way once before, and then she was a teenager. Oh, how she’d loved Ricky Marshall. Oh, how it had hurt when he’d ‘chucked’ her to go out with Barbara-bloody-Mason. Was this the same thing? Just a crush? God, it didn’t feel like a crush.
I don’t believe in love at first sight had been Maggie’s mantra for the last three months. Love grew. Love was acceptance, understanding, the thing that stopped you strangling him when he kept leaving the bloody toilet seat up. Love is patient, Love is Kind. Love, was what she had with Martin.
In more than twenty years together, she’d never been drawn to another man. Her feelings for Martin might have dimmed over time, but the first spark of attraction had given way to something else, had been made solid by the weight of years. While friend’s marriages had bent, or broken, theirs had endured because…well, they loved each other.
She’d been completely unprepared for the strength of her feelings for John. He had come to a meeting of the village hall trust, Maggie had gone over to welcome him, their eyes had met and her life had changed. I don’t believe in love at first sight. But what was it then, if not love? What was that jolt, an endless second as reality reasserted itself around the connection they made. Is love making small talk, all the while wondering why you just want to lean into this man, to close your eyes and meld. To give up yourself to one-ness? Is love the feeling that a journey is over, that you’ve found something you didn’t even know was missing?
Or is love putting your key in the door after a long day, and finding a steaming cup of tea and your favourite biscuits ready for you? Is love not needing to speak, because you know what the other person is going to say? Is love decades of shared experience, of trust and companionship?
The shock of freezing water seeping over the top of her shoe recalled Maggie to reality; the puddle she had thoughtlessly stepped in was deep. The moon’s reflection reasserted itself as she drew out her foot and shook off the frigid drops. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Maggie’s lips trembled, then grief poured out of her in great shaking sobs that she tried to stifle behind her hands. She ran, down a side street to the park, empty at this hour, and crumpled onto a bench until the crying stopped.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. But what about when you breathe him in, and your eyelids flutter closed like you’ve just inhaled marijuana? What about when his hand brushes yours, and you both pull back like you’ve been burned? What about when you learn the meaning of ‘painfully aware’ because having him sit beside you, in public, as you deal with feelings you haven’t even acknowledged in private, is excruciating?
Love doesn’t hurt. Martin had shown her that. All the love songs, all the movies, all those tragic endings tried to paint a different picture; but that wasn’t love as her husband had shown it. Love, with him, had always been soft, warm, enveloping. Maybe it wasn’t big romantic gestures, maybe he’d proposed with a squeeze of the hand and a nudge towards the ring in the jeweller’s window but love wasn’t about drama. Love, was showing up.
Just business, Maggie had told herself as she’d arrived at the coffee shop to meet John. Just village hall business. But that didn’t explain why she’d changed outfits three times, or why she’d spent extra time over her hair and make-up. An awkward meeting, words tripping over the things that they couldn’t say. The indulgence of just looking into his eyes, the rush of blood in her ears, the delicious, illicit subtext of being with someone when you know you shouldn’t.
Then coming home to make shepherd’s pie and an unexpected midweek Bakewell Tart, served with custard and a large portion of guilt. What am I doing? This is the man I love. The struggle to make conversation with someone to whom words have become unnecessary, to try and compare the experience when the decades have stripped all the novelty from this love, leaving it like a threadbare teddy. Something you can’t bear to part with.
I don’t believe in love at first sight. So, her feelings for John couldn’t be love. It was a midlife crisis. An error of judgement. A delusion, perhaps. A dangerous delusion. Taking it to its conclusion, it would mean breaking the heart of a truly wonderful man and disappointing her children. It could not be taken to its conclusion.
‘I’m terribly sorry, but this is going to be my last meeting. I can’t continue on the committee any longer.’ An admission made at the very end of the meeting, Maggie had wished everyone good luck and slipped out the door. John’s voice had called her back.
‘Maggie?’
She had turned, and they had looked at each other, and the silence had been deafening.
‘I have to go,’ she’d said when she couldn’t endure another moment.
‘Yes. Yes. Of course,’ his mouth had opened again, as though he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.
‘Goodbye, John.’
Tilting her head back, Maggie looked up to the starlit sky. You’re being ridiculous. How can you be grieving something that never happened? What happened was a good marriage, and two children, a home. That’s the important thing.
I don’t believe in love at first sight, Maggie told herself, one last time. Drying her eyes, she pushed from the bench and walked home, putting aside all thoughts of alternative futures. Grateful for cups of tea, favourite biscuits and that same old shoulder to rest her head on. Grateful for the comfort zone.