11. Just Texting
11 JUST TEXTING
Daphne
Millions gathered to watch me cry on command the day my marriage ended. They settled before TVs and live streams for a voyeuristic view of a great loss. That didn’t include the thousands lining the street to catch a glimpse of the cars carrying us or the media speculation about how we would “move on” as a family. As if my day would not be emotionally difficult or painful enough, I suffered through indignities I couldn’t foresee—all to save face politically across an ocean.
“Daphne! I need to come in!”
I stared at my watch, then the door—one more minute.
“Just a minute. I’m using the loo!” I shouted.
Chandler paced outside.
A phone buzzed next to me. Chandler left his phone on the vanity, so I assumed that was why he was panicked. I picked it up, about to say I had found his phone for the third time that day when I spied a message.
Natasha
Is it over yet?
Natasha. The name didn’t ring a bell. I assumed it was a coworker. I knew he wasn’t keen on a public funeral—neither was I—but I resented the fact that he was complaining about it to his coworkers.
20 seconds.
Another message appeared. A picture flashed before I could even set the phone down. An image of a woman standing in a bathroom—a bathroom I knew—in a lacy bra flashed across the screen. That was the home of a friend. And while I couldn’t see her face, I recognized those breasts. It was over already.
I checked my watch again. It was time. My hands shook for more reasons than before. I lifted the pregnancy test—hostile as ever with only one line. I expected to cry but felt relief. If I were pregnant, I’d have to figure it out. Now, I had options.
I washed my hands, tossed the test, and left, throwing his phone onto my childhood bed. Chandler adjusted his cufflinks, annoyed. I controlled my emotions, not letting him see what I knew.
“There you are,” Chandler picked it up. “And?”
“I’m not pregnant,” I answered.
He let out a long groan and paced. “Darling, what will we do? Nothing is working.”
Unable to help myself, I piled on. “I think it’s kismet, Chandler.”
“Kismet? Are you mad!?”
“Chandler, I am done. This is a sign from wherever—God, the universe, a goat floating around in space—that we’ve reached the end of the road.”
“How can you say that? We must have children! One cannot be PM without children in this day and age. My star will rise, Daphne, and we have a leadership contest looming?—”
“I know,” I laughed. “I know. Sucks to be you.”
I didn’t know why I laughed. It was to keep from crying more tears and to distract from the brutal pain I felt. I should have been able to cry my tears of sorrow for my father’s death. CNN said, “The world is in mourning.” So why couldn’t I? It was because, on top of those genuine feelings, I now knew my marriage was dead.
“Have you gone mad, Daph?”
“No,” I answered. “I see now. You. This. It’s all a damn lie.”
“What do you think you see, Daphne?”
“Check your phone.” I gestured.
He looked at it, then looked at me, then looked at it. “Did you…”
“That’s Natasha. Paul’s daughter?”
“Daphne, I… she has a crush on me. She’s been inappropriate.”
“So, if I go through your messages, I will not see anything concerning on your end?
“You already have, haven’t you?”
I hadn’t. I didn’t have the heart to torture myself more on this day. I shrugged.
“Daphne, I love you. You are my wife. You are the one I want to spend my life with. It was stupid, and I’ll end it all. I will fix it and?—”
“There is no time to end it,” I said. “Because it’s over.”
He grabbed my wrist hard. “It isn’t over, Daphne! Not until I say it is!”
I tried to free myself, but he held tight.
“If things had not been so bad with the fertility struggles, I would have felt differently.”
“Things with the fertility struggles? That’s all? That’s what you worry about? I tried. I suffered and tried and put myself through hell—all to please you. And this is how you repay me!”
Tears welled, but I held them back.
“You must forgive me.”
“I cannot. I will not.”
“You will forgive me!”
Not for the first, but the last time, I felt he might strike me. I braced, knowing that somehow, I was done for good after this—somehow, some way.
In my moment of need, the door opened. Dahlia appeared with my baby sister Dora close behind. I made eye contact. She looked at my wrist, then back at my husband. She puffed, emboldened with a need to save me. Dora looked frightened, but Dahlia was ready to throw hands.
“We need to go. The car is waiting. Come on.” Dahlia glared at Chandler.
“I am speaking with my wife!” Chandler roared.
“Get your hands off of her and move,” Dora said. “Whatever you think is critical right now, it’s not. We have a schedule.”
She grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the funeral of the century, or whatever cable news called it. People expected big things when the most important person in Chicago died. My sisters’ concern for my safety above all remained apparent, but there was no time to dally. Without discussion and as if we knew one another well enough to guess what happened, Dahlia handed Chandler off to Davey.
“Are you… safe?” Dora asked.
“I’m fine,” I answered. “It’s complicated. Tempers are whipped up. Trust me. It’s okay.”
Dora was unconvinced, even in her blissful youth. She could feel whatever she wanted or needed, but one fact remained. We had to survive this together as a family. The stakeholders required unity. The nation watched as we laid an American business great and philanthropist to rest.
I squeezed her hand in assurance. “It will be okay. We will make it through. The Delphines always make it through. We give good face, and we keep it together. That is what today is about.”
“Is it?” Dora asked.
“Dora, I promise you it is going to be okay. And I am fine. Or, I will be when this is all wrapped up with a bow.”
I patted her cheek and continued outside. I gazed over the small crowd gathered on the doorstep. Davey met my gaze as he circled our flock. Chandler looked ready to pitch a fit, but wouldn’t tangle with Davey or Derrick, my younger brother who appeared lost. Dahlia chatted with her girlfriend Susanne, one eye always on Chandler as if ready to punch him. Lanie stared at her phone, endlessly scrolling social media.
Mum stared off into the distance with a lost, directionless gaze. No one dared hug her for fear of losing an eye. We did not make a fuss. Her stiff upper lip mentality prevented it.
I wrapped an arm around her waist. “We’re ready, Mum. Just say the word.”
Mum nodded. “I’m ready.”
Davey read my face and called out., “Let’s head out!”
And with that, the Carlisle-Delphines were on their way to lay their patriarch to rest.