“What is wrong with you, Mia? Do you need help again? Do you remember when we had to take you to that psychiatrist? Postpartum depression or whatever? You’re fragile and you need rest,” I say. I’m speaking with my kindergarten teacher voice. “I shouldn’t have given you so much freedom and space. You’re sick again. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.” I’ve taken a step back, and I can see my wife clearly, even with the stupid neighbor between us. He isn’t budging. He hasn’t moved at all. I decide to speak to him, reason with him, man-to-man.
“Buck, my wife is bipolar. Well, the diagnosis is unspecified, um, but clearly with the delusions and the like, well, it is manifesting again. I’m sorry to be angry with you,” I say. I drop my gaze to his feet. I’m apologetic, contrite. “My apologies. And if you’ll excuse us, I’ll get her to bed.”
“How did I marry this?” Mia whispers to Buck. I hear her loud and clear. Her words are directed at me. Her words are about me.
I watch as Buck pulls her into his side, wraps his arm around her waist. Both of them now locked together, facing me. I am disgusted. I take a step toward my wife and Buck steps them back, as a unit, as if they’re going to backstep out of my cottage. They will not.
I look at Mia, at her shaking, whispering, sneaky, sweatshirt-and sweatpants-wearing self, and I am disgusted. How did I ever love that? Unthinkable.
“Look, Mia. You’re upset, and you have clearly gotten your bulldog Buck on your side here. Not sure what you did to earn that, but fine. I’m not going to imagine you two fucking. Instead I’ll choose to be glad you made a new friend. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going upstairs to sleep. In the morning, we will talk. No one is leaving anyone, you understand? What we have together is special. Think of our boys for once, why don’t you. We’ve had too much wine, too much stress for one day, that’s all,” I say. And then, I hold my hands up, as if I’m in a bank robbery, and take several steps backward. I hope I don’t run into anything.
“Come on, Mia, you’re strong, you’ve got this,” Buck says to my wife, who wipes a tear from under her eye. A black river rolls down her left cheek. She isn’t wearing waterproof mascara. Obviously, if she’d really known what she was going to be doing tonight she would have worn waterproof mascara. Poor Mia. She’s under Buck’s spell.
As if reading my mind, Buck says, “You’re in control now, Mia.”
Silly man. He doesn’t realize I hold the power for both of us. Her power doesn’t exist. I started taking it the moment we met.
Mia chokes out a sob, as if to confirm my thoughts.
She looks horrible. She has streaks of mascara running down her cheeks, and her nose is bubbly with snot. She opens her mouth, as if to talk, but nothing comes out. She turns and buries her gooey face in Buck’s LAKESIDE sweatshirt.
Why don’t they just fuck in front of me? I wonder. Whatever. I don’t really care at this point. I want to go upstairs, to my bedroom. I want to reconfigure some things. I have climbed three steps up from the family room when the blob speaks. I stop and turn my head to look at my pathetic wife.
“Paul. I’m worth more than this, more than the way you treat me. I have been a faithful, loving wife and mother. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, and more. I’ve given up my career, my friends, most contact with my family, all for you. I loved you once, Paul. Deeply and with my whole heart. But you don’t deserve that love anymore. I am leaving you, effective tonight. I have papers for a separation, there, on the coffee table. And I want you out of this house,” Mia says. She delivers these very strong words in a very tiny voice. She has pointed her finger at me, but the effort of that seems to have wiped her out. She’s again leaning against the anchorman. The garden gnome who put her up to this, I now realize. Of course, she would never have attempted anything like this without someone pushing her into it. That’s why I’ve kept her parents far away from us. Unfortunately, I underestimated Buck. In fact, I didn’t give him any thought at all. My mistake.
“Oh, Mia. I’m afraid your plan just doesn’t work for me. This is my cottage. You are my wife. Get control of yourself,” I say. I shake my head at the silly woman and turn and resume my climb up the stairs.
12:00 a.m.
23
I’m still shaking my head as I reach the top of the stairs of my lake cottage.
Of course Mia’s net worth is more than mine. Her daddy is worth more than you and me and the state of Tennessee combined. So what? Wealth can be measured by so many things: intelligence, social IQ, sales ability and, well, so much else. Intelligence is picking the right suit, the perfect car and the young wife, all designed to make you look your best. Virile. Enviable.
The goal is to find your soul mate, and then convince her that she has found hers, too. That Mia had money was a bonus, that’s all.
Oh, who am I kidding? We know each other so well by now. That Mia came from money was everything to me. I’m good at finding money, attracting money, as you can tell. I’m not as astute at holding money, building wealth. But now that I have Mia, I don’t need to worry about money ever again. That’s why I can screw around with beauty, even though Gretchen is poor. Mia is my golden ticket. So really, this minor weakness has been overcome. Of all the world’s weaknesses, it’s the one I’d choose. It’s not even a weakness, actually. I’m simply overly generous. And now I can afford to be, thanks to my little Pilmer piggy bank.
I stop at the top of the stairs. To listen. The walls of my cottage are quite thin, as I noted.
What did Mia mean by her comments about me not treating her well? I have cherished her, provided for her, given her sons she adores. What is she trying to tell me? I hear Mia sob. Am I the weak one, running away? Perhaps I am, but Buck is to blame.
Why are they together, at what my Apple Watch confirms is midnight? How did I allow my family to get so out of control, out of my control, that my wife is with another man in my family room and my boys are not to be disturbed? How did that happen? And, in fact, now that it has, shouldn’t I, the responsible parent, be the one who returns home to claim the children?
If she abandons me, she abandons them. No one likes a mother who neglects her children, most especially not me.
“Mia, I’m so sorry. Let’s leave the papers. You can stay at my house,” Buck says, his voice quite clear from where I’m standing at the landing.
Nicely played, Buck. Although any man that would want my wife in her gray fatness and sobbing sadness is a weak, pathetic excuse for a male.
Mia says, “I have so much I want to say to him. What kind of man tells his fiancée he is having an affair with a client days before the wedding, but says he still loves her, that it was just a fling? He actually convinced me at the time that she forced herself on him. Who does that? And why did I still marry him? I never should have believed anything he told me.” I can’t see them but I imagine her pounding her fists into his chest, like the actors do on Days of Our Lives.