“You could have just said my name.”
And that’s what he does the entire ride home. He rubs my feet, and every so often, when my head dips, he softly calls, “Cora. Cora.”
And every time, when I open my eyes again, he’s watching me. Like he’s afraid I might slip away in front of his eyes.
Like I didn’t already.
Adrian insistson carrying me up the stairs like a bride. He leaves both of my shoes in the car. The house is silent and dark, and his face is stone again.
When we get to the nursery, he doesn’t stop.
“The girls,” I protest. “Winnie needs to be fed.”
He stops, frowns, and then after a moment, strides back down the hall, setting me down by their door. “Just for a feed,” he says. “You’re coming to our bed tonight. You’re staying awake until Farhadi gets here.”
I don’t argue. My neck is aching now. I’m well aware that I crashed his car into a concrete column a few hours ago. I wouldn’t leave me with children unsupervised, either.
I quietly turn the knob and tiptoe in. Kendra crashes in a nearby guest room when she stays over to babysit, so there’s no one in the daybed. For once, Winnie is sleeping with her arms by her side. Her little guppy mouth is open, a pool of drool on the mattress underneath. I pad over to the dresser, get a burp cloth, and dab up the wet spot as best I can.
I momentarily debate leaving the cloth to cover the wet spot, but the safety monitor in my head immediately vetoes the idea. The safe sleep rule is a bare crib. No loose bedding.
I very gently pat the dribble at the corner of her mouth, about to drip and undo my efforts, and kiss her soft cheek. She’s a much better sleeper than Pearl was at her age. Pearl slept like a cat, her eyes popping open at any noise, and if she sensed boob incoming, she was immediately a hundred percent awake.
Winnie won’t stay awake if you rouse her, not even for a feed, but my boobs are aching pretty badly, so I take a seat in my rocker and pump. Adrian stands the whole time with his back to me, perusing the girls’ bookshelf, reshelving the books that he takes out to examine. I bet he’s alphabetizing them.
Once I’ve stored the milk in the fridge, I tread softly into Pearl’s room. She’s clutching a stuffed elephant by the tail, and her nightgown has worked its way up to her armpits. There is no fixing that without waking her up. I cover her with the sheet she’s kicked down to the foot of the bed. She grumbles, itches the tip of her nose with the palm of her hand, and curls onto her side. I quietly withdraw.
My gut hollows as I follow Adrian obediently out of the nursery and down the hall. I was so weak-minded today, so unforgivably reckless. I took my eye off the ball. My girls areso little. They need me. I can’t afford to get into trouble. I have to fight harder.
I’ve never figured out how to stop an episode once it starts. It’s like the cord between the part of my brain that proposes ideas and the part that approves or disapproves is stretched so thin it breaks. There’s no time between an impulse and the execution, no possibility to think twice.
I’ve never hurt anyone, though. Anyoneelse.
But what if Adrian decides I need serious help? Winnie might not miss me, but Pearl would. No matter what anyone told her, she’d think it was her fault, that she wasn’t worth staying around for. I can’t let her think that. She and Winnie are the reasons God has kept me alive this long.
Adrian opens the door to our bedroom and gestures me inside. My anxiety rises, squeezing my throat.
I walk ahead, stopping in the middle of the room. Nothing’s changed, but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Maybe because his smell has taken over, the scent of his body and fancy shampoo and three deodorants. I can’t help breathing deep even though it makes my heart hurt.
He closes the door but doesn’t come much farther. I turn to face him.
He tugs at his tie. “Do you want the first shower?”
The melting and drying snow has mussed his hair, and coupled with his five o’clock shadow and the bruises under his eyes, he looks less like a ruthless businessman and more like a mere man, exhausted at the end of a long day, wary of his crazy wife and past ready for bed.
A stirring low in my belly twines with my spiking anxiety. I scrunch my bare toes, squeezing the rug.
I bet he’d wake right up if I were naked.
I bet he’d think twice about sending me away if he thought he could get what he wants back.
The stirring in my belly becomes an ache between my legs.
I bet I’d sleep better beside him if I could pretend for a little while that he’s not an enemy.
An actress in a movie would turn her back, swoop her hair off her neck, and ask her husband to help undo her zipper. I do Gomukhasana arms from yoga class, unzip myself, and let the dress fall to my ankles.
Adrian draws his slumped shoulders back. “Cora?”
