A new round of tears weighs down my lashes. Max never touches or cuddles me after sex and I hate being sad about it.
CHAPTER 12
Russet
Another week, another shitty lunch date with Yelena.
I’ve met with her every week for a month now. Every Thursday at eleven o’clock we do the same stupid dance. She always arrives ahead of time, meaning she’s already seated. She sighs as she stands up, annoyed that I’m late, and proceeds to kiss each of my cheeks. Another sigh as she sits down, bothered that she’s wasting her time in my presence.
We eat salads no matter what. And trust me, I’ve tried ordering a burger. The waiter took my order and then served me the plainest salad they had, the dressing on the side. There’s never any dessert which is okay because I’ve continued my baking with mostly decent results.
Other than Sergei, Elijah is the only person who gives me critical feedback. That’s because every Thursday, while Max is at his evening class, Elijah pops over with a pizza, somehow managing to get rid of Olga.
I eat half of it every time and he never fat-shames me, unlike his stepmother. In fact, I think he’s impressed. Or possibly alarmed.
Is it a good idea to have Elijah come over while Max is gone? No. But I crave the carbs in a way that’s not good. In a way that tells me I’m not happy.
In the past, when I’ve experienced depression, I didn’t have the chance to fully recognize it. Life felt shitty at times, but bills were due. I remained too busy to understand how things slowly slipped into a blur of darkness.
Now all I have is time on my hands. Outside of baking, I use the language app, meaning I can now count to a hundred in Russian. We had dinner one night with Lev and Yelena. Once again my father-in-law was kind and attentive while I studied the similarities between mother and son. I can’t say I was pleased, but for what it’s worth, Max’s eyes never take on a cold vacant stare when we’re together.
Not that there’s much happening on that front.
He never cuddles after sex and I keep telling myself I’ll get used to it.
Just like I’ve had to get used to the reality that he’s right about Marissa.
A divorce from Max doesn’t mean I go back to my old life. It’s simply not possible. I’m forever altered in some way now that I know the Zimin’s. I know nothing about their inner operations, but enough to be categorized as one of them, because I’ve eaten enough meals with various family members.
Marissa would dig for information, and then, in turn, grow paranoid about what information I gave them. It’s a bullet in the back of my head if she’s feeling merciful. If not, then she’ll let her male friends have fun with me before breaking my body piece by piece.
I haven’t heard from Daisy in almost three months. If everything’s gone okay, she’s now out of her first trimester.
The hardest pill to swallow about this whole ordeal is the lapse in my life from her constant companionship. It used to be a day didn’t go by without talking to her.Whether we bitched about our jobs, discussed our dating lives, or talked about the most random things. She’s my ride-or-die.
But it already feels like she’s died. A sinking pit opens in my stomach when the idea comes to me. I’ve messaged old friends, asking how they’ve been and what mutual acquaintances they’ve seen in the hopes of hearing news.
Nothing. Last week I grew so paranoid I strayed toward my old haunts. I might have had a better chance if I’d gone bar hopping, but there was no way in hell I could pull it off. So instead I went to the coffee shop I used to frequent and the diner Daisy worked at as a teenager. My heart squeezed when the older waitress who knows Daisy asked if I’d seen her lately. Not a good sign.
I got played by Marissa. Daisy’s still in her hooks somewhere and I’ve been around long enough to know things will only get worse.
“You look tired,” Yelena says, sipping from her water. “Olga tells me you’ve started to drink wine every night.”
Yelena loves dropping little hints that Olga’s her eyes and ears. As if I could forget.
“I had one glass last night and so did Maxim.” While we ate our beloved grilled chicken and veggies for dinner.
She pouts like she does every time I use her son’s name. Trying to change the trajectory of lunch, I ask how Roma is doing.
Her eyes narrow. “Why? What have you heard?”
“Nothing,” I answer truthfully. “Max makes it sound like he stays busy.”
That’s a lie. He hardly talks about his brothers.
After Elijah started poking around I asked him if he was close to them. He said no, and when I pointed out that he and Roma were twins, he sighed and somewhat amended his response. He texts them often enough that I know they areclose. It seems to be that typicalI love you but you annoy mesibling relationship.
From what I gather Elijah works at one of the companies owned by the Zimin’s. I’ve asked no further information about any of the legalities, but I think it irks Max that his brother already graduated with an MBA and climbed up the ranks. I wanted to point out that he has five years on him since he’s older but I’m starting to realize Max is not only competitive but extremely hard on himself.
