Surviving Valencia

“Sure,” I said.

“Have you ever thought how much better pancake houses would be if they served beer?”

“No. That’s gross. Do you remember the first time you met me?”

“I think so. We were in the break room, right?”

“What drew you to me?” You could have had anyone, I didn’t add.

“You were funny…”

“Funny?” I interrupted. “Are men really drawn to funny women?”

“I am. As I was saying, you were funny, and beautiful. You are funny and beautiful.”

This made me positively sure he was lying. Because I’m not beautiful. Cute, perhaps. Better than I used to be. But even if somehow, after years with me, someone could come to see me as beautiful, it would never be anyone’s first impression of me. And back then, prior to the yoga classes and high end skin care routines I now religiously followed, I was even less so. It was clear he came to Border’s because I worked there, and after killing Valencia, he needed to make it up to her the only way he knew how, by marrying her pathetic, miserable little sister.

“No, Adrian, seriously. There was that Natalie girl with the long brown hair. She was beautiful. Or what about Lauren? Remember her? That girl with the really blue eyes, way bluer than mine, and short black hair? They were both beautiful. Why didn’t you like either of them?”

“Honey, I don’t even remember them. I liked you because I liked you.”

“We had nothing in common. Right?”

“Honey, stop it. We just sort of clicked. Didn’t we?”

“Yes, too easily, come to think of it.”

“So we liked each other and we got along well and then we got married and everything was great. Is that what you’re complaining about?”

“I’m not complaining, Adrian. I am asking you what drew you to me.”

“I liked you. Until you recently went crazy.”

“Thanks.”

“Why can’t you just say what you mean?”

“I’m trying to.”

“I’m getting tired of this. If you have something to say to me, then say it. But enough of these head games.”

I finished my coffee and looked around the restaurant. It was a sad place to be. The waitresses looked tired and annoyed. The floor, table, and cracked, padded bench were all slightly sticky.

“I don’t think the accident that killed my brother and sister was really an accident,” I said.

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

“Well, for one thing, where’s my sister? How is it possible that she was never found?”

“It’s possible, Baby. If she landed in the river, which she must have, she could have washed all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico.”

“So you never think there might be more to the story?”

“No.”

I looked through the sugar and artificial sweeteners dish while Adrian continued eating. Half the packets were already opened. I pulled them out and set them aside, making a little pile. “These look like a model of a stack of nearly empty flour or rice bags, don’t they Adrian?”

“I guess so,” he said, focusing on his hashbrowns.