Page 70 of Mr. Aster
“I’m not trying to be,” I answered. “I just see that the lights seemed to have come on in your life again, and the angry devil who stormed the winery halls with his rude opinions has left the building. Usually, people who behave that way hate themselves or their relationship or are grieving. In your case, it might be all the above?”
He offered me that bashful smile from the other night, and I felt my stomach do a tiny flip in response.
“Yes, I did love her. She was my wife.”
“I know she was your wife, but what did you love about her aside from her being your wife?”
“I loved her brilliant mind,” he said, looking at the moon. “I loved how she was charitable and lent her time to many different programs for the underprivileged. She put a lot of effort into planning events and fundraisers for retirement homes, counseling for veterans, orphaned children, and schools desperate for funding for books and such. After she passed, they even named a school after her.”
“That’s very amazing,” I answered truthfully. “That’s what youlovedabout her, though? And I meanlovelike if you lost everything—material possessions, statuses, money, and all of that—and you had nothing but the dirt beneath your feet and jobs that barely covered the rent, what would keep you together during those hard times?”
“Holy fuck,” he laughed at me. “I don’t even think I lovemyselfthat much to stick around if my entire world imploded in that manner.”
“Well, many people go through it, but they survive it because they have each other, and they rebuild.”
He sucked in a breath and concentrated. “I loved her eyes,” he finally said, then looked at me. “They were green, not piercing like your blue eyes, but sometimes they’d dazzle in a way that?—”
“That’s a physical trait. What did youloveabout this woman to want to marry her, buy her a yacht when she had a meltdown, and insist on starting a family to elevate your social status? There had to be something.”
“I loved that she never interrupted me while I was talking,” he said, giving me a shitty grin. “So, there’s something.”
“That’s definitely something,” I answered.
“I know it doesn’t seem like a loving relationship to you, but it was in its own way. I miss her every day, and I feel very guilty at times that I didn’t take the final call she made to me moments before she passed away. I was too busy in a meeting, and nothingwas more important than my work, not even my wife’s dying wish to talk to me.”
I saw the pain and darkness wash over him like an invisible, thousand-pound blanket of guilt was laid across his back, and I knew this was haunting him. It was probably the main reason he was stuck in grief, not allowing himself a moment of happiness.
“You blame yourself?”
“No. Well, maybe. I’m not sure,” he said softly. I was glad he hadn’t shut down again; the subject matter was getting heavy, and his not bolting was a good sign. “Even though I don’t recall the dream I was having when you woke me up, the sensations and the mood of sudden loneliness I’ve experienced since waking up are typical of my recurring nightmare. That dream is just a loop of the day Melissa was killed, and I’m watching myself make all the wrong decisions as I did on that day, and I can do nothing to change any of it.”
“This is going to sound like easy advice, even though you’re probably not going to take it that way, but you need to try to forgive yourself. You’ll be stuck in this guilt for the rest of your life if you don't. You must try to move forward.”
“I feel that I am.”
“Filling your mind with a crazy distraction, like being in a fake relationship with me, and then throwing ourselves to the wolves to lie to everyone about it is not moving on. It’s not healing or helping you to come to terms with things either.”
“You are correct. That is easier said than done. I don’t do well with letting myself off the hook. Melissa deserves better than for her selfish husband to find happiness again when he couldn’t be bothered to grant her a moment on her deathbed.”
“Forgive me if this sounds harsh, but from what you’ve casually mentioned about her, I wonder if she wanted you to find happiness even when she was alive,” I said. I didn’t want to bash the woman, but it seemed he was putting her on apedestal just because he felt guilty, which is what people tended to do when they wanted to punish themselves. “You have a lot of emotional baggage to start going through, shedding layers of bullshit before you’ll find any form of happiness. But you owe it to yourself to find that.”
“I owe it to my daughter,” he said.
“Her too, but you can’t take care of someone else if you haven’t taken care of yourself. If you’re not happy, your daughter will not be happy.”
“I know that,” he said. His tone was edgy, so I felt it was best to stop psychoanalyzing the man I hardly knew.
It was easy to see he had no idea what real love was. All he knew was the life he was born into. I wasn’t a psychologist, to be sure, but I was more convinced than ever that this poor guy could really use one. Years of living a life of wealth and privilege had skewed his perception of reality. He lived in a world where money was the only thing that mattered, and it wasn’t because he was a horrible person by nature but because he’d had no examples to the contrary…until now.
He’d brought me on this trip to get away from his parents, and now, I would show him how the other half lived. Tomorrow, we were going to see if he could get a glimpse of happiness without endless luxuries and deep pockets filled with cash to throw around.
“I’m heading to bed,” I said. I was tired and wanted to sleep before dragging him all over town like an average tourist, shopping and eating street food…something an Aster wouldneverdo. “You should, too. I have plans for us tomorrow, and they consist of you leaving your wallet at home.”
“Oh?” He smiled up at me.
“You’ll see.”
With a sassy smile, I left him sipping his tea and appreciating the beauty of the moon as I started making my plans fortomorrow. I was excited to spend time in Mexicomy way, not his fancy resort way.
