Page 23 of Dirty Diana
“Try to keep it about yourfeelings,Oliver,” Miriam says. “Try not to accuse.”
“It’s just a fact,” Oliver says, still not looking at me. “We don’t have sex.”
My phone rings in my purse and both their heads snap in my direction. “Sorry. Let me just…It might be Emmy’s school.” I peek at the caller ID. Alicia. Maybe she’s calling to save me. I switch my phone to silent, setting it on the end table beside me. When I look up, all eyes are on me. “It’s notnever.We had sex a couple weeks ago.” I realize how not great this sounds as soon as it comes out.
“Diana,” Miriam says, “things said in here can be hard to hear. While it’s important that we avoid accusations, it’s also important that we make space for how the other is feeling.”
“Right,” I say. “Of course.” I no longer want to scoop up Oliver. Instead I imagine walking out on them both and driving away. It’s my fault that Oliver and I rarely have sex. At some point we’d gone from having sex all the time to having it once a week, then once a month. And then sometimes nothing for months at a time.
“Is that how you see it, Diana?” Miriam asks. I panic—I haven’t been listening.
“How could you not?” Oliver asks quietly. “It was supposed to be fun. As soon as she walked through the hotel door, I had an erection. I can’t help it. Just thinking about her naked does that to me. It always has…”
“Oliver…” Why is he doing this? I turn to look at him full-on. “Are we going to talk about everything?” Now I sound prudish about sex. How did this happen? I don’t mind talking about sex. Is it our lack of sex I can’t talk about?
“Why else are we here?” Oliver sounds more than annoyed, he’s angry. I hardly recognize his tone.
“Fine,” I snap. “Yes, we have less sex. I got tired of pretending that I liked it.”
The words sizzle in the air. No one speaks.
“Have you ever told Oliver what you do like?” asks Miriam.
“No. She hasn’t,” Oliver says.
I wait for Miriam to tell Oliver that he shouldn’t answer for me. Instead she asks him a follow-up question. “Is that something you’d like to know?”
So that was how it was going to be. I should have known that Oliver would be treated like the good guy. Everyone loves Oliver. But shouldn’t he know what I like? Shouldn’t he be trying to figure it out the same way I’ve always tried to figure out what brings him pleasure?
As quickly as this idea comes to me, my resolve to be angry at everyone in this room but myself evaporates. This residue left behind is shame. It’s my fault for not showing him. For not talking to him. But that’s not what Oliver and I do. We never have. And the sex is not bad, it’s just…sex.
Oliver shifts in his chair. “I’d like to know,” the anger has left his voice, “if Diana knows what it feels like to reach for someone and have them slip away.”
My heart sinks. Oliveristhe good guy.
“I’ve adored Diana from the moment I met her. She knows that.”
After a long silence, Miriam speaks. “I’m going to give you two some homework before we meet next week.” I’m already thinking about how to get out of coming back. “I want you to look each other in the eye, in a quiet place, and share a secret. You should each take a turn sharing and listening. And I want you both to receive that secret with love.”
—
When we get in the elevator, I reach for Oliver’s damp hand. I don’t mind that it’s sweaty, I just want to hold it. “What wasthat?” I ask, dramatically. I hope that he’ll laugh it off with me. “That was insane, right?”
“Which part?” he asks quietly. When he doesn’t look at me, it’s like a slap in the face. I realize what’s happening in there isn’t incomprehensible to any of us. We all seem to be agreeing we’re in real trouble.
At home, I replay the therapy session over and over, rewriting it in my head. There’s a revised version where I don’t say anything at all—Ishare zero grievances about our sex life or Oliver not knowing what I like. This version feels sickeningly familiar, so I discard it. I know there’s a better, more honest version where we tell each other everything. But when I try to write it, I get stuck. Maybe, I admit, that’s what Miriam is getting at with her homework—Oliver and I have to figure out this part together.
When we’re both in bed and the lights are off, I ask Oliver, “Should we try it?”
“The homework?” He obviously has been thinking about it too. This is good. Maybe therapy will help. We’ll go back and this time I’ll be there with an open mind. We’ll get everything out in the open. Disassemble it all and put it back together.
“Want me to go first?” I ask.
“Sure.” His voice sounds small in the dark. I reach over to turn on the light just as my phone rings with Alicia’s call. I still haven’t returned her missed call from therapy. I make a mental note to call her on my way to work tomorrow and switch on the bedside lamp.
“My secret…” I reach for the tape recorder now stashed in my nightstand drawer. “I want to play you something, okay?”
“Like a song?”
