Animal Instincts

For a while, life sped past, meeting Amanda’s most optimistic expectations. She never relaxed entirely, and yet, for eight years Mike Morrison apparently loved her. He behaved so much like a content, devoted husband that she believed him.

In Chicago, they lived on her income from selling real estate, lavishly supplemented by Mike’s parents, while he got an MBA and moved into a hot-shot job at Northern Trust.

During a vacation in Hawaii, Amanda became pregnant with her first daughter, Evie. Three years later to the day, she named her second daughter Deirdre, destined to be called DeeDee. Her daughters made her rejoice. Even their tantrums and erratic sleep patterns filled her with glee. Amanda was the mother she had always wanted, not perfect, but calm and strict and boundlessly loving. Not to mention—present.

[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]

She continued to sell comparatively small, well-kept houses in Chicago’s fabulous North Shore suburbs, working mostly on weekends, while Mike played with the girls.

The year Evie started kindergarten, they visited Madison in June. Mike’s father the famous cardiologist threw up his hands and raised his eyebrows seeing Mike. “What happened to you? You need to lose twenty pounds, minimum.”

Mike puffed his cheeks, nodding. “I know it.”

His mother, who never criticized him, chimed in. “Really, Mike. You were never fat.”

When they turned to Amanda, remarking on how slender she was, she blushed. “Nervous energy.”

Nonsense, they claimed. Mike wasn’t taking care of himself. Amanda disagreed in silence. Mike looked impressively fit compared to his friends. And he was young.

The next week he signed up with a special trainer, Nadia, at a downtown gym. The first time Mike said her name, Amanda’s radar flipped into high gear. And, she was right.

Mike started working later hours at the bank, and then working out so long, he took the last train home. 

Soon, Amanda joined a local group of flex-time mothers who traded babysitting, because Mike was spending Saturday and Sunday downtown. 

For all that, by August, Amanda couldn’t help wonder out loud why Mike was heavier than ever.

“Muscle mass,” he said. “That’s what Nadia and I are going for. If my muscles burn enough calories, I can eat whatever I want.”

“Good,” she said. “You should eat what you want.” But her suspicion whispered that food played a small part in his ritual. He came home scrubbed clean, freshly shaven, his mouth tasting like toothpaste.

After the girls were born, he’d mumble “luv ya,” just before falling asleep. But lately he had started declaring his love as if someone off stage were denying it. He pulled her into bed with no preliminaries. Then, even though it was late, he hurried downstairs to watch TV and drink beer.

Amanda stopped counting the signs, and started envisioning how it might play out.

In October an unfamiliar phone number flashed on the land line at four pm. “Amanda? This is Nadia Hinson. I’m calling to inform you that Michael wants to divorce you and marry me.”

“Mike,” Amanda asked, “are you there?”

“Of course, he’s not here,” Nadia snapped.

“I’ll call his office then.”

“Fine. Do that. But he’ll be here by six.”

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