Imperfections

The first time I saw Jude, I had a feeling he would save me from myself. Not for no reason. I had been warned that my imperfections would ruin me and Jude was like a mirror to me. Viewing myself through his eyes, every wrinkle seemed to deepen. Every curve of my body seemed softer. He allowed me to see all my imperfections, that was how I was able to fix them.

I knew my imperfections would cause my death. On my eighteenth birthday, my best friend and I had gone to a fortune teller. Throughout high school we had been the weird kids, carrying around tarot cards and reading each other’s fortunes in class. Once we had graduated and were officially considered adults, it was time to compare our skills to the professionals. When I think back on it, I don’t know why we were so obsessed with the future, with the way those around us could influence our lives.

We had pulled into the sketchy part of town, passing hourly motels and pawn shops before coming to a stop in front of a small white house with a sign above it screaming, “FORTUNES TOLD HERE!”

Chelsea went in first, so I sat on the porch and took in the surroundings. I remember a used car dealership across the street, next to a weed store and an adult boutique. I had thought to myself we should take a look inside after the reading, now that I could legally enter a sex shop and that kind of thing was exciting to an eighteen-year old.

The porch was painted what I imagined used to be a bright red but that was now dusty and dull. It matched the peeling sign outside of the establishment proclaiming “Madame Mary” in the same red letters against a dirty yellow background.

As I was waiting, a man with greasy hair and missing teeth asked if he could borrow my phone. Images of him taking it and running down the street flashed through my mind, so I told him no. I wondered if that meant I was a bad person, that I was assuming the worst of this man based on his appearance.

He started to yell profanities and I was beginning to rethink our choice of fortune teller when Chelsea reappeared. She looked dazed and disturbed, ignoring the man yelling in my face. I furrowed my brow and asked with my eyes if she was okay. She nodded and bobbed her head, telling me to go in. The greasy man had lost interest and was now walking back down the street, so I figured it was alright to leave Chelsea alone on the porch. I wondered if that made me a bad person.

Stepping into the fortune teller’s store, it was clear she also lived there. The inside of the house was packed tight with furniture and decor. An ancient TV sat in the corner, across from a worn leather sofa draped in crochet blankets. The walls were covered in shelves and the shelves were covered in knick-knacks. You could barely make out the salmon pink wall beneath all the junk.

Madame Mary didn’t look like a stereotypical fortune teller. She was wearing denim jeans and a pink cotton sweatshirt. She reminded me of my grandma.

She told me to sit at her kitchen table. It looked like one of those tables you’d see in a diner, made of chrome and cheap linoleum. Madame Mary got right to the point. She took my palm and began to speak.

When my reading was done, Chelsea and I didn’t stop into the sex shop. We both wanted to get far away from that house. To leave her predictions in the past and act like we didn’t believe them, but ever since that day, I’ve dreaded October 13th because if I don’t heed her warning I fear I might die.

That was almost twelve years ago and now, as my thirtieth birthday approaches, I am considering Madame Mary’s message more seriously than ever. With each year that I age, I find a new issue with myself that needs fixing. Sometimes it’s internal, but oftentimes it’s my appearance.

Jude claims that I’m perfect just the way I am, but he doesn’t know I see him stare at women just a little too long when we go on walks or the way he flirts with clerks at the grocery store. I don’t take offense to this. I use it as fuel to become a better version of myself, to become the perfect version of myself.

It makes me seem vain, I know, but really I’m paralyzed by the fear of death. I’ve created this beautiful, interesting life and I’m not ready to let it go. If I slip up and fail, maybe that brings me one step closer to death and I can’t accept that. So, I diligently keep up with my regular cosmetic appointments. I attend pilates six days a week and I run half marathons. I have a therapist. I go to the dentist twice a year and to the doctor too. Everything you’re supposed to do, I do. It’s exhausting.

Tonight is the reminder I need of why I do all this. Jude’s taking me out to my favorite sushi restaurant. It’s an upscale place that requires a cocktail dress so he can show off my size-zero body. Looking in the mirror, I know I look good. I just got fresh Botox and fillers, giving me a glow of confidence. It's not all this that makes the outfit, though. The thing that pulls my look together is the huge rock I get to slide on my slender finger now that Jude and I are engaged.

On the drive to the restaurant, Jude is quiet. He often gets this way when he’s working up the nerve to tell me something. I suspect he’s going to tell me we need to scale back the wedding budget. Of course, I won’t make a fuss about it. I wouldn’t want to upset Jude, so I’ll go along with it, even though I think we can afford a more extravagant wedding. He doesn’t understand that this is the ultimate display to all my friends and family.

He doesn’t bring it up on the drive, instead opting to make some small talk about work and weekend plans. Maybe he thinks a sushi roll will soften the blow. I’ve never questioned him, so I’m unsure why briging up the budget is working him up so much.

When we arrive at the restaurant, we’re seated in the window seat. It’s early fall and a drizzle has started to come down. The passing cars illuminate the water droplets on the window, sending little rainbows out onto the tablecloth.

I look up at Jude and the candlelight is bringing out a golden sheen in his honey-brown hair. He would look so handsome if it weren’t for his furrowed brow. I smile gently at him and he looks at my lips, clearly the filler is doing its job

“Giselle,” he says, “you have some lipstick on your teeth.”

My blood turns to ice. This is not good. He was probably so embarrassed to be seen with me. This explains the attitude shift in the car and I wish he would have told me before we were seated. I quickly pull out my phone and wipe at my teeth, looking into the front-facing camera.

“Sorry,” I try to say lightly. “You should have told me earlier!”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly, attempting a smile.

“What’s wrong with you? Is this about the wedding budget?”

“Well,” he says, “sort of.”

“I get that it makes you nervous to spend so much. We can scale it back.”

He looks at me with tears in his eyes. That makes me nervous.

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” I say, impatience creeping into my voice.

“I can’t marry you,” he blurts out and then gives me a look of shock.

And now it’s my turn to frown. The restaurant starts to spin. It feels like I can’t catch my breath. This can’t be happening to me. I look out the window, thinking about the drizzle and feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

“What’s the date?” I demand.

“Today?” He looks confused and pulls out his phone. “The first.”

Oh no. How could this have slipped my mind. I went out on the first of October with lipstick on my teeth. I’m diligent all year, but I never slip up this close to October thirteenth. I have to fix this. My life can’t fall apart this close to my birthday.

“Jude, it’s just cold feet,” I say. “We really can scale down and budget more.”

“No, Giselle, you aren’t getting it.” He pauses. Another confession spills out of him.

“I’ve met someone else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s another woman.”

“What could another woman possibly give you?” I ask. “I’m perfect for you, Jude. I’ve made sure of that.”

Sadness washes over his face.

“You were perfect,” he says. “I always told you that and you never listened to me.”

He continues, “You’ve gone and changed your whole face and you never have an original thought anymore. I miss laughing with you.”

“But, I did it for you,” I say.

His eyes look at me with pity.

“I hope you take some time to work on yourself, but I’m moving out this weekend. I’ll see you then, I guess.” He leaves his car keys on the table and walks out of the restaurant.

I look around, noticing the shifty eyes of the other diners. They’ve heard it all, and so close to my birthday. This isn’t good at all. It must have been the lipstick on my teeth on October first and now I’m scared for my life. I have to make this right before my birthday or the consequences could be deadly. It’s not that I need Jude back, I need to figure out who this other woman is and see what makes her perfect for him. I need to see this through to make everything right.

Today is my birthday and I’m taking fate into my own hands. Jude moved out when he said he would and it’s just me in the house. I’ve kept up the charade, but I’m scared. I’m worried that whoever told Madame Mary my fate knows I’m unwell. I’m going to find the other woman. I just need a glimpse and then I can move on from there, take it as feedback.

I know what time Jude is off work so I’m going to follow him. Sitting in the parking lot and staring at his Mercedes, I feel a little insane but this is literally a matter of life and death. I’ve been here for half an hour when I see him walk out of the building with an older woman. She’s tall and slender with graying hair, a coworker of his I’ve never met. Judging by the smile lines around her eyes and mouth, she looks kind. Sometimes I wish I could let myself age naturally. She really is beautiful in her own way.

They walk into the parking lot together, laughing about something. When they reach Jude’s car, she pulls him into a hug. They peck each other on the lips and I see red. I don’t understand how this old hag is the woman Jude has left me for. I was the perfect woman. I am the perfect woman for him, I’ve made sure of that.

I follow in a rage as they navigate out of the parking lot. I don’t even know why I’m doing it. I need to see her up close, to make sure that her wrinkles are really as deep as I thought. I’m sure they won’t notice me following so closely behind. Jude is oblivious to these kinds of things. I’ll follow them and confront them, so I can see what makes her better than me.

In the heat of the moment, Jude’s car somehow jumps ahead of me. They just make a green light, leaving me with a red. I don’t care. I blow through the light and as I do, I look to my left. Cross traffic from the highway is making its way steadily towards me. And Madame Mary’s words are the last thought rattling around in my brain right before the car makes impact, “your imperfections will kill you.”