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It’s not true. You know it’s not, I hear Marissa’s voice so clearly, it’s almost as if she’s standing right next to me.
“She doesn’t care about the money.” I want her to know that while Holly was probably quick to notice all the ways that she and Marissa are different, this is probably the biggest.
“They all care about the money. Even when they claim they don’t. I’ll be honest, I was surprised she didn’t want to take the money I offered at first, but—”
My heart plummets. “What the fuck? You offered her money?”
Holly cocks her head to the side and a snide smile pulls at her lips. “She didn’t tell you? Well well, that’s certainly not expected. I wrote her a check for five million dollars to stay away from you. She said she didn’t want it but”—she points at me—“she did keep it. Maybe she just needs time to mull it over.”
I take a step back because…what?
She begins her way up the stairs and points at the suitcase still in the foyer. “Bring that up, will you?”
My eyes snap to her suitcase, staring at it as I try to get my thoughts together. Marissa wouldn’t cash it. Even if she took it. She ripped it up. If there was even a check at all. But why didn’t she tell me? “You’re lying.”
Holly turns on the stairs and narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not but think whatever you want.”
“She’d…” My mind is racing, and at this moment I know I won’t believe anything until I talk to Marissa. “She knows I’d give her whatever she wanted; she wouldn’t take money from you.”
“And maybe she won’t. I can’t imagine she’ll be able to cash it in France, but she did take it. Maybe she’s waiting until after she gets back. How the hell should I know? Can’t say I really know how twenty-one-year-old girls think.” She scrunches her nose. “Frankly, it’s a little creepy that you do,” she says and then she’s moving up the stairs.
Me: I need to talk to you.
I text her after a series of unanswered calls. We haven’t talked in two days, since Marissa ended things, and I’ll admit that even though I’m annoyed by the events that have transpired, I want to hear my girl’s voice. I walk into my apartment and drop to my couch before texting her again.
Me: Marissa, it’s important.
Marissa: What’s there to talk about?
Me: Answer the phone.
Marissa: I’m out and this isn’t a work call.
Me: Why didn’t you tell me about the check, Marissa?
She doesn’t answer right away and that doesn’t do anything for the mounting anxiety in me or the uncertainty over whether she’s planning to cash it. I don’t give a fuck about the money. I’d give her double, triple, whatever she wanted. I just hate that she didn’t tell me. I hate that Holly knew something about her that I didn’t. That there was a part of their interaction that I wasn’t privy to and I want her to tell me it wasn’t like that.
Marissa: Because it didn’t matter.
Me: Yes, it absolutely matters.
Marissa: You can’t possibly think I’m going to cash it. Don’t fucking insult me.
Me: Why did you take it at all?
Marissa: She shoved it in my hand and walked off and it has my name on it! I figured it would be better if I had it rather than her. I ripped it up.
Me: You should have told me.
My phone starts to ring and the second I answer it, I hear the sounds of loud music and talking, and then those sounds become muffled like maybe she went in the bathroom.
“You can’t actually be mad at me.” She laughs and I can already tell this conversation isn’t going to be productive.
“I’m mad that Holly threw that shit in my face and I was unprepared for it.”
“You were unprepared?” she snaps. “I can assure you the shit your wife threw in mine was worse.”
I sigh, remembering the interaction that set all of this in motion in the first place. “I’m sorry. Again. I’m dealing with it.”
