“Okay, done, I sent it!”
Marie-Anne tossed her phone onto the couch with a flushed face. Her hands were still shaking, and even her knees felt weak. She took a long, slow breath, finding it took longer to calm down than she had expected. To distract herself, she walked out into the tiny, artificial grass-covered yard and sprawled out on the soft plastic rug. She didn’t care that every neighbor could see her from their upstairs windows. That was life in a densely built residential complex. It didn’t bother her now, although it might later. For a few minutes, she could slip out of her role. The person she’d sent the message to couldn’t see what effect this first real blow had on her—one that was undoubtedly deadly.
“It doesn’t meet our standards.”
She needed to savor her intoxicating words a bit longer.
“Our standards.”
She took another deep breath.
“My God, what a brutal sentence!”
She exhaled slowly.
“My husband makes a damn good living, damn it! I can afford to say that,” she thought with a smile.
“I can afford it.”
“What do you want to do this weekend?” her husband asked.
Marie-Anne shrugged. She took a pack of seafood from the freezer, opened it, and looked at its contents with irritation. Once again, it was all just one big chunk of ice. She placed the bizarre, child-head-sized ice block in a strainer and ran it under the tap. Then she pulled out the paella seasoning mix. Hopefully, that would give some flavor to the mushy, fingernail-sized bits of mussels, shrimp, and fish.
“We could go down to the lake,” the woman in her early thirties said without thinking.
“Great idea,” her husband said enthusiastically. “We could visit your old colleague. Didn’t they just move there?”
Marie-Anne’s face went pale.
How could she be so stupid to mention that damn lake?
“I think they’re still renovating the house. I told you what a mess they bought.”
“That? It’s way bigger than ours. And the yard is huge—with twelve fruit trees and real grass…”
“Please! Theirs was built in the ’70s; ours is just three years old.”
“So what? It’s a nice, big house by the lake.”
“It’s not even on the shore,” Marie-Anne snapped. “It’s at least a ten-minute walk!”
Her husband laughed.
“Come on, call them, and let’s drop by!”
“No worries, Marie-Anne; you’ll handle it. A woman can handle anything,” she reassured herself. She’d come up with something: maybe they’re not home, or maybe they didn’t buy anything at all, and the woman had just lied. That would put an end to her husband’s questions about them. She still had two days to come up with something good—and final. Just like she had told her colleague.
Her hands were shaking again.
For a moment, she was frightened, thinking about what her husband would say if he found out what she had done. Then she calmed down. That woman wouldn’t speak to them again. And she wouldn’t brag about it. How could she? Like this?
“Imagine, darling, my colleague invited us to lunch at their lakeside house, which they bought without a mortgage, even before selling their previous one. So, I told her there’s no way I’m crossing that threshold. From the photos she proudly sent, I could tell that house is well below our standard. I told her if she’s so keen, we could meet at an upscale restaurant or a fancy beach club. Then she says they hate crowded beaches and prefer to sail out if they want to swim. So, I pointed out once again how revolting that wood paneling is, the kind I’d rather tear down with my bare hands than spend an hour in a place with wooden walls. I even repeated that her lifestyle simply does not meet our standards. She didn’t reply, of course. She had better not write to me at all. She should do so when they are surrounded by luxury like us. When she serves me caviar, not pork or beef. Ugh, how disgusting!”
“Damn it!”
Marie-Anne jumped at the sound of her husband’s voice.
“What’s wrong, darling?”
“They raised the mortgage payment again! Damn them!”
“But it’s still okay, right? I don’t have to go back to being a secretary, do I?” she asked, her face pale.
“No, no way. I’ll just have to work a bit more,” he reassured her. “At least we’ve got the weekend plans settled—if not for the next couple of years,” he added with a wry smile.