The McCain Marriage Contract

It was becoming increasingly difficult to go a day without seeing Raymond. Even though we still led two separate lives and we still held each other at arm's length, we lived under the same roof. After our honeymoon, he became less irritating and more interesting to talk to. We weren't trying to be best buds or anything of the sort, just cordial.

Cordial and sexful.

I knew he traveled to see his mom, Amelia, in Delaware and I grew ashamed of myself, for not trying to find out details of her split from Tony. Even though she was not particularly drawn to me when we lived as neighbors I idolized her. She was a very talented artist who both sculpted and painted pottery. With a pair of gold-rimmed glasses always perching on the bridge of her nose, she looked like a really cute nerd. Very much unlike Tony she wasn't particularly given to the spotlight and so she did her paintings on the down-low. That didn't last very long, however, because Raymond and I secretly opened an Instagram page for her and posted beautiful pictures of her best works. We divided the labor well; Raymond was in charge of photography and editing while I was the social media handler and content writer. With the use of ads and paid promotion opportunities, we were able to garner a good number of followers within the first month. The followers increased in thousands with each new content we posted, and we were exceedingly proud of ourselves. And then the deals came in -- large orders, collaborations, gigs for social media influencing -- and we had to turn ourselves in. Initially, Amelia was so furious that we did all of that behind her back, but soon she settled quite perfectly into the life of a celebrity. She became renowned and her work was sought worldwide. She was probably the one who first exposed the McCains to fame.

Like every other person that lived in Jacksonville back then, I was aware of Tony's excessive womanizing. His reputation in that town preceded him and I would not be too surprised to learn that that was part of the reason they had to move out to a different town and start all over. Amelia was truly a strong woman, putting up with a man like Tony for as long as she did. I marveled at the difference between my family and theirs: while my dad doted on my mom and had no eyes for anyone else, Tony seemed to have eyes for everyone but his wife.

As thoughts of my dad crossed my mind, I picked up my phone to call the hospital. He had begun to speak gradually like I found out in the recent times I went to visit him but he could not string too many words together at once, and it was painful to watch him attempt to. So I preferred his silence in the meantime. Whenever I needed to hear from him I called the facility instead and spoke to one of his doctors or nurses and they always responded very kindly, informing me about his progress. And it was progress all the way because he did not deteriorate even once. Another thing that made everything great for me was that the health workers there seemed a little too eager to take my calls and answer all my questions; it was as though they were competing with each other to make us feel comfortable. It took a while for me to relate it to my marriage; they probably found out I was a McCain by marriage and so they believed that I had money. And, of course, everyone respected you better when you had money. One time, one of the staff -- a person that wasn't even involved in my dad's case -- had the nerve to suggest that I moved my dad to a bigger facility, one that cost at least $10,000 a week. I couldn't do that of course. First of all, my dad was making great progress at Chaim Memorial so what was the point in moving him? Secondly, there was no need to be extravagant, plus she had no business pitching that suggestion to me. Some people were just plain nosy.

The money I was making off Tony McCain was for focused, long-term care of my dad. Going forward he would require a lot, from several sessions of physiotherapy at the very best to a wheelchair if things didn't go so great. And if my dad had to go in a wheelchair I planned to get the very best money could buy. Like the motorized kind I used to see on the television with which the user could perform many functions, plus it looked majestic. Not like I'd love to be paraplegic or anything but if even I had to go in a wheelchair, that was the kind I would like. Also, there was this experimental contraption I saw on one of these medical TV series where people with quadriplegia were hoisted on some kind of stuff that enabled them to stand and do stuff like they had full use of all their limbs. It was amazing, whatever it was called, and if things got really bad for my dad I would really want him to have that. It was imperative that he had the best quality of life possible. I hadn't done my research on any of that yet but I was too sure it would cost a shitload of money, money I didn't have myself, which was why I needed to stay in a marriage with Raymond. However, this was becoming more and more difficult as we had become sexually involved, but I remained focused on the goal. Raymond could search for as long as he wanted to discover the reason I accepted his dad's deal, but he would never find it. I was as discreet as I could be and, while he was busy searching for closure, I was buying myself time and getting more money. The first quarter of the year would soon be done with and a new check would be waiting for me.

I felt sorry for Raymond but his problems were not mine. Besides he was not completely innocent, he had hurt me too. I was not loyal to him any longer. My loyalty lay wholly and solely with my dad.

When I least expected Raymond strode into my room one evening, his eyes shining with a lot more purpose than I'd ever seen. I wanted to ask how his trip was and how his mother was doing but I wasn't sure if I should. If I asked him about that, it would give him leverage to ask about my dad. And I wasn't ready to start being evasive all over again.

He showed up to my room smiling and wielding a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolate. It was a really sweet gesture and it brought back memories of the times he used to get me tiny bars of chocolate almost every day when we were younger. Things had completely changed between us.

"Hey, Vee-Jay," he said coming close to kiss me on the forehead. "How did you survive five days without me?"

For a brief moment, it did not feel like make-believe. It felt so real, like we were really in love and we missed each other and all that lovey-dovey stuff. "Barely," I said, managing a smile.

"As expected. Now get dressed, wifey. We're going on a fancy dinner."