Crazy Rich Asians

Michael turned away from Astrid and stared past the sliding glass doors of the balcony. He stared out at the trees lining Cavenagh Road, looking like giant bushy stalks of broccoli from up here. The trees marked the perimeter of the grounds that surrounded Istana, and beyond that, Fort Canning Park, River Valley Road, and then the Singapore River. He wished he had the power to fly off the balcony, to fly toward the river and away from this pain. “I … I’ve hurt you too much, and now I don’t know if I can stop myself from hurting you even more,” he finally said.

Astrid was silent for a moment, trying to decipher what he meant. “Is it because you’re in love with this woman?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears. “Or is it because you had another child with her?”

Michael smiled mysteriously. “What, does your father have me under surveillance or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. A friend just happened to see you in Hong Kong, that’s all. Who is the boy? And who is this woman you’ve been seeing?”

“Astrid, the boy and the woman are beside the point. You and I … it isn’t working for us anymore. It hasn’t really ever worked. We’ve just been pretending it has,” Michael said emphatically, feeling that these were his first truly honest words to her in a very long time.

Astrid stared at him, stunned. “How can you say that?”

“Well, you want me to be honest, so I’m being honest. Your father was right—I haven’t been doing my duty as a husband. I have been too consumed with my job, working my ass off trying to get this company off the ground. And you—you are consumed by your family obligations and traveling around the world fifty times a year. What kind of marriage do we have? We’re not happy,” Michael declared.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I’ve been happy. I was very happy until the day I discovered that damn text message,” Astrid insisted, getting up and pacing around the room.

“Are you sure about that? Are you sure you’ve truly been happy? I think you’re deceiving yourself, Astrid.”

“I see what you’re doing, Michael. You’re just trying to find an easy way out of this. You’re trying to blame me, to make this all about me, when you’re the one who’s guilty. Look, I’m not the one who broke our wedding vows. I’m not the one who cheated,” Astrid seethed, her shock transforming into rage.

“Okay, I’m guilty. I admit it. I admit that I am a cheater. Happy now?”

“I’m not happy, and it will take me some time, but I’ll learn to deal with it,” Astrid said matter-of-factly.

“Well, I can’t deal with it anymore!” Michael moaned. “So I’m going to pack.”

“What’s all this packing business? Who’s asking you to leave? Do you think I want to kick you out of the house just because you cheated on me? Do you think I’m that simpleminded, that I think I’m the first woman whose husband ever had an affair? I’m not going anywhere, Michael. I’m standing right here, trying to work through this with you, for the sake of our marriage. For the sake of our son.”

“Astrid, when have you ever really done anything for the sake of your son? I think Cassian will be much better off growing up with two parents who are happy, rather than with parents who are trapped in a bad marriage,” Michael argued.

Astrid was perplexed. Who was this man standing in front of her? Where had he suddenly procured all this psychobabble? “It’s because of that woman, isn’t it? I see … you don’t want to be part of this family anymore. You want to live with this … this whore, don’t you?” she cried.

Michael took a deep breath before answering. “Yes. I don’t want to live with you anymore. And I think that for both our sakes I should move out today.” He knew that if he was ever going to leave, this was his chance. He began to walk toward the bedroom. Where was his large suitcase?

Astrid stood helplessly by the doorway to the bedroom, wondering what had just happened. This was not how it was supposed to go. She watched numbly as Michael began to grab his clothes and throw them haphazardly into his black Tumi suitcase. She had wanted to buy him a suite of Loewe luggage when they were in Barcelona last year, but he insisted on something cheaper and more practical. Now she had the distinct feeling of being trapped in a dream. None of this could really be happening. The fight they just had. The car accident. Michael’s philandering. None of it. Her husband wasn’t really leaving. There was no way he was leaving. This was just a nightmare. She hugged herself, pinching the flesh around her elbow repeatedly, willing herself to wake up.

15

Nick

MACAU