Blanche (Chapter 9)

March 13, 2024 (Day of the Funeral)

Page Six got it wrong but perhaps I should thank them for that.

When they broke news of the divorce, they claimed I was contractually blocked from any of the Deadbolt purchase money. According to their source, the structure of our prenup guaranteed me 50% of our marital assets — but nothing of Deadbolt. As if we would have even entertained a prenup in our mid 20s, me freshly graduated from law school and Sash drowning in the financial stressors of getting traction for his business! All we could think about was where to find the best happy hour specials in the city and how to get into an illusive rent-controlled apartment.

It wasn’t 48 hours from that “Mrs. Deadbolt, Scorned” headline that I became a pariah in the community that I never really wanted to be part of in the first place.

They all reminded me so much of my mother, especially Alana. Scanning you up and down to see how many Cartier Love bracelets are in your stack, what bag you’re carrying, and, of course, to assess the number of carats in your engagement ring. If the address of your Hamptons home, the name of your personal trainer, how many nannies you have, and that one spot you stay in the French Riviera passed their status test… you are in.

Now, of course, my mother never had the kind of money these women have (but GOD BLESS AMERICA does she wish she did! Which is why she both resented me for Sasha’s success and cursed me for leaving). Even though I didn’t have a team of childcare or any jewelry worth stealing, it was Page Six breaking the news of our new money that let me in their imaginary door. They were able to look past my lack of a property with a 11976 zip code because, as Alana would say, “you just don’t have one yet.” Now, it was Page Six’s portrayal of our divorce that got me locked out.

In the most painful moments, you know those ones that haunt you in the middle of a sleepless night? I’ve often fantasized that Sash leaked that lie as an olive branch. One final “I’m sorry,” for every time he chose the unrelenting drive for more over us. One final act of “leave her the fuck alone” chivalry against every leach he had brought into our lives the last two years. One final but weird “I still love you.” Our minds will do incredible things to make sense of pain.

It’s so funny, isn’t it? How you can fall in love with a part of someone — a part that pulls you to them like a magnet and makes you feel desire you never thought you’d feel — until one day that very same part is the thing that makes it impossible to love them anymore.

Nothing made me fall harder for Sash than his protective instincts. Mommy issues, according to my therapist. I guess when you have a mother who never makes you feel safe you can become smitten with the opposite trait in a partner. All he wanted in this world was to make people feel safe.

Sasha was always a little delusional. You have to be a little delusional to believe you’re the one who will create something world-changing. He was limitless in his pursuit. He always knew he could do it.

In Sasha’s mind, if more people could feel safe? More people should feel safe. He knew he had what it took (the magical mix of dreaming, grit, and otherworldly work ethic) to make a bigger impact, so in some universal law kind of way he felt that made him responsible to do it. Someone who sees endless possibility can also be someone who can’t comprehend, on a soulful level, what is enough.

The thing that made him successful at work was the same thing that finally made our home fall apart. It would never be enough for him and so, in a way, the three of us were never enough.

The girls and I became collateral damage as he forged into the sky-is-the-limit abyss.

Sometimes, when I’m laying awake at three in the morning, I think he became someone I didn’t recognize anymore. Other times, I realize he was always that person and never grew into anyone other than who he had perpetually been. I’m not sure which is worse.

When he sold Deadbolt, I thought we might finally get him back. Fairly quickly, it became clear: in his mind he was just beginning.

The most ironic part about the Page Six story was how little Sasha cared about the money in the first place. He wouldn’t have ever kept it all for himself. But he was never much of a people person so all these friends who we were so close to him couldn’t spot the irony that was slapping them across the face.

“Babe, John just pulled up with the car,” Jasmine whispered through Aleksandra’s door where I was brushing her hair. “Are we ready to go?”

What would I do without Jazz and Bette. They hadn’t left our side in days and, thankfully, they promised not to head home until the funeral was over later today.

“Sweetheart, it’s time to go. Mommy, Aunty Jazz, and B will be with you the whole time. Plus, Grandma, Grandpa, Nana, and Deda will all be there when we arrive. They are all staying at a hotel right around the corner from the church. You won’t ever be alone,” I comforted Aleksandra.

“Ok mama,” she pressed her face into my belly.

“Jazz, can you grab Milena? She’s watching Bluey with Bette in the den since they were both ready so early.”

I scooped up Aleksandra, letting her rest her head on my shoulder, her blonde curls trapped in my lip gloss and the tulle from last year’s witch costume taking over my arms. She couldn’t bring herself to wear the black dress I bought her for today, so last year’s halloween costume (minus the pointed had, plus a simple black cardigan) it was.

I could hear Milena in the kitchen, running away from the Tickle Monster (aka Bette) and squealing with delight. The highs were high and the lows were low with that one. Hearing her giggles echoing through the house was such a gift. Sometimes I think Milena forgot that Sasha was gone. Aleksandra didn’t seem to experience those same sprinkles of reprieve from reality.

“Jazz, will you grab my purse in the kitchen?”

“Got it!” she hollered back moments before she appeared — the bag lady with her purse, my purse, Bette’s purse, and the bag of tricks I packed for the girls all on her arms. I’m not sure how well Pirates Booty and coloring books go over at a funeral but we would soon find out.

Even with her arms full, she managed to wrap one around me. The five of us walked out the front door together towards the gigantic sedan that would drive us to the city.

To keep things more intimate, it was collectively decided that there would not be any calling hours. Lucinda (Sasha’s executive assistant and right-hand woman who was actually named Lucy but “manifested a name to align with her elevated professional identity”… her words, not mine) took the reins in planning a traditional and invite-only Orthodox service at Saint Sava Cathedral with the family meeting for a private burial directly after.

Ex-Wife but still Mother of His Children is a strange title to bear at an even such as this. People have no clue what to do with you. Like, “hi, I know more about this man and his wishes than any of you” but also “hi, my insights are absolutely no longer valid.” It went over like veal at a vegan restaurant when I shared that he actually wanted to be cremated, not buried. Vinka was disgusted (with me, of course) that I’d ever suggest her son would want something so sacrilegious and told Lucy, I mean Lucinda, to disregard my preposterous suggestion.

My parents and I were, shockingly, included in the burial but I’m fairly certain that was for the girls and no indication of me being seen as “family” anymore. His parents knew, of course, that I was not Mrs. Deadbolt, Scorned and his mother was repulsed that I had “stollen” (again… her words, not mine) so much of the fortune he had worked so hard for.

“Who wants to play I Spy?” asked Bette. She looked brilliant as always with her hair pulled tightly back in a low bun, deep maroon lipstick, and an exquisitely tailored black pantsuit as if she had been preparing for a day such as today for months.

“You know I do because I always win!” Jasmine said with a wink to the girls.

Oh Jazz. I’m not sure anyone has ever looked so sexy going to a funeral in their life. She insisted on borrowing a low-cut black cocktail dress from my closet with feather detailing. Since her boobs were easily two cup sizes bigger than my post-breastfeeding-deflated-pancakes, she was busting out of the top and loving every minute of it. Honestly, Sasha would have had a good laugh. He got a kick out of her carefree spirit and, truth be told, it’s impossible to know Jasmine and not appreciate her chest.

“I Spy perfection” I jokingly remarked. To which Jazz looked down, looked up, and gave a knowing shrug. We both laughed in unison.

My look was much less eventful. I chose a simple black cashmere sweater with a long pleated black skirt and heels. I wore only jewelry Sasha had bought me over the years: a necklace with a diamond A and M he bought me for my last Mother’s Day as a wife and small gold stud earrings he gifted me on our first anniversary. I topped off the look with dark puffy circles under my eyes and hair (that I meant to wash but got distracted and didn’t) twisted up in a clip. A vision.

“I spy something green!” Milena yelled out while Aleksandra starred absently out the window as we made our way into the city.

John dropped us off right in front of the Saint Sava Cathedral where there was a crowd flowing in through the large front doors. I instantly saw my parents to the left of the stairs and the girls noticed them just a moment later, running and shouting, “Grandma! Grandpa!”

They scooped the girls up in hugs, my mom telling them that they had their bedrooms all set up for their visit later this week. She was in the middle of sharing all the kinds of cookies they would bake together when she caught a glimpse of me.

“Oh Blanche, dear, you look like hell. Do you want to borrow some concealer from my bag?”

“Hi mom, I’ve seen better days,” as I leaned in for a quick cheek to cheek kiss. As I moved away she uttered, “Darling, what on earth did you let our beautiful Aleksandra wear?”

I sighed before giving my dad a big hug.

“Hi sweetpea, I missed you” he whispered in my ear.

“Missed you. Thanks for coming. Have you seen Vinka or Milan yet?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” my mom shared. “We saw them at the hotel last night when we were all checking in. Vinka was a mess. Couldn’t stop sobbing. Milan was Milan.”

“Yes, she means Milan was somber but kind. A man of few words, but very nice. Right dear?”

“Right right. Girls, should we go in and find our seats?” Like they were about to see the Rockettes.

Aleksandra and Milena each took one of my mom’s hands and the rest of us followed them inside. The cathedral was full of Sasha’s business colleagues, our “friends,” and I even spotted Detective Laney — slacks and all — in the back. Occasionally, as we walked down the aisle, someone would reach out and touch my arm offering a gentle nod. Mostly, people whispered quietly as we walked by. Alana included.

We finally found Sasha’s parents at the front of the church.

“Mama, Tata, I’m so sorry,” I offered as leaned in to greet Vinka. I could feel his mother’s body shaking in my arms. “I’m so sorry,” I kept saying.

When she finally let go I leaned over to embrace his dad. Before I could get my arms around him I heard a voice say, “I’m sorry we have to meet like this but I’ve heard a lot about you.” I looked up to see a man sitting next to Milan. Between his windswept brown hair and classically chiseled jawline were the same green eyes that belonged to Sasha. I lost my breath for a moment.

I was so distracted I almost missed the hand he extended out to me.

“Blanche, this is our son Luka. This is Sasha’s brother,” Milan explained as I put my palm into his. It was more calloused than Sasha’s had been, but still as warm and strong.

“Oh my goodness,” stumbling over my words. “I didn’t realize you would be here. That you were back. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Yes, I had actually just reconnected with Sasha a few weeks before his passing. I felt it had been too long, it was time for brothers to be brothers. I was able to find him thanks to Deadbolt being in the news.” He took his free hand and rubbed the stubble on his face in contemplation.

“Oh wow, he never mentioned it to me.”

“Well you probably weren’t speaking much, were you?” Vinka interjected.

“No, no you’re right. We weren’t. Luka, I’m glad you two were able to reconnect.”

“Yes, as am I,” he confirmed. He held my eyes until I was forced to look away first.

The church started to get quiet so I quickly gave Milan a hug and made my way to the row directly behind them, tucked in next to the girls.

“Who was that with his parents?” Jazz asked.

“His brother,” I whispered.

“Wait, the missing one?”

“Yes. I guess he’s not missing anymore.”

Even as the choir sang, even as the incense filled the air, even as the casket left the church, and even as we made our way to the burial site… I couldn’t stop wondering, where did he come from? I couldn’t shake the image of his green eyes starring back at me.