href="#litres_trial_promo">Day 28 – Utilitarian Sex
Jane: protagonist-narrator. 38. Married. Four children. Works from home erratically as a financial analyst. Analytical, realistic, rational, almost detached…until she gets that text from Matt.
Matt: hero/anti-hero in one. 41. Married. Childless. A lover from Jane’s past who re-enters her life and shakes its foundations.
Marie: Jane’s best friend. 39. Married. Two children. As emotional and volatile in her expressions and search for passion and romance as Jane is controlled and restrained. Actively and constantly searching for affairs; failing to consummate any of them.
Alex: Jane’s husband. 40. Lawyer. Workaholic. Good father. Affectionate but perhaps unexciting. Except to his young associate, whose texts he reads in the bathroom…
Lacey: Jane’s next-door neighbour. 53. Gorgeous, sexy, confident and loving. The only person Jane comes close to confiding in. In a twelve-year-long, on-again-off-again relationship with Clint.
Clint: Lacey’s lover and father of her ten-year-old son. Player. Engaged to Lacey, but still involved sexually with the mother of his other son, who becomes pregnant (by him? Or her other lover?) while Clint is wedding planning with Lacey.
Nicola: Marie and Jane’s friend. 40. Two children. In the middle of an acrimonious divorce from Paul, her husband of twelve years. Angry, resentful. But also…hungry.
Jesse: Jane and Nicola’s personal trainer. 26. Eye candy. Not very bright. Taken for granted by Jane. Coveted by Nicola.
Jane’s mother and father: In their 60s, spry and attractive. The tensions in their 43-year-old relationship, a defining feature of Jane’s childhood, reach a breaking point as Jane begins her mindfuck with Matt.
JP: Marie’s husband. 45. Lawyer. Works with Alex. ‘King of foreplay’, but otherwise thoroughly unsatisfactory.
Paul: Nicola’s husband. Referred to by Nicola and her friends as cheating rat-fuck bastard so often, Jane forgets what his name is…until he starts sexting with Marie.
Colleen: Nicola’s best friend. Long divorced. Appears intermittently in role of ‘Greek chorus’ to offer unconditional support to Nicola and vent against all cheating spouses.
Melanie-Susan-Shelley: Alex’s associate, whose name Jane refuses to remember. 28. Has a huge crush on Alex. Not sure how to deal with the fact he has a wife and children.
Craig: Married. 45. Attractive, restless. Minor character who enters Jane’s life and is passed on to Marie.
Alex’s mother, father and assorted stepmothers: Alex’s mother was ‘the first wife’, and she’s still not quite over the divorce. Neither is the second wife. The third wife wants to have a baby. His son desperately wishes he didn’t have any of his genes.
2001
Recovered from the exertions of your wedding night, lover? And the honeymoon?
—Fuck off.
Of course. Tell me next time you’re in Montreal.
—I will.
Good.
2002
Jane, what the fuck happened? What did I do? Tell me.
—Nothing. It’s not you. I have to be done.
Clarify.
—I can’t do this. I can’t be – his. Yours. And now the other. I can’t. I have to be done.
I don’t understand. But you know I won’t chase. I’m gone.
—Go. I’ll miss you. But please go.
Gone.
2002
Congratulations.
2004
Lover. Are you all right?
—I’m alive. Don’t fucking call me that.
2008
More new baby pics have made it my way. Congratulations, lover. You look happy.
—A) Don’t call me that. B) I am. C) Still an evolutionary dead end?
Is that an indirect way of telling me to fuck off?
—Yes.
Gone. I am happy for you. Truly.
2010
Love the new look. Hot.
—Yup.
Knowing you’re hot – also hot.
—Not for you.
Ouch.
2011
—Happy birthday and all that.
Thank you. Lover. How are you?
—Fine.
Will you come see me next time you’re in Montreal?
—I have four children. I don’t jet-set very much these days. Are you ever in YYC?
Rarely. But sometimes. Is that an invitation?
2012
I have a new client who will have me flying into YYC now and then. If that happens – will you see me?
—Maybe.
Maybe. That’s how it begins.
Monday, December 3
5 a.m.
Fuck. I close my eyes. Turn this way, that. Open them. 5.01 a.m. Well. This is productive. I get up – give the alarm clock a resentful stare. Go downstairs. Ponder making coffee – making that first pot is a sign of surrender to the morning, an admission that