little visit brought up memories from the past, the way her mother would sneer at her, the way she’d scream at her, that she was unwanted. It made her shoulders droop, and her head just didn’t want to come up.
She’d scored a few direct hits with Celeste today, but it was a quiet wife that greeted Matteo when he got home. It was a woman that couldn’t escape the past, not right now.
“Hi, darlin’,” she said with a kiss as he walked into the kitchen a few hours later. “Dinner’s almost done. I’m just taking the bread out of the oven.”
“It smells like Louisiana in here.” His broad smile was pleased and he nodded his head. “Good. I’ll change and meet you at the table, okay?”
“That’s fine.” She wasn’t sure whether to tell him Celeste came by or not. How would he react? He didn’t like the woman any more than she did, she’d sensed that from the first mention of his aunt. Would he want to know she’d been here?
She put the jambalaya into bowls, some warm bread in a basket, then carried it all to the dining table. She knew it would taste fine, she’d made it a million times before, but she also knew she wouldn’t taste a bite of it.
She poured gin and cold tonic water into a tall glass and took it to the table. Her focus was on that glass throughout dinner, and she re-filled it once. Fucking bitch and her mind games, she thought as she started on the second glass. Well, fourth, but she’d started the count over once she sat down for dinner.
Marie wasn’t much of a drinker, but the entire day had left her rattled. She thought about the pills she’d hidden away in her nightstand. Should she tell him about those? She didn’t realize he’d noticed, not until he spoke.
“What’s wrong, Marie?” He sat back in his chair, his eyebrows pulled down with worry.
“What? What do you mean?” She looked over at him, her fingers on the glass, her eyes on the bowl of food in front of her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of it right now. Maybe she did need one of those pills after all.
Not with the alcohol, that’s what the bottles had said anyway, it would intensify the effects. Her thoughts had already drifted away, to a time when her mother had her down on the floor, scrubbing it with a toothbrush and gritty Ajax. The fact that her mother’s fingers were gripped in her hair and her voice screamed at Marie wouldn’t stop replaying in her mind. It mingled with that sneer of Celeste and she just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. But she was a wife now.
“That. That right there.” He pointed at her. “You keep spacing out. You’re drinking gin, which I didn’t even know you liked, and you’re… not right. What’s wrong, baby?”
He reached across the table for the hand she held the glass with and she let the glass go reluctantly. She didn’t want to tell him anything right now, she felt too fragile, like she was in too many poorly held together pieces and the slightest pressure would shatter her completely.
But why, she tried to figure out. Why did she feel like that? Shouldn’t she be proud of herself, shouldn’t she feel like she’d won a battle?
“I’m just not feeling well, Matteo, that’s all.” She smiled at him, but they both knew it was fake. She stood up, gathered up their dishes, and took them into the kitchen to clean. She washed everything up while he stood behind her and told her about his day.
Well, the parts he could tell her, she thought, because even Matteo kept secrets from her. That was alright, though, she decided later when she was curled up against his sleeping form. A mafia queen she was not and today had proven that.
She thought about that referral to a counselor and decided she’d give them a call. She needed to. She needed help or this would only grow worse. She knew enough about trauma now, she knew about depression and PTSD, all those things that the internet now made a thing that was out in the open, that you could read about freely. She’d done some reading about it when she first got home that afternoon, and as she rolled over to stare at the drawer that held those pills, she reached out her hand.