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Looking over the menu, we talked about writing as if this was a business lunch, but my heart was pounding.
“You know everything about me and I don’t know anything about you,” I said, because he’d read my writing, so he knew all about my childhood traumas, bad breakups, and struggles with depression, anxiety, and OCD. We’d only just met, but we could already tell each other everything about ourselves.
“My religion allows a man to marry as many as he wants so the ladies in Judaism accept the act.
So far as he takes good care of you and does not give you problem, then you are good to be with him.
On our last get-together, he confided to me that he is not happy in his marriage – they have slept in separate bedrooms for three years and no longer have sex.
“The balance is off,” I said, swirling a French fry in ketchup. Lunch lasted for three hours and turned into coffee at a café a few blocks away, and then a lingering walk through the Manhattan streets as the sun warmed us on that bright fall day.
“Tell me something personal about you.” “I’m sober,” he said. After I left David I was in a daze, dizzy from our effortless afternoon together.
Our other friends have mentioned many times that he is very unhappy in his marriage.
He has twin children who will be leaving for college in about two years, and he said that he believes he will initiate a divorce if things don’t change.