Page 32 of Never Have We Ever
“He probably still is.” Hailey shrugged. “I was always kinda jealous, you know. I love Dillon, but André is on another level. It’s the French in him. Dillon is down toEarth and a real family man, but André? Whew. Surprised you guys didn’t have more kids, because you wouldn’t get me to leave that… er, this… bedroom.”
“Don’t talk about my husband like that.”
“See? You still think of him as your husband.”
Of course she did. Didn’t Hailey get it?André is mine. He was always supposed to be mine. From the day I agreed to marry him, I harbored the fantasy thatit would only be him and me for the rest of our lives.She didn’t think it was possible, though. Wasn’t she constantly preparing herself for the inevitable two year mark talk?
Except it hadn’t gone the way she expected. Before Valeska knew it, her husband had declared his intentions to stay only with her.
Even though she always screamed at herself that it was a lie.
That all of this was inevitable.
Fuck me. I’m an idiot.
“I refuse to be taken advantage of,” Valeska reasserted. “I know my worth.”
“Great! Go tell him that.”
“That’s part of the problem, isn’t it?” Valeska stared at her reflection, convinced that things were more vain than they seemed.He doesn’t want me because I’ve gotten older. I’m not the same. He’d rather have a younger girlfriend to serve his ego.She told herselfit couldn’t be helped. It was his nature as a privileged man. Hadn’t her mother and her sister warned her?
I’m not sure I know his real nature at all.She always looked at André through an English-speaking filter. Neither of them was native in the language. More often than not they relied on their actions and body language to convey what they really meant. So much room for error – on both sides.“We’ve never been great at communicating. He was too busy to learn German, and I never got farther than learning how to shop at the supermarket in French. I can barely communicate with my daughter most days.”
Valeska went back to the closet. There, in a wooden box beneath her evening gowns, was the stack of letters André had sent her over the years. She brought the whole box to the bed, whereher sister looked on in intense curiosity.
“He always sent me a letter whenever he went away for business. He’d send little tokens with them. You remember that Swiss keychain you loved so much? It was in a letter he sent me from Zurich.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, except…” Valeska showed her sister the last letter she received two months ago. “He always wrote them in French. He didn’t start addingEnglish until later.”
“You couldn’t understand them?”
Valeska shook her head, embarrassed. “I really tried in the beginning. I think he thought they would encourage me to practice my French, but it was much too difficult. By the time I started to understand them better, I realized they were letters detailing what it was like and what he did.” Valeska would never forget staying up half the nightto translate the first two paragraphs of a letter, only to realize André had written some huge description about the olive oil in Greece. Whoopee. How bored had the man been?Bored enough to write his wife instead of chasing tail, I suppose.
Hailey dug to the bottom of the box. Valeska had always tried to keep them in chronological order. One day, she was going to give them to her daughter soshe could see how romantic her parents’ marriage had been. Now? Burning the whole thing sounded good.
“Huh.” Hailey glanced through one of the earliest letters.They always used to be so long and detailed. I wished so badly that I could read them.More than once Valeska had thought about asking her tutors or the staff, but was too embarrassed. They were letters meant for her eyes only. “His handwritingis beautiful.”
“I know.”
“Uh…” Hailey snorted. “I know my French is even worse than yours, but my English is definitely better by this point. And, um… English is a good chunk French like it is German, you know?”
“What about it?”
“Just saying. These letters are kinda… never mind.”
“No. What?”
Hailey picked out another letter. Her eyes immediately widened.
“What the hell is it?”
“I think he’s saying…” Hailey laughed. “No fucking way!”
“What?”
“Oh my God. This is too good. No wonder you were so confused. The man is talking inmetaphors. Typical French asshole. There’s this whole paragraph about the leaning tower of Pisa, but I’m pretty sure he’s talking about hisdick.”
