Jadore

VIII.I

"Cristo and Demi, right? It's so nice to meet you guys, go ahead and take a seat. Get comfortable!"

How comfortable could therapy be? Their therapist was short, almost the same height as his wife. She had hair that was so black it almost looked blue, and it stopped in a blunt cut that didn't brush past her shoulders. The red blazer washed out her pale skin and her pants weren't even tailored. But Cristo let her questionable fashion choices slide as he remembered that not everyone thought as he did. And maybe that was a good thing.

"How are you today?" She asked after closing the door and sitting down in front of them.

Terrible is what Cristo wanted to say, but then Demi would shoot him that look of hers. Mild disappointment and discontent with his answer, like she was keeping track of everything that he said wrong and once he got to a certain number she would file for divorce.

"Good," Demi said with a practiced smile.

If he had learned one thing about his wife, it was that she pretended that she didn't care about appearances when they were really everything to her. She claimed to not pay any attention to what people had to say about her, that she wasn't anything like her sisters and the magazines could print whatever they wanted because she knew the truth, but that was the furthest thing from the truth. Demi was one of the most calculating people that he knew and she did everything to come off as though she wasn't. Must be something she learned from her mother. Not her biological mother, but the matriarch of an empire that took her in at the tender age of sixteen.

"Cristo, what about you? How are you today?"

Terrible. The nicotine patch on his right arm was beginning to itch and the bandage was doing nothing for him. He was aching for a cigarette but couldn't even have one. He bet his wife was keeping track of that too, like he could only have a certain number of slip ups before she had Laura Wasser on speed dial.

"Good," he answered instead.

Out of the corner of his eye, Demi pursed her lips. Their therapist - what was her name again? Cristo didn't think he ever asked for it - looked between the two like she was concerned for the state of their marriage, but then she was smiling again.

"So...what brings you in today?"

Oh boy. It was Cristo and Demi's turn to share a look. Because although they hadn't been on the same page in months, they knew that a one hour session wouldn't be enough to detail all of their marital issues.

An hour passed and they were leaving the office in silence, the complete opposite of what had transpired over the past hour. Demi did most of the talking. Cristo never had trouble formulating what he wanted to say but today he just couldn't. So, Demi handled it. She told her side of the story and they got to focus on how she felt and how Cristo was the villain in all of this. Not that she was wrong but it was a little bit more complicated than that. Whatever. At least now he had something to work on in his next therapy session.

"Are we ever going to talk again?" Cristo suddenly asked once they reached their cars.

Just from their vehicles an outsider could tell that they lived very blessed lives. Cristo had a black Tesla Model X and Demi drove the latest Range Rover, another item he had bought during his irresponsible spending spree in December. But unlike the Bel Air house, Demi didn't make him sell this one.

"We just talked..."

"Like outside of therapy, Demi. Like we used to," Cristo said as Demi fumbled with her keys in her hand. She turned them over in her palm then dangled them from her fingers as she tried to figure out what to say.