“You’ll be happy to know that Valentina is doing very well,” I tell her. “She believes that you’re still caring for her. I hope you understand that’s why I have to pretend to love your replacement. But please don’t think for one minute that she’s replaced you in my heart. No one ever will.” I stare at her picture, thinking back to our wedding day and how much in love we were. “I’m sorry that I had to photoshop you out of the wedding pictures in the house. I did it for Valentina. But you will always be my one true love.”
I stay with her for another half hour, until it’s after midnight. I need to get upstairs, just in case anyone does wake up. But I’m happy, truly happy, for the first time in so long. Standing, I lift my glass one more time. “Happy New Year, darling Cassandra. It’s going to be a good one.”
??56??
Julian
Cassandra has been complaining that the medicine is making her tired all the time and giving her headaches. Another unpleasant side effect is that she’s gained weight. I have to leave for the hospital in an hour, and I check to see if she’s out of bed. I sigh. She’s still sound asleep, her hair a mess, a slight snore escaping her lips. This slovenly, overweight, out-of-it version is testing my nerves. I wonder about adding Adderall to the mix as an appetite suppressant and make a mental note to look up the drug interactions.
I wrinkle my nose in distaste, then walk over to the bed and nudge her arm.
“It’s time to get up.”
“What time is it?” she mumbles, her eyes still closed.
“Seven thirty. You didn’t see Valentina off to school. Nancy had to get her breakfast.” I stop myself before I say something I’ll regret, but what I want to say is that she’s not being a good mother. Over the twenty months she’s been here, her moods have been up and down. Valentina is five years old. Even though she is thriving in her private school, I had hoped that Cassandra would be up to the task of homeschooling her, but she is incapable of it.
Her eyes open, and she brushes the hair from them. “Sorry. Just so tired.”
I try to remind myself that it’s not entirely her fault; the meds are making her this way. I take a gentler tone. “I know, we’re all tired, but life goes on. I’m leaving soon for work, and I’d appreciate having my wife get out of bed to see me off.”
She sits up and slowly lifts herself out of bed, the nightgown tighter on her body than it used to be.
“Once you’re dressed, can you meet me in the kitchen? I’d like to go over your day before I leave.”
She nods and heads to the bathroom, and I go downstairs to pour myself a cup of coffee and glance at the paper. It’s time for me to give her a project. There was never any question about her going back to work, and in any case, her dependence and confusion have eliminated any desire she had to do so. I had planned on having her spend her days teaching Valentina, but since she can’t do that, there’s nothing to occupy her. I have to give her something to do. Otherwise she might truly become depressed, not just medicated.
She lumbers into the kitchen, pours herself a cup of coffee, and plops down in the chair across from me. “I had the nightmare again,” she says.
I sigh. This is also getting wearisome.
She shivers. “It’s the one where everyone’s dead, and I’m screaming, but I don’t know who they are or what happened.”
I put my mug down and look at her. “I’ve told you before, it’s all those horror books you read. You’re very suggestible. You have to stop polluting your brain with such vile content.”
“Maybe you’re right. It’s just I’m so bored. I need to get out of this house. Talk to some other people, make some friends. Why don’t I have any friends?”
She’s been asking this more and more. “We’ve talked about this, Cassandra. When you got so depressed, right before you tried to take your life, you cut off all your friends.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you made quite a scene actually, remember? It was at your thirty-fifth birthday party. You drank too much wine, and when it was time to sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ you picked up the cake and threw it on the floor. Then you told everyone to screw themselves, but you used more vulgar language.”
She puts her head in her hands and is quiet. I’ve told her this story enough times that she believes it now. “I was jealous. I thought you were sleeping with my best friend, and that everyone knew and was keeping it from me.”