Dear Anna

by Katie Blanchard

  “Anna, this is John’s aunt, Mary,” I say as I scooch Anna closer to Mary.

  “You realize that’s a summer color, sweetie, and this is the damn winter?” She scoffs at Anna’s outstretched hand. “I’m not shaking hands, sorry, not my thing.” Mary is the meanest old lady you’ll ever meet. She hates everyone but me for some reason. Anna is no exception, and I’m glad she doesn’t disappoint me.

  “Mary, have they come by with your old-fashioned yet?” I don’t make to correct her comment to Anna. My tone is sweet, and she changes hers to match.

  “No, dear, but I’m getting antsy.” She grabs my arm in a kind way, something Anna takes notice of immediately. I watch in my peripheral vision as she mashes her lips together in embarrassment at not having impressed one of John’s relatives. She wants them to choose her over me, and all of them would, except for Mary that’s why I’ve let them meet.

  “I’ll grab you one in a minute, and if they do come before then, you’ll simply have two.” I wink.

  “Angel. An absolute angel.” She blows me a kiss, and I smile — Angel of Death.

  “Come on, Anna, let’s go see what’s taking them so long on the drink order at the bar.” I guide her with a hand on her back. Her long blonde hair grazes my thumb, and it takes everything in me not to reach up and yank on it, forcing her head to fling backward. With her neck exposed like that, I would stab her with a shrimp fork. Instead, I squeeze her close like old friends.

  “It’s so wonderful to have someone here who isn’t John’s family.” I giggle like we are conspiring together. She melts a little at my effort. I know how to play her. She doesn’t receive female love, only competition, and stripped bare of the prized bull she longs to own, John, she can’t help but give in to me.

  When we reach the large hall in the house, it’s buzzing with people. Anna stands back in awe at the glamour of it all. She loves the grandeur of the house, and I note her taking it in while I shuffle her alongside me, room to room. She’s thinking about how it can all be hers soon. It’s that thought that keeps my smile toward her genuine because I find her funny.

  “I do hope you’ll forgive me, Anna,” I say after we drop off Aunt Mary’s drink. “I have to leave you to fend for yourself out here while I make sure everything is running smoothly. Hostess job never ends.”

  “Oh, um,” Anna stumbles. She hadn’t realized she got accustomed to my presence. “Yeah, we’ll catch up later.”

  “Of course, my dear. I wouldn’t miss it.” I touch her arm with a wink and turn toward the kitchen leaving her with a disgruntled Aunt Mary who quickly walks off. Anna stands in the party, the gigantic house she wants, all alone, like I have for ten years.

  I step off the kitchen into the sunroom and stare out the window.

  “Like a ninja,” Jane says behind me.

  “I want to throw up.”

  “Better not. These weird fancy mini toast things the caterer made are delicious, and you’ll be missing out.”

  I laugh at her. “They’re ridiculous, aren’t they?”

  “I remember them at every damn function my ex-husband had. I still don’t know the name.”

  “Neither do I.” I shrug. “Do I look all right?”

  “For the hundredth time?”

  I nod.

  “Fucking fabulous. Now, go out there and make her feel like shit because she can’t be you.” She smacks my backside as I walk past her.

  “Hey, Jane?”

  “You’re so needy,” she jokes. “What?” She’s exaggerating; I see the twinkle in her eye at our bond.

  “Thanks for being my friend. I never had one before,” I admit.

  “Ever?”

  “Kids don’t like the poor girl who smells because there’s no running water at her house.” I choke on the words and the pain of my childhood. I never felt good enough in my entire life.

  “Kids are dickholes. We would have been friends even then.” She stares out the sunroom window, the same way I do every morning.

  “Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes.

  “We stinky poor kids have to stick together.” At that moment, when she looks me in the eye, I see myself. We were meant to find each other, Jane and me. Our souls have been pushing us to meet.

  I smile.

  “Now get the hell out there,” she demands.

  I salute.

  The party roars on as the rest of the guestlist pours into the house. Intimate to John meant fifty people. That was larger than any birthday party I ever had. Even in the beginning years of our marriage, I only invited my mother, but she stopped coming, and John stopped putting anything together. Birthdays just went by like any other day of the week for me.

  As the time approaches for John to come home, I dim the lights. I had everyone park at a specific location, hiring a valet of sorts to shuttle them in. Money really could buy anything, even dumb stuff like that. He wouldn’t notice a car in the driveway, though, and I pray he’ll watch his underhanded comments when interacting with me as he first walks in. They didn’t need to see it, especially Anna. I want her to feel betrayed by him before she commits betrayal herself.

  His car pulls into the driveway, and no one else is around the front entrance but me. Anna has pushed her way through the crowd so that she may be front and center for the event. She wants to have this moment every day of her life, the man of her dreams coming home to her.

  If she could convince a man to put his wife away in a mental facility, what makes her think he wouldn’t turn on her someday? I’ve watched her confidence fade as I ooze grace out of every pore tonight, guiding her around for the first half hour. How can she be so sure of herself that a man wouldn’t leave her?

  As the key turns in the knob, I steady myself. Showtime.

  “Welcome home, honey,” I drip.

  John takes one look at me, and his reaction is exactly what I want. “Holy shit.”

  I giggle. “Come have dinner with me.”

  “Are you sure dinner is what you want?” Pig.

  “Yes. Come on.” I grab ahold of his arm and straighten his tie up. He looks at me funny, but I just grin. When we turn the corner of the entryway that leads into the formal dining room, the people there and throughout the attached den area shout—“Surprise!”

  It rings out in a well-rehearsed chorus.

  “Wow.” John is stunned and smiling from ear to ear. “Honey, this is wonderful.” He leans down to kiss my cheek. I take notice of Anna’s pissy face and laugh.

  I grab a glass of wine from the tray by the doorway. “Happy Birthday, John. I hope this year of life brings you what you deserve.” I toast my glass to him and watch as everyone in the room does the same. I just made fifty of your closest friends and family toast to your demise, John. I understand why you get high on power.

  Overcome with gratefulness, he bows his head, notices Anna’s presence in the front row, and stalls with his body awkwardly bent forward for a few seconds before he remembers to finish the motion.

  The party has just begun.

  Medeia’s Journal

  Dear Anna,

  Don’t pick at your nails when you’re nervous. It’s annoying and tacky.

  Thirty

  I walk the party floating from one person to the next, being the gracious hostess on the outside while keeping a watch on my husband and his mistress. Jane is my other pair of eyes. She’s under strict orders to not let Anna and John sneak off anywhere in my house.

  It was the only rule I gave her, the rest she comes up with instinctively herself. She passes by at times to whisper in my ear that she gave Anna a piece of shrimp that fell on the floor. Even tells me she spit in the glass of wine for John. Little things that I imagine only a great girlfriend would know to do to keep your spirits up.

  I’m looking fabulous on the outside, but inside is a different story. I feel like a fraud. I am continually sucking my stomach in to look thinner in my killer outfit, passing on food to stay that way, leaning against a wall in a sexy m
anner but really to ease the pain in my feet. I long to make Anna believe she’s less than. I want her to know me as a person, to truly see John’s lies, and to give her one last chance to realize what she’s doing.

  That’s what I keep telling myself as I stare at her from across the room. When in fact, I hunger for her pain to come no matter what. I spend every morning waking up pissed off that I let someone trap me inside this life. I go to bed pissed off that I’m not free of the chains. I don’t want her to walk away. I don’t want John to walk away. I want them to crawl.

  “About a quarter of the alcohol is left to serve, and your feet are killing you. I think it’s cake time.” Jane winks as she hands me another glass of wine.

  “Thanks.”

  “You all right?” She looks concerned.

  “No. But, is anyone?” I take a sip of the wine. Jane bites her lip. There’s no comeback for that in her arsenal. She walks away toward the kitchen. I watch John come and graze his hand up Anna’s back, and I turn to grab his cake before I see too much and smash his face into it.

  The catering staff is waiting for me in the kitchen. It feels odd to be the one in charge, but that’s how life is going to be from now on.

  “I would like to thank you all for tonight, for your hard work, for putting up with, at the very least, one asshole out there—” they giggle— “and for making such damn good food. Now, let’s light this cake on fire and get these people out of my house so I can soak my feet.” I have won them over; no one has spit in my food this evening but reports throughout the night from Jane tell me that other guests didn’t fare as well.

  They graciously load my arms up with the cake and light the candles for me. I look up at all their faces and imagine they’re here for a birthday party to celebrate me. This is what it would feel like to be gathered around by smiling faces who genuinely like you and don’t feel obligated because you’re their boss’s wife. I tell my tears to haul back inside as I turn toward the living room where the party has decided to assemble. One of the waitstaff kills the lights for me before I walk inside.

  Everyone joins in the old song, wishing John the happiest of birthdays. I glare toward Anna as he reluctantly leaves her side to be the center of attention by me. I steel myself away from jealousy, for she will be forever associated with John’s green-eyed monster soon.

  I know something she doesn’t, and once this asshole blows out these candles, I’ll be more than happy to reveal it.

  Make a wish, John.

  Everyone claps at my husband’s ability to blow out a few candles on a cake, but they didn’t feel the shower of spit that I did. I won’t be eating a single piece of that now, not that this dress would allow me anyway.

  “If I can have your attention, everyone,” I shout, and the room quiets down. “Thank you so much. I don’t think I could work at that volume all night.” I’m greeted with smiles. “I’m going to put down this fabulous cake and say a few words if you’ll indulge me.” Jane appears like a right-hand man to take the cake from me. I smile in passing.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming out tonight and for helping me keep this party a secret. As most of you know, I am horrible at keeping secrets.” I’m met with giggles at the flaw in my character. I chance a look in Anna’s direction. I have managed to keep a few of yours, Anna. “Ok, on a more serious note, thank you for coming out and filling our home with love and laughter this evening, it is truly appreciated. I can’t believe I have spent a decade as this man’s wife, and I get to celebrate his birthday alongside him still.” John reaches for my hands, not one to be outdone. “But, enough about him.” The crowd laughs. “I want to say a special thank you for the waitstaff and catering team. The food was phenomenal, and I know a lot of you have been asking to meet the chef, and I’ve kept you away because I had a party to pull off, but I’ve asked him to come out and join us now for some cake. His name is Thomas Pole, and I’m sure he’ll be embarrassed, but let’s clap anyway, huh?” I watch the blood drain from Anna’s face, and I wish it could leave her body altogether tonight, but good things come to those who wait.

  Thomas’s face, however, is a bashful shade of red as the crowd hollers his praise as he steps into the room. I was trying to help your boyfriend’s side business, Anna. Don’t you like rich men? He is welcomed in the crowd, and the guests sing his praises as he makes his way through, attempting to swallow all the compliments.

  “The party was amazing, baby.” John is in my ear, and I smell the alcohol seeping from his pores. He’s drunk again and clapping the loudest for Thomas.

  “Thanks. Only the best for you, babe.” I curl under his arm and take my place at his side, more so for the gain of directing his body to face toward the crowd, toward Anna and Thomas, whose face just lit up at the sight of his girlfriend. Underneath my hand, John’s body stiffens.

  Anna openly welcomes the kiss that Thomas plants on her face, and while still under the scrutiny of the crowd, he gets a big cheer for his act.

  “Oh. I didn’t know Anna knew the chef.” I turn toward John. “You know sometimes you are right, this town is so small.”

  “Yes,” he grits out. “Very small, indeed.”

  Medeia’s Journal

  Dear Anna,

  John hasn’t left the house in a couple of days to meet you. Was there a fight?

  Thirty-One

  I make sure to send Anna a muffin basket and an apology note explaining how sorry I am that we didn’t get to spend more time together at the party as I had hoped. She’s such an asset to the company and my husband that I am eternally grateful for her. At least that’s what is now on file at the basket company. I whistle all day throughout the house.

  John is in an irritable mood again. According to his phone, it is all because his girlfriend has a boyfriend. How strange, my husband wanted fidelity from her but never bothered to think she might like the same.

  “What are you doing?”

  I leap out of my skin at the sound of my husband’s voice behind me in the sunroom. “Jesus, John. I spilled coffee on this note.” I sop it up with my napkin, but it remains unsalvageable.

  “What note?” He’s bored. Go away, John. Make up with your mistress so that I may kill her with a good motive.

  “Thank-you notes for your party. I didn’t think you would write them, but if you want to shock the pants off some of your family members, there’re still a few to go.” I smile at him.

  “No. You’ve got that handled.”

  I roll my eyes when I turn back around so he can’t see me. That’s the only kind of job he allows me to have — boring perfect housewife jobs.

  “Do you need something, darling?” I rewrite my note to John’s cousin Grace while talking over my shoulder.

  “I’m bored,” he whines.

  “I noticed.”

  “Well.” He decides upon entering the room and taking up residence next to me at the little table in here.

  “Well?” I repeat, not looking up from the correspondence.

  “I’m bored.” The draw of the last word makes me want to punch him.

  “Aunt Mary needs a thank-you card,” I sing as I lick the envelope of another thank-you card done and cross Grace’s name off the list.

  “Nah, she likes you better anyway.” That’s because you’re a dick, John.

  “You could go watch some television,” I offer.

  “I already tried that.” He gets up and paces in front of the floor-to-ceiling picture window, observing the view I dearly love of the backyard. Stripped of his secret mistress, John finds it difficult to settle into tame married life.

  “John, is something bothering you?” I need him to go away so that I might have a moment’s peace. I don’t want a repeat of the walk we took around the neighborhood. I want to feel dead inside toward him. His ability to act human complicates that at times.

  “I fought with a friend.” He tells the window and not me.

  “Then go make up.” Go away.

  “Is th
at what you’re supposed to do? Just make up. What if I was right?” He glares at me.

  “Well, seeing as I have no experience in having friends because I was a disgusting kid with greasy hair and poor fitting clothes, only to become a teenager with three jobs and a mortgage to pay off, and no time for a single friend because I had two siblings to support during that time, then I became an adult still supporting those children through school and taking classes at night, I would say my friend advice is extremely limited.”

  “Hmm. What about when you became a married woman without all those problems?” he quips.

  “Well, my husband doesn’t like me having friends he hasn’t pre-approved, and they all turn out to be boring duds of human brain cells and shopping bags when he does pair me up with someone.” I seal up another thank-you card.

  “You hate the rich. Do you realize you are rich?” He laughs, but it’s an epiphany. I’m not rich. Not because I don’t have my own money, but because no matter what lessons John has crammed into my skull, I’ll never act like those we are surrounded by. I’ll always be the poor girl from the shack, and I’m okay with it. I’m finally okay with it.

  “You are rich, John. I’m not allowed a job.” I begin the next letter, but I can still see his head bobbing up and down in the corner.

  “You speak a little bit more frankly now with your medication decreasing.” His tone hints toward an edge in his temper.

  “I apologize, the party was quite stressful, and I’m just trying to do it right so that I do the name of being your wife justice.” I smile at him. He softens. I’ve learned an extra thing or two about being manipulative since I opened my eyes up to John’s trait. It’s not a hard thing to pick up on, although one that leaves you feeling rather slimy even if it just saved me a nasty fight with my husband.

  “So, I just make up with this friend?” He sits down at the table across from me. Are you really asking your wife relationship advice for your girlfriend, John? Tacky.