Christina Consolino is the author of Rewrite the Stars and The Weight We Carry. She is a former senior editor at the online journal Literary Mama and freelance edits both fiction and nonfiction. Her work almost always pertains to mental and/or physical health concerns, something she attributes to her scientific training. In addition to writing and editing, she’s been a teacher for over twenty years, and interacting with students individually feeds her soul. She enjoys warm cups of coffee, good books, and long runs. If she had her way, everyone’s days would be filled with nothing but joy. Christina loves to connect with readers, so feel free to reach out!
“Consolino’s insightful writing makes this book a must-read for anyone who values novels that explore the intricacies of daily life and the resilience of the human spirit.” —Readers’ Favorite“At long last, an absolutely absorbing, heartfelt novel that brilliantly fences with the taboos of aging, sexual dysfunction, and faltering family dynamics! The Marriage Debt’s engaging, authentic characters will resonate with readers of all ages.” —Parris Afton Bonds, New York Times bestselling author of Answering the Call“In The Marriage Debt, Christina Consolino delivers a raw, witty, and deeply relatable portrait of midlife sex, marriage, and self-reinvention . . . Perfect for fans of HenLit Central, this is a story of second chances—not just in love and all that goes with it, but in rediscovering the woman you were always meant to be.” —Carolyn Clarke, award-winning author of And Then There’s Margaret and And Now There’s Zelda“This impactful story of expectations when married—between parents, children, and husbands—is beautifully told and will stick with you long after you read the last page. Read it, let it resonate, then share it with your loved ones so that they can feel heard and seen, which is always a gift in Consolino’s novels.” —C. D’Angelo, award-winning author of The Gift
Excerpt
Prologue
The clock ticks away as Nika Stewart lies awake, eyes wide open. The room is awash in dull grays and browns and blacks, and Nika blinks to make out the numbers on the clock. Four fifty-six.
Next to her on the mattress, her husband fidgets, and the covers slide away from her legs. Goosebumps follow as a cool breeze whispers past her. Without the covers completely shielding her body, there’s no hope of going back to sleep.
She pulls on the coverlet and rolls to her side, dragging much of the fabric with her. Then, Ethan’s warm hand settles on her hip. Within seconds, his fingers migrate across her belly and below. Always a morning person, Nika won’t mind the early start to her day, but she’s not in the mood for sex at this moment. Though she’s cold now, within the blink of an eye, her body will likely become a raging inferno, her skin full of brambles. So far, menopause has been a bitch to deal with, the symptoms holding onto her with the tenacity of the wild violets littering the flower beds. Nika squirms against Ethan’s solid chest, but he pulls the elastic of her pajamas away from her body, sliding them down her legs with his feet. Then, he gets to work on her panties.
“Now?” she says.
“Yes, why not?” He nuzzles his nose against Nika’s neck and inhales.
“Because . . .” Thoughts invade Nika’s mind. Because I’m tired. Because this week has been difficult. Because I don’t want to. But once the sun throws back its own covers, any intimacy will be left behind. And who knows what the day might bring?
Ethan inhales once more. “You know what? It’s okay. It’s early, and you like a slow slide into your day. Maybe tomorrow.” He burrows his head into her hair and holds her.
Nika considers his words. Ethan is listening to her, and she knows—truly knows—his intent is not to manipulate. Plus, if she goes ahead now, she won’t feel guilty about saying no tomorrow. “No, no, it’s okay, but if I feel ready to combust, I’ll let you know. And then . . .”
The darkness of the room masks Ethan’s expression, but his answer—gentle kisses in quick succession on her forehead, nose, throat, and belly—is enthusiastic, reminding her he is a virile man, which means he follows one credo when it comes to sex: the only bad sex is no sex at all. He presses up against Nika, his chest and legs aligning along the back of her. He’s ready and probably has been for some time. Maybe even all night.
Within seconds, Nika settles on her back, and Ethan nestles himself between her legs. This won’t be the first time she’s gone ahead with sex even when she doesn’t truly feel like it, and she’s not the only person to have ever felt this way. Yesterday at the track, she overheard two women chatting about their lack of libido thanks to the approaching “change.”
“Wow, you’re ready,” Ethan says as he moves against Nika like soft waves pushing against a shore.
Despite all the hormonal shifts, Nika still menstruates pretty regularly. “Well, I am midcycle.”
Ethan stops his actions, and a frosty silence hangs in the air between them. “Can’t you, I don’t know, one time, say it’s because of me? Because you want this?”
He’s right, but it’s too early for Nika to reflect on her words and where they come from. “It is, honey. It’s because of you.” She doesn’t want to reflect on his words, either, or the disappointment most likely rising inside him right now.
He sighs and dips his face toward Nika’s. The dim moonlight peeks between the curtains and highlights his furrowed brow. “You could at least act like you mean it.”
Right once again, Nika thinks, but he’s also not a perimenopausal woman with minimal desire for intimacy and increased sensitivity to heat. Even now, fire races along her belly, her thighs, her shins—any part of her in contact with her husband. Nika doesn’t dwell there, instead swiveling her hips, bumping up against him and leaning in to press her warm lips to his sturdy chest. It’s enough to get him to quit talking and move again. If he moves, he’ll finish.
Afterward, Nika rolls out of bed, ready to begin her day. They’re supposed to head to an annual brunch with the family up the street, and she offered to bring muffins and fresh fruit. The rest of the day will be filled with sports, grocery shopping, and laundry, along with anything else that always pops up unexpectedly in their married-with-kids life. Nika looks back once at Ethan. He’s lying against the pillows, arms above his head, legs akimbo, a contented smile on his face.
“I love you, Nika,” he whispers, extending a hand and grasping her fingers in his.
“I love you too,” she replies, her heart sagging with heaviness. A good excuse for not wanting to have sex doesn’t exist. So what about the next time the conversation arises? What will she say then?
