The Wives

by Tarryn Fisher

That’s how women are, right? Always wondering about each other—curiosity and spite curdling together in little emotional puddles. Little good that does; if you wonder too hard, you’ll get everything wrong.

You can play with them in secret. No one has to know. You don’t have to give up something you love just because other people disapprove, she said. Secrets: I’m good at having them and keeping them.

It’s all too perfect, I think. When things are that perfect, something is wrong.

“First off,” she begins, “I don’t give a flying fuck how innocent a man appears, if a woman has the tits to come forward and say she’s scared, something is going the fuck on to make her scared. You don’t need to get too involved, but you can get involved enough to give her the push to leave. We’re all just waiting for someone to stand behind us, aren’t we? Even if it’s just one person, it gives you strength.”

if Mrs. Steinbridge sits at home waiting for him or if she has a life of her own, and if there is someone in her life saying, “He works hard, don’t be too hard on him...” Waiting...waiting...that’s what women do. We wait for him to get home, we wait for him to pay attention to us, wait to be treated fairly—for our worth to be seen and acknowledged. Life is just a waiting game for women.