Page 126 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"That's an interesting little pocket square," he says, and I glance down at the yellow fabric Jenna picked out for me. I smile.
"I know. Jenna picked it." Pride flickers. "Unlike you, I don't mind looking weak because my fiancée says so."
He snorts. "You really love her, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I think she's good for you, and I'm pleased for you," he says, pushing his hands into his pockets. "I spoke to Dad, by the way, and we agreed you should return as CEO."
"Not sure I want that anymore."
"I get that, but if you do want it, at any time, I'll gladly step aside."
I raise an eyebrow. "What about Marina?"
His shoulders droop. "She'll just have to deal with it, I guess."
"Where is she anyway? Is she coming?"
"No. She said she wasn't feeling well. She wanted to stay in bed."
"I see." Discomfort pushes through my skin. "George, is this Marina's cellphone number?" I show him the number this last message came from.
He nods. "Yeah, that's her number. Why? What of it?"
I have to tell him. "Look, this is awkward… but there's something I feel I should tell you about Marina. She came to see me the other day—actually more than once—and she was… well, let's just say she indicated things that would make me uncomfortable if I were you. Then just now I got this text from her cellphone." I scroll down to show him the text:
I want you and you want me.
"Yeah." He doesn't even look shocked or ask me to clarify. He just looks tired. "Yeah, I know. She's been off her meds for some time and not going to her therapy sessions, and I didn't know. I noticed her behaviour was odd at that last dinner and I challenged her about it and we rowed, but in the end she confessed."
"Wait—what meds? What therapy?"
"You know, the usual."
The usual? "I have no clue what you're talking about."
Surprise spreads across his face. "Her Prozac to control the anxiety, and I think the therapy sessions are called Dialectical Behaviour Therapy—something like that, anyway. You know… to manage her BPD."
"Her what?"
"Her borderline personality disorder. Wait—you didn't know she has BPD?"
I shake my head, my eyes wide in shock.
He whistles softly. "Well, she did mention she had difficulty sharing things like that, but I didn't think that meant she never told you."
"So she's…? Wait a minute—aren't people with BPD meant to be emotionally unstable?"
"Yes, among other things. They tend to have a distorted view of themselves and their relationships. They find it hard to relate and struggle to control negative emotions—fear, anxiety, anger—that sort of thing." His weariness grows as he talks. "It's gotten worse since her pregnancy. Now she has these obsessive delusions about the baby and about the importance of our family status, and sometimes about…" He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
"About me?" I ask, and he nods.
"I recognized the pattern because I had a friend in college who was the same way. One day I was at your place and you had to go out, and after a few drinks, I plucked up the courage to ask her about it, and she just burst out crying and told me everything. I think it was a catharsis for her. Someone she could finally talk to, after holding it in for so long, with no one knowing but her doctor. That's how we bonded at first. You really didn't know?"
I shake my head again. "No. I never knew." Damn—how blind had I been in that relationship? I know I'm not a saint, but I was a terrible boyfriend. I almost don't blame Marina for what she did.
"I think it's the baby stressing her out," George concludes. "She's usually okay if she keeps up her meds. I'm sure she'll be back to herself once she gives birth and things settle down."
