Why Do Men Cheat?  Gracelyn's Chronicles 1.13.13

(Please note:  Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.)

The dental conference wrapped up ahead of schedule on a Monday night, around noon.

Ethan's lecture went well and he was eager to get home early. He was weary from the grueling weekend of hobnobbing with other periodontists, making small talk with drug reps, and eating rubber chicken dinners.

The boys were meeting at the hotel bar for cocktails but Ethan passed.  Instead he rang up the bell desk for car service, eager to leave and surprise his wife, Maggie.  He missed her.

The roads had not yet been plowed.  Ethan made small talk with the driver about the unexpected snow that had befallen Westchester and Putnam Counties, but fell asleep promptly in the back seat.  He woke up an hour later as the Town Car swerved through the familiar streets of his upscale neighborhood.  

Condensation from his breath was thick in the chilly air as he fumbled for his keys and tipped the driver. Ice crunched below his Maglis as he walked up the bluestone walk, overcoat slung over one arm, luggage in the other.

His well-appointed home was almost pitch-dark but always warm and comfortable. The sun was setting earlier and earlier of late; he made a note to himself to adjust the automatic timers after he unpacked.  The familiar, mahogany furniture and framed photographs of him and Maggie and their two small children were a sight for sore eyes. 

Loosening his necktie, Ethan headed to the bar in the butler's pantry off the dining room to pour himself a Scotch.  There he noticed a pair of half-drunk crystal wine glasses of Cabernet on the granite counter, only one of them with lipstick stains. 

They made a sharp clinking sound as he picked them up with one hand and placed them in the sink.  He headed upstairs to their bedroom.  Maggie wouldn't be home for another two hours. 

Ethan emptied his keys and spare change from his pockets into a bowl on their dresser, as always.  As he removed his Rolex, something shiny and unfamiliar caught his eye.  

He picked up it carefully for closer inspection.  It was one of a pair of silver cufflinks with engraved initials -- and not his. His heart beat a little faster, a little more angrily.  

Ethan's eyes darted around room quickly, half hoping everything would be just as it should be, the other half fully expecting the worst.  His heartbeat echoed in his ears; the grandfather clock in the downstairs foyer was suddenly audible. 

His eyes fell on the unmade bed, then to the nightstand, then finally onto the floor... upon which lay a crumpled man's undershirt.

I sat across the table from Ethan, stunned and speechless, as he told me this story.  I hadn't touched a morsel of my calamari salad as he divulged the details of his broken heart, his voice devoid of any trace of emotion.

The story of Maggie's infidelity played out in my mind just as I have told it, like a bad novel. Perhaps it was my way, as a writer, of objectifying it all.  It was hard for me to process the unfortunate events in the marriage vastly regarded by everyone in our social circle as the gold standard, the one to which we aspired.

Ethan is like the brother I never had.  We've been good friends for 20 years, since we met in freshman year in dental school. We sat next to each other in histology lecture when I asked to borrow a pen.  We also teamed up for gross anatomy lab. The rest, as they say, is history.  We went to lunch at the corner Cosmos Diner often.

I still make it a point to have lunch with Ethan every few months.  After all these years -- establishing our practices, marrying the loves of our lives, and raising our collective five children -- we are still close.  Why?  Because he is one of the good guys:  a loving husband, a doting father, a trusted friend.

Plus, conversations with Ethan always gave me a better a understanding of the inner workings of the brains of married, white, middle-aged, male dentists (i.e., my husband, Michael).  Laugh all you want, but how else would I know about their extreme sensitivity to male-pattern baldness or the importance of man caves?

Normally, Ethan and I discuss the usual:  family vacations, house renovations, dental insurances.  We pepper in anecdotal tales of our kids, his Labradoodle, Tiger, and far-out ideas for this column (that will never make it to my editors). 

But Maggie cheating on him?  Oh my heavens.

Ethan was devastated. She had been his world since college.  He confided how he resented working so hard he "to give her a the kind of life any other women would kill for," and that was the thanks he got. Nothing he did was ever good enough for her. How could she?  

I was sad for my friend.  It was had been three months since she confessed and life as he knew it ended.  And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did.  Ethan proceeded to tell me he  was now also cheating on her.   

I sipped my Diet Coke. Lost for an appropriate reaction, I proceeded to laugh nervously.  It was more of a cackle, really.  I meant no disrespect. Ethan knew that. 

Then my questions started:   So that's it?  That's his cure-all?  Revenge cheating?  What about marriage counseling? What about the sanctity of marriage vows?  What about morals?  What about unexpected pregnancies and other unexpected consequences? What is going on?!

What about their two little girls?

My mother always says that the only two people who know what really and truly goes on in any marriage are the two people themselves.  Period.  No exceptions.  

And sometimes, one or both of them don't even have the slightest clue, either.  I tend to agree with my her (because I've grown to realize she is usually right) so I was in no position to judge Ethan -- or Maggie, for that matter.  But still.

I knew that Ethan knew cheating was wrong. He confessed he was so betrayed by Maggie's infidelity that everything he ever learned about monogamy -- from his parents, all his Catholic schooling, movies, books and polite society -- flew out the window. It was less about fooling around and more about his healing. 

Nevertheless, I also knew that Ethan's rationalizations were still just that:  warped defense mechanisms to make his crazy quid pro quo somewhat acceptable.  It was still wrong and I told him so.  As his friend, it was my duty.  

This got me thinking of why men and women cheat in the first place.  Were he and Maggie so unhappy and so misunderstood by the other they felt compelled to break their wedding vows?  Are men hard-wired to spread their seed, so to speak, to as many women as possible?  

Did Maggie's initial betrayal justify his?  Is she the exception of all the women out there who do cheat but never get caught? Are men and women only as faithful as their options? And who's to blame?  Can you ever place blame? Were they so emotionally starved (or so selfish, or both?) as to hurt each other this way?

Did the ebbing of religious, family, and social values contribute to the demise of my friend's marriage? 
And on a superficial note, had she let her appearance go to the point she was no longer attractive to Ethan?  Or was it the other way around?  Was it an ego boost either of them needed?   

My head was spinning, trying to analyze my friend's unfortunate situation.  After all, pop culture touts love, marriage and fidelity -- and all its benefits and entrapments  -- while every form of advertising is tied to a sexy image.  

I had no answers. Neither did he.  I could only reassure him that I was his friend and I will always be his friend.  To that end, I would support any decision he makes, with the clear exception of his cheating.  

After all, he was just hurting himself, the way I saw it.  The cheating further disconnected him from her and for any chance they had at working through their marital problems.  And if they decided to end their marriage and move on, the cheating was morally taxing (and probably physically exhausting) on him in the interim.  I told Ethan he was better than how he was acting, that two wrongs don't make a right.  

He owed it to his daughters to be better, to take the high road.  I told him to seek counseling, alone and as a couple... and to pray for strength for the long road ahead. I told him I'd be there for him, no matter what.

Beyond that, there was nothing more I could say.