I am a man (if it matters) and friends with a married
woman, ‘‘Jane,’’ and her husband, ‘‘Peter.’’ The friendship is more with Jane
than with Peter. Jane and I have known each other for years and work in the
same profession, and I knew her before she married Peter, and I am closer to
Jane. But Peter has become a friend since the marriage. Peter and I share some
typically ‘‘male’’ interests and occasionally ‘‘bro bond.’’ Jane and I are
quirky ‘‘intellectuals.’’
Jane is having an affair with ‘‘Martin,’’ whom Jane has
known most of her adult life. I know about the affair because Jane confided in
me years ago. In fact, this affair was also a part of Jane’s previous marriage,
and Jane confided this to me as part of her divorce from her first husband,
whom I did not know. Jane thinks Martin is her true life’s ‘‘soul mate,’’ and I
think she may be right. Peter does not know about the affair. If he knew about
it, I think he would divorce Jane in a minute.
Jane and Martin likely will never be together. Martin is
married with children, and he lives in another country, and neither Jane nor
Martin can change countries — it would end either person’s professional career.
Martin visits the United States once or twice a year on business, and during
those visits Jane and Martin spend a weekend together, usually in a hotel. Jane
lies to Peter when this happens; she tells him she’s away on a business trip.
I don’t judge people’s sexual lives, and I’m very liberal
philosophically. I’m less comfortable with adultery, because it involves lying,
but usually I don’t feel the need even to have opinions about other people’s
affairs.
Recently, I found myself lying to Peter about Jane’s affair. Just
casually at dinner with the two of them, the subject of Jane’s ‘‘business
trip’’ came up, and I was unexpectedly faced with either chiming in with Jane
about her trip or blurting out about the affair or awkwardly excusing myself.
Jane said something like, ‘‘Did you get the pictures I texted of the Golden
Gate Bridge?’’ and I knew she had not been in San Francisco. ‘‘Yes, they were
great,’’ I said.
What should I do? If I continue to be friends with Jane
and Peter, I end up in some small way lying to Peter, who is also a friend. But
I am not going to tell Peter about the affair — that’s not my role. If I
distance myself from them, I feel like I’m just taking the ethical path that
‘‘keeps my hands clean’’ but doesn’t do anything positive. What use is that?
And probably the strangest thing is, deep inside, I think
the affair may be good for everyone. Jane and Peter have a good marriage, and
Jane needs this outlet with Martin. Maybe just allowing the lie to roll forward
in perpetuity is the best thing.
But I sometimes conjure the following: Peter finds out
after many years, his marriage is destroyed, he is deeply hurt and he says to
me: “You knew about this the whole time? You helped her lie to me about this
for years?” I don’t know what I would say. Name Withheld

No comments:
Post a Comment