Victoria’s Diary
September 28, 2017
Today was an odd day.
We’ve been living in the new house for two weeks. It still doesn’t feel like mine—it’s like I’m a guest here. I haven’t had a chance to look for work, because unpacking has been such an ordeal, and the house itself is a lot of maintenance. We had to get the cable and internet hooked up, and Adam got a Microcell so we have decent cell phone service, although I was insistent on a landline. Considering we’re in the middle of nowhere, it just makes me feel more secure.
I do have a car now. Adam surprised me with a Honda Civic. It’s a reliable car, but considering what a fuss he made about ensuring his own car functioned well in the snow, I’m not sure why he bought me a tiny vehicle that only has front-wheel drive. Once the snow starts to fall, I’m going to be trapped here. But he reasoned I shouldn’t be driving in heavy snow anyway. You haven’t driven in years, Victoria. You’re out of practice.
Anyway, it was a moot point. You can’t return a car.
Because I won’t be working in the foreseeable future, Adam set up a joint bank account for the two of us. I canceled my credit cards and got a joint one with him. I’ve been so independent since I was in college, it feels weird to be relying on another person for financial support, but Adam was so insistent than he wanted to “take care” of me. And truth be told, I’ve been working since I was in high school—it’ll be nice to take a break for a little while.
Adam also hired a gardener, because the front lawn is an embarrassing disaster and I don’t exactly have a green thumb. At first, I was happy he took on the responsibility of hiring someone, but I wasn’t so happy when I saw who he hired. Our new gardener is a breathtakingly gorgeous young woman named Irina who is from some eastern European country. She has long, white-blond hair, and legs like a giraffe. She barely speaks English,
but she still manages to find all of Adam’s jokes far more hilarious than they actually are.
I also had to buy some extra furniture, because the pieces we had from our old apartment looked ridiculously sparse in this vast space. Adam had to approve everything I bought, which of course was reasonable, but he’s very picky. I wanted to buy a sofa, and I had to show him—no joke—over a hundred photos of couches online before he agreed to one. Then the sofa arrived a few days ago, and the second he sat on it, he hated it and accused me of having bought “the wrong one.” I supposed it was possible since there were so many. Anyway, this morning I was waiting around for the company to take back this sofa and bring a different one. That’s when Peter showed up.
Peter is Adam’s agent. He’s in his fifties and is a nice enough guy, meaning he doesn’t try to hit on me. He showed up in a suit and tie, looking mildly annoyed at having to drive all the way out here from wherever he lives, and even more annoyed when I said Adam had stepped out.
“Do you want to wait here?” I asked him.
He snorted. “I guess so. Where else would I go?”
I went to the kitchen to throw together a plate of food for our guest. I had gone to the supermarket last week and found it bafflingly huge compared with the smaller shopping centers I used to go to in the city. Most of the time I’d just go to the convenience store down the block for ninety percent of my groceries. But there was nothing convenient about where we were living.
I made a plate of crackers with mascarpone cheese and raspberry jam, but when I set them down on the coffee table, Peter didn’t even glance up from his phone.
“Hey,” I said to him.
He still didn’t look up. “Yes?”
“Can I ask you something about Adam’s parents?”
Ever since we moved out here and started trying more aggressively for a baby (I’ve even bought an ovulation kit), I’ve been thinking more and more about my in-laws. I know Adam is mad at his parents, but it’s time to bury the hatchet. Maybe if I could reach out to them, they would feel the same way. I mean, who isn’t tempted by the idea of grandchildren?
Peter raised his eyes from his phone. “What about them?”
“Do you know where they live?”
His brows bunched together. “Do I… what?”
“Or a phone number,” I said quickly. “Any information at all…” “Victoria…”
“I know Adam is angry at them, but if I could just talk to them—”
“Victoria.” Peter’s voice was more firm this time. “Adam’s parents are dead.”
My next argument froze on the tip of my tongue. Adam’s parents were… what? “Dead?”
He arched an eyebrow. “You don’t know that?”
“No, I…” My head was spinning. “Are… are you sure?”
He laughed darkly. “I was at their funeral. So yes, I’m pretty sure.” Their funeral? It was a joint funeral? Did that mean they died together? Against my will, my mind went to Adam’s first novel, All in the
Family. The protagonist with the grudge against his horrible family. Plotting out their “accidental” deaths. Getting away with it scot-free.
“How did they die?” I murmured.
“Car accident. Just one of those things.”
Well, at least they didn’t die from carbon monoxide poisoning like the family in Adam’s book. I chewed on my lip. “What about his brother?”
Peter leaned back against the couch and sighed heavily. “Adam really never told you any of this?”
“Peter, please…”
He sighed again. “He killed himself a few months after they died.
Buried a gun in his throat.”
All of a sudden, I felt like I was going to throw up. And then a second later, I was running to the kitchen sink and actually throwing up. Of course, Adam chose that exact moment to stroll into the house, whistling a tune to himself as he walked through the door.
From the kitchen, I could hear Adam and Peter talking softly. I couldn’t even imagine what Peter was saying. I crouched down on the kitchen floor, clutching my temples. I felt dizzy and nauseated. I wanted to get out of the house, but I didn’t feel like I could drive right now and there wasn’t anywhere I could walk to. That’s the problem with living in the middle of nowhere.
After about five minutes, Adam wandered into the kitchen to find me on the floor. His eyes widened. “What are you doing down there?”
“I… I don’t feel great.”
A smile touched his lips. “Are you pregnant?”
Right. Because I was randomly throwing up in the middle of the day. It hadn’t even occurred to me, but now that it did, I was surprised by how much the idea filled me with panic. My first thought was: Oh please God, don’t let me be pregnant. Please…
I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and struggled to my feet. “I don’t think so.”
“Hey, how come the couch is still out there? Weren’t you responsible for getting rid of that goddamn thing?”
I could see the fight brewing in him and I cringed. But before he could start laying into me, I cut him off: “Adam, are your parents dead?”
He opened his mouth, probably deciding whether or not to lie. Something I’m starting to realize about my husband is that he’s quite a good liar. I’ve caught him in lies here and there, and it bothers me that I can’t tell when he’s lying. The only way I ever know is when it’s so blatant that it’s obvious—and even then, he rarely ‘fesses up.
“Yes,” he finally said. “They are.”
“Oh my God!” My voice was loud enough that Peter could probably hear, but I didn’t care. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Vicky.
I should have told you.”
“Darn right, you should have.”
He raked a hand through his hair and leaned against the kitchen counter. “I just… I had that falling out with them like I told you. And before I had a chance to make things right, they got in that accident. It was devastating. I… I couldn’t deal with it, so I pretended like they were still around.” He lowered his eyes. “I was going to tell you the truth, but I was embarrassed about having lied. I didn’t think you’d ever know the difference.”
And that seems to be the essence of our marriage sometimes. He lies to me because he thinks I won’t ever know the difference.
“Adam,” I said quietly, “if this is going to work between the two of us, you have to be honest with me from now on. I mean it. We’re married.”
He nodded slowly. “Right. Of course.” He took a step towards me. “I’m so sorry, Vicky. I should never have lied to you. I won’t do it again.”
I let him put his arms around me and gradually relaxed into his embrace. I was still angry he lied to me, but I gave him a pass. After all, it must have been incredibly traumatic having his parents die on him before he could make things right. My parents are gone, but at least they knew how much I loved them.
When Adam pulled away, he brushed a strand of hair from my face. I’ve been wearing my hair down all the time now because that’s how he likes it. If I ever put it up, he complains.
“Hey, Vicky,” he said. “One other thing.” I nodded. “Yes?”
“Don’t you dare ever talk about me to Peter behind my back again.” His jaw twitched. “Okay?”
“Uh…” I searched his face, hoping for any trace of humor. “Okay.
Sorry.”
He mumbled something under his breath as he grabbed a bottle of wine from one of the shelves in the kitchen, then went back to the living room. I stayed in the kitchen, waiting for the deliverymen to arrive and pick up the sofa.
I took a pregnancy test later in the afternoon. It was negative. I cried with relief.
November 18, 2017
This morning I got it into my head that I should join a gym.
When I was younger, I never had the money to join a gym—I could barely afford sneakers to run around the park by my house. And then when I was working and I had more money, I didn’t have the time. Well, now all I’ve got is time and money. It’s been two months and I still haven’t been able to find work out here (although to be fair, I haven’t been looking that hard). Adam also hired a maid who comes twice a week so I don’t have to do much cleaning. And now that it’s gotten cold, Irina has started doing cooking instead of gardening. Apparently, she’s multitalented.
So this is my day:
I get up around nine or ten. I take a shower for at least forty minutes. I make myself an extravagant breakfast, then plop myself down in front of the television with a bag of chips or something equally nutritious. And… that’s about it till lunch. I’m getting dangerously addicted to some of the game shows. Like Family Feud. (That is such a great show. I think I would do really well at fast money.)
Then when I’ve finished lunch, I go outside. Shop a little. Okay, shop a lot. I’m quickly filling our house with junk. My wardrobe is a little bit out of control. So many shoes…
I’m afraid to even get on a scale lately. But this morning I had trouble buttoning my jeans. And I’m not talking about my skinny jeans. I’m talking about my comfortable jeans that I wear on days that I’m not leaving the house and I don’t care who sees me. I couldn’t button those jeans.
So I had two choices. I could either go out and buy all new clothing in a size larger (or—let’s face it—two sizes larger). Or I could join a gym and hopefully fit back into my clothing
I located a gym about five miles away from the house, so I took a trip there right after lunch. Okay, I stopped at McDonald’s for lunch first. I figured I’d have one last Big Mac and fries for the road before I got back to being healthy again.
The gym looked perfect. It was small but seemed to have a good amount of workout equipment. It was bright and new looking, and the people working out didn’t seem like they had perfect bodies—there’s nothing worse than running next to somebody who looks like a fitness model. I felt like I fit in pretty well here. So I approached the cheery blonde named Taylor working at the front counter and told her I wanted a membership.
Over the next fifteen minutes, I allowed myself to not only agree to a one-year membership, but also signed up for weekly Zumba classes, swimming, and kickboxing. I also signed up for something called slow flow vinyasa, whatever that is. If they had asked for my firstborn, I probably would’ve handed that over as well.
“Now we’ll just need a credit card to put on file for you,” Taylor said cheerfully.
I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet. I looked in the slot where I usually keep my credit card, but it was gone. Panic squeezed my
chest. “Oh my goodness,” I said. “Where is my credit card?”
A tiny crease formed between Taylor’s light brows. “It’s been stolen?” “I think so.” I looked inside my wallet and saw the cash was all still
there. “Shoot, I’ll have to call the credit card company.” I looked up at her. “Can I sign up without the credit card?”
She frowned. “I’m afraid not. We’re required to have a card on file. But I can save your paperwork and you can come back when you get a new one.”
I was annoyed about the hassle, but I was even more anxious about telling Adam about the missing card. And I had to tell him. This was our joint credit card, so if I needed to get a new one, he would have to get a new one also. He was going to be absolutely furious when I told him it was gone. I cringed in anticipation of that conversation.
Maybe I could find it. Then I’d never have to tell him it was missing.
I racked my brain trying to think of how it could have disappeared. It didn’t seem likely somebody would have pickpocketed me, took out my credit card, but left the rest of my wallet with all my cash. The last time I used the card was two days ago, at the mall. Was it possible that I left it at a department store?
I spent the next two hours retracing my steps for the last several days, trying to think where I might’ve left it. Then I started desperately calling every store I’ve ever shopped at to see if I left my credit card there. No luck.
So I drove around for a while, not eager to get back home. I was going to have to cancel my credit card and find out if there were any unauthorized purchases on the card. I had no choice. Adam was going to be furious.
When I finally got back home, Adam was downstairs in the kitchen. He was with Irina, helping unpack some groceries she had bought. They must not have heard me come in, and I spent a second of watching my husband with our gorgeous east European cook/gardener. Adam was standing far too close to her, and when he said something, she grabbed his arm and laughed.
Then he leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and she laughed harder.
That was when I cleared my throat.
“Miss Victoria!” Irina exclaimed. The woman had the gall to look pleased to see me. “You are home! Please, do you want to see new groceries? I plan dinner for tonight.”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I took a deep breath. “Adam, could I talk to you for a minute?”
I was dreading telling him about the credit card, but I didn’t have much of a choice. If somebody stole my card, I had to report it and cancel it ASAP. He would be angrier if I waited. So really, there was no way to win at this point.
We went upstairs to the bedroom, and I tearfully explained everything that happened. At first, I was trying to make myself cry because I thought he might be more sympathetic, but then I realized the tears were real. I told him the story of my desperate attempts to locate the card. I swore I would take care of calling the credit card company and getting a new card and doing whatever I had to do to fix this.
I watched his face, already bracing myself for a temper tantrum. But to my surprise, he didn’t seem upset at all.
“Your credit card wasn’t stolen,” he said. “I took it from your wallet.” My mouth fell open. He took it? Why would he do that? “You did?”
He nodded. “I don’t think you realize how much money you’ve been spending the last couple of months, Victoria. I am now the sole breadwinner, and frankly, it’s offensive that you take such liberty with my money. I discussed this with a few people, and I think the best thing would be to give you a cash allowance so you don’t overspend.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. A cash allowance? Did he think I was a child? “I can’t function without a credit card, Adam. How am I supposed to buy things online?”
“You can buy things online,” he said. “Just send me the link, and if I think the purchase is appropriate, I’ll buy it for you. Maybe I could set up a way to approve your purchases.”
I could almost feel my blood pressure going up. True, Adam had a lot more money than I did going into our marriage. But I had some money. I never had to ask permission before buying a stupid lamp. Now I regretted having put my money in a joint bank account. I had wanted to keep a separate account, but he insisted it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. After all, why should I get access to his money if he couldn’t have mine?
“It will be a very generous allowance,” he said. “Two hundred dollars a week. And that’s not including online purchases, of course.”
“I can’t live on two hundred dollars a week!”
He frowned. “Why not? Irina buys all the groceries. I pay the mortgage and the cleaning bills. What expenses do you have that will cost more than two hundred dollars a week? Gas? Clothes? McDonald’s?”
My face burned. Cheap shot. “You pay Irina more than two hundred dollars a week.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Right. But she’s actually working. You just sit around on your ass and do nothing except spend my money.”
My cheeks burned. It was his idea for me to stay home, and now he was throwing it back in my face. But if I pointed it out to him, he wouldn’t get it.
“What if I have a larger expense one week?”
He shrugged. “Then you should save up your money. Or if you were irresponsible and haven’t been saving, you can ask me for a loan. I think this will help you learn about money management.”
I took a deep breath. I hated the situation, but on the other hand, maybe it wasn’t entirely unreasonable. I have been buying a lot of things lately, partially out of boredom. “How about two-hundred-fifty dollars a week?”
He smiled tolerantly. “How about this? When you get pregnant, we’ll go to two-hundred-fifty dollars a week.”
Right. We’re still trying to get pregnant. So far, no luck. I’m using the ovulation test every month, and we always have sex right when we’re supposed to and I stay in bed for an hour after with my knees up. I’m taking prenatal vitamins and I’ve given up alcohol and caffeine. Unfortunately, I got my period a few days ago, so my tight jeans are not from a baby bump
—just fat.
I haven’t admitted to Adam that every time the pregnancy test is negative, I feel that flash of relief. I don’t entirely understand it, because I do want a baby. I really do.
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t want to argue. Arguments with Adam were never quick. If we started fighting, it would go on for days. “Anyway, I went to try to join a gym today. Can I use the credit card for that?”
“A gym?” His face darkened, and I got a sinking feeling that I wasn’t going to avoid an argument after all. “What do you want to join a gym for?”
I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he was so angry over.
What was wrong with joining a gym?
“I want to try to get back in shape,” I said. “I’ve gained a little weight.”
His eyes flicked down to my abdomen. “Yes, I’ve noticed.” Great. I couldn’t help but visualize Irina’s perfect, svelte figure.
“But why do you need to join a gym?” he said. “The only reason people join a gym is to flirt with other single people. Is that what you want? Are you joining a gym to meet men?”
“No!”
“Don’t lie to me, Victoria,” he spit. “Why do you think I had to hire all women to work here? You flirt with any man who comes within a mile radius of you.”
“Gee, I thought you hired Irina so you could have somebody to flirt with?”
I shouldn’t have said that. By now, I am very aware of what sets Adam off. And I knew that would be the beginning of a huge fight. But I couldn’t help myself. I mean, how dare he hire such a beautiful woman to work in our home then accuse me of flirting?
“I’m not flirting with Irina,” he said. “I don’t know how you could think that. You’re, like, insanely jealous of any woman who’s prettier than you.”
“I’m not…” I started to say I wasn’t jealous of Irina, but that wouldn’t be true. I was jealous of her. Of course I was. Who wouldn’t be? “Listen, I just don’t know why you had to hire somebody who looks like her.”
“I don’t even notice her appearance. You’re the one who’s obsessed with it.”
“Obsessed?” I noticed the volume of my voice was getting very loud, and Irina could likely hear from downstairs. “I’m not obsessed! But I could see you whispering sweet nothings in her ear in the kitchen.”
“Sweet nothings?” His eyebrows shot up. “We were just talking about dinner plans. Jesus, you’re really out of your mind, you know that?” He shook his head. “This is why I can’t trust you at the gym. I’m glad I took charge of the credit card. Go get some running shoes and go jogging.”
His voice had adopted that cold tone that guaranteed he wouldn’t be speaking to me for the next few days. At this point, I wasn’t even sure if I
cared.
Okay, fine. I care. You don’t know what it’s like to share a house with somebody who is actively not speaking to you. He can be so hostile.
I bit my lip. “Can I have my two-hundred dollars for the week?”
“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “I’ll give it to you Sunday. Every Sunday, you’ll get your money. So just be patient for once.”
So right now, I’ve got fifty-three bucks in my wallet that I’ve got to make last until Sunday. (I’m not sure if he’s going to give me the money on Sunday morning or Sunday evening.) I don’t know what to do at this point. I’m not sure if I should try to look for a job, knowing by the time I get settled, I might get pregnant and need to leave soon. I’m going crazy with boredom, but once I have a baby, that will occupy a lot more of my time.
I guess I’ll go get those running shoes. Well, I’ll get them on Sunday when I’ve got some money.
December 2, 2017
I just had a huge fight with Adam.
He had some meeting with his publisher today, and our cleaning woman, Maggie, doesn’t come on Tuesdays. So he asked me if I could iron one of his shirts.
It seemed like an easy enough thing to do. I took the iron from the closet with the ironing board and ironed his shirt as best as I could. I’m not exactly a professional at doing the laundry, but I thought I did an adequate job. But then when he came out of the shower and I showed him the freshly ironed shirt, he freaked out. Apparently, I ironed it wrong. He kept showing me something about the crease and how I had ruined the shirt forever. He ended up throwing the shirt in the trash, which didn’t even make sense to me. Maggie could have ironed it later and fixed whatever I did wrong.
“Are you bad at everything?” he asked. “Because I really can’t figure out what you’re capable of doing correctly, aside from sitting on the couch, watching television, and eating. And spending my money, of course.”
“Well, maybe I should go back to work then.” I said it like a threat, as if I hadn’t already sent out a bunch of copies of my resume everywhere within driving distance. I was beginning to think I was going to have to
widen the radius of my search. I didn’t want to have to drive an hour and a half to work, but maybe it would be worth it. It would be better than staying here. And I could have money again.
“You sucked at that too.” He held up his left hand. “Look at the scar I’ve got on my hand because of you.”
“You have a scar on your hand because you sliced yourself with a knife.”
“They probably would have fired you if you hadn’t quit,” he went on like I hadn’t said anything. “You’re really lucky you have me to take care of you.” He sneered at me. “That’s all you were looking for, wasn’t it? A man to take care of you so you’d never have to lift a finger again.”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it’s true!” he snapped. “Our whole marriage is just a scam of yours.”
And with those words, he picked up the photograph of us on our nightstand—the one taken just minutes after we got married. He hurled it to the floor and the glass inside the frame shattered into a million pieces. I backed away because I was in my socks and I didn’t want to get glass in my feet.
“Clean that up.” He gave me a dirty look. “I need to figure out what the fuck I’m going to wear.”
I wanted to throw something at him. The iron was still on the ironing board, and even though I had turned it off, the metal was still very hot. For a moment, I was seized with the urge to pick up that iron and go right for his face. That would teach him a lesson.
But instead of attacking him with the iron, I went downstairs to get a broom and Dustbuster to clean up the broken glass.
Adam was gone by the time I got all the glass cleaned up. He didn’t even say goodbye when he left—I only knew he was gone because the front door slammed behind him. As soon as I heard that sound, I collapsed onto our bed. I buried my face in my hands, and the tears started to come. I still love Adam, but sometimes I think I hate him. Sometimes I feel like I could murder him with my bare hands.
I had been sobbing for about five minutes when my phone buzzed in the pocket of my sweatpants. I took it out and saw a message from Mack.
How is it going?
It was such a simple, innocent message, but it only made me cry harder. Mack was thinking about me. He was worried about me.
I picked up the phone, unsure what to write back. I could tell him everything. But what good would that do? It wouldn’t change anything. With my luck, Adam would probably find out about our whole conversation.
I’m OK, I finally wrote.
He wrote back almost immediately. Just OK?
I couldn’t bear to say anymore, so I just wrote: How are you doing? OK. Then: I miss you.
I sucked in a breath. You know I’m married, right? I miss you platonically.
I smiled at the screen, despite everything. Mack and I texted back-and- forth for the next half an hour, and my tears eventually dried up. It was nice talking to a friend. I still haven’t made any friends around here. Anytime I talk to Adam about joining something, he doesn’t want me to do it. There was a book club at the library, and he was furious when I asked him about it. He wanted a list of everyone who would be attending. When I said I couldn’t get him a list like that, he told me I couldn’t go. He still brings up that book club as an example of my insane behavior, like I asked him to go to a sex party.
The book club is meeting this week and I’ve already read the book. Maybe I’ll go. Adam is already furious with me, so it can’t make things worse. I just feel so isolated out here.
No, I better not.
