Blanche (Chapter 6)
The morning of March 7, 2024
Have you ever noticed that, in movies, the weather always seems to reflect what’s happening for the characters?
A break up? It’s definitely raining.
A funeral? Always overcast.
Soulmates finally accept their destiny? Blinded by sunlight.
If you, like me, have spent more hours of your life than you’d like to admit watching characters on screens, feeling like — on some esoteric plane of reality — you were right there with them… crying in the rain, grieving in the mist, falling in love with warmth shining on your cheeks… then real life can really throw you for a loop.
As I sat at the kitchen island calling Jazz for the sixth time in a row, all I could think about was how bizarre the rays of sunlight flowing through the wall of windows felt. Of course, this wasn’t the first time movies had lied to me. I’ll never forgive Cruel Intentions for making me believe that I really could make the bad boy love me by giving him my virginity, I thought as she finally picked up.
“B, I’m working! What is so important?” Jazz asked, annoyed.
“He’s dead.”
“No, nothing for me today! I have a lunch meeting,” Jazz mumbled.
“Jazz?”
“Sorry, they are already taking our lunch orders. What’s up?”
“He’s dead. Sasha is dead,” I blurted out.
“Are you kidding me? Oh my god. How are the girls? How are you? What happened?”
“I haven’t told the girls. The police just left. I need to call the school and go pick them up, but I have no idea how I’m going to tell them."
Silence.
“They think he might have been killed, Jazz.”
“Wait, what? They think someone murdered Sash? Oh my god. B, this is awful. Do they know who? What do you need?”
“Can you come here? I don’t want to be alone when I tell the girls. I can’t even see straight. I have to call Mama and Tata. And my parents, too.”
“Yes, of course. Let me clear my day and I’ll grab a car in a few. I’ll be there in 45 minutes,” Jasmine promised. “B, I love you” and the call ended.
What do I do next? I need to call the school, I need to call our family. His family, my family, I corrected my thoughts.
I need to google what to say to Aleksandra and Milena, please God I don’t want to screw this up. Who makes funeral arrangements for an ex husband?
What time is it?
I looked at the clock and saw 9:37. Oh shit, I was supposed to be on that partners’ meeting at 9:30. I have to call Dawn and have her cancel all my meetings.
Breathe. The lawyer in me took out a notepad from the top drawer as I rummaged for a pen.
WHERE ARE ALL THE PENS??!
No pens to be found. Only a dull purple crayon. Pressing the waxy nub firmly down, I wrote:
TO DO
call school
pick up girls
talking points
call Angela to set up appointment for girls
Mama and Tata
mom and dad
funeral arrangements?
Dawn cancel meetings
bra
GET PENS
I know everyone is preaching meditation but have they tried a list? Or caffeine? Which reminded me that, “I need coffee.”
First, coffee. Then, everything on my list.
I grabbed a white mug from the white cabinets on the way to the custom white coffee machine tucked perfectly into the white built ins. I hate how white everything is in here. No wonder I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I turned it on, selected coffee (just like the hundred page manual told me how to do when we had this installed). But instead of making me the coffee I desperately needed all it could manage was to flash an exclamation mark in my face. Again.
I swear to you, the more expensive something is, the more often it breaks. I don’t know the science behind this but, like they taught us in law school, some things in life are like porn: you know it when you see it.
I took a deep breath and rummaged under the island until I found our cheap old French press. Best $20 ever spent. Sash and I made coffee with this thing every morning for years. I always insisted on the first pour because of the shape the tiny bubbles would make in the middle of my cup. He always let me have it, “because I love you that much,” he’d say each time.
The sound of the measuring cup scooping the grounds, the hot water hitting them as I turned on the hot water tap, the smell of the beans…
I was back in our Crown Heights apartment (not to brag but it was rent controlled) waiting those infuriatingly long five minutes for the coffee to bloom. Starring at the yellow speckled counter, waiting for the haze of sleepiness to clear from my eyes while he wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his head on my shoulder. He smelled so clean, like he had somehow always just used the verbena soap in the shower.
“GAH!” I screamed as the hot water overflowed onto my hand, shaking the memory loose from my mind. After pouring out some of the water, I pressed down the lid — listening to the metal scrape on its descent — I grabbed an ice pack. The only one I could find was Milena’s teether toy from when she was a baby. If you could have seen this girl’s cheeks. Record breaking, kiss stealing, angel baby cheeks.
I set the frozen pink dinosaur on my left hand and used my right to call the school.
The kind woman in the front office answered, “Greenwich Academy, this is Elaine at the front desk. How may I help you?”
“Hi, yes, this is Blanche Ilić. We’ve had a family emergency. May I please speak with Principle Ortiz?”
“Oh Mrs. Ilić, I’m so sorry to hear that. Of course, can you hold one moment please? She’s in her office.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll hold.”
One click and the phone rang, passing me off as I wondered, when will people stop saying Mrs.?
“Mrs. Ilić, Elaine says there may be a family emergency? How are you? How can I help?”
Not today, I guess.
“Thank you, Principle Ortiz. The police just left my house. I don’t even know how to say this but Sasha has died. I am sure it will be all over the news by lunch and I want to get the girls home, safely away from the noise, so I can be the one to tell them.”
“Oh my goodness, this is terrible. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. It doesn’t feel real.”
“Mr. Ilić was such an incredible man, always so generous to the school and our entire community.”
“Yes, yes, I know so many people felt that way about him. Listen, would it be possible for me to come get the girls in thirty minutes or so?"
“Of course. I will let them know you’ll be here.”
“Thank you. Please keep this information private for now. As I’m sure you can imagine, Aleksandra and Milena will be out for the rest of this week and likely next. I’ll reach out when we have more information and a plan for them.”
“Whatever you need, we are here for your family. I’m so sorry again. What a tragedy.”
“I’m planning to call their therapist Angela this afternoon but I will let you know if we need anything from the school. Thank you again. Goodbye.”
Using my purple crayon, I checked off one box. This was already more horrible than I could have imagined. Jumping down the list to call Dawn, before my firm fires me for neglecting my clients, I heard the front door click open. Followed by the less subtle tell, “your front door is open.” Not a second later, “your front door is closed.”
“B? Where are you?” Jazz called.
If only the robot could tell her that, too.
“I’m in the kitchen!”
“Oh my god, what did you do to your face?” she blurted the moment she stepped into the room.
“Jazz, I’m in shock. What do you expect me to look like? I haven’t even had a chance to wash my face yet today.”
“You look like you had an allergic reaction to the raw bar or something and haven’t found an epipen yet.”
“Jesus, Jazz. What a greeting. Remember that my ex-husband was just found murdered?” I reminded her, reaching my chin forward and opening my eyes as wide as I possibly could to drive the point home.
“No, you’re right. I’m sorry.” She couldn’t just leave it there, “but when I saw you a few weeks ago you looked like you and today your lips look like they are about to burst off of your face. It distracted me from the events of the day! This place is really rubbing off on you, huh?”
“I know, they look ridiculous. I don’t know what I was thinking. I read online that they should go down in a few weeks.”
“A girl can dream. Well, at least everyone will have something to talk about other than Sasha dying when they see you at the funeral,” Jazz chuckled.
“You’re the worst,” I said as I let her cover me in a hug.
“I’m sorry, B. You know I don’t do feelings very well. This is seriously bad. I'm sorry.”
“Will you come pick up the girls with me? I need to head over there in a few minutes, before everyone and their mother finds out.”
“Of course, whatever you need,” Jazz promised. “But, any chance we have time for a cup of that coffee first?” she eyed the French press. “I flew here like a bat out of hell and am not properly caffeinated for the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day I think we are about to have.”
I gave her a smirk and poured us both cups — taking the first pour for myself, of course. We clinked our mugs together and, with an exasperated sigh, I lifted the coffee toward my mouth. I couldn’t help but notice how the bubbles at the center looked like a heart. If this were a movie, the coffee art would have definitely been different.