“Well, I can’t take two weeks off, Ana.” I’m up now, pacing thekitchen floor. My hands rub circles around my stomach. “I know it seems like art conservation isn’t a time-sensitive line of work, but I assure you, that could not be further from the truth. Especially in this case. Because there are things about—”
“Mathilde, stop.Stop.”
I finally stop, and press my lips together. I’m close to tears.
“Fine, one week,” Ana says. “Think of it as a vacation, except without a change in location. A staycation, I think they call it?”
More mental calculations on my part. “One week…like, five business days, or seven days total, including the weekend?”
“The second one. Seven total.” Ana holds out her tablet, conversation over. “No more wiggle room, Mathilde. This is the best I can do.”
I press my finger to the box and sign the form.
—
Wyatt tells me Disney World can wait. “Clem will understand. She’s more excited about a new sibling than she is about seeing Mickey Mouse, babe.”
Clementine does seem unbothered, particularly when she learns the trip isn’t canceled—only postponed. “Then we can take the baby with us!” she exclaims.
“See?” Wyatt says over Clementine’s head. He tousles her hair, which she has recently come to dislike as it messes up her French braids, her new favorite hairstyle. She ducks, says, “Daddy!” in a disgruntled tone.
The sound of weeping starts again, theswoosh, swish, swooshcoming in softly underneath it.
This time I endure it, saying nothing. I smile at Clementine and Wyatt, as though my ears aren’t suffering this assault. The baby elbows me, and I inhale sharply. I wonder if she can hear it too. If maybe the crying is coming from inside me.
Clementine chases Wyatt around the kitchen island, a tea towel inhand, trying to snap it at him. She giggles, misses, chases him more. No one notices my strained look, my distraction.
The loneliness lands on me then, heavy and sickening. A sense of loss blindsides me; I know that soon enough (god willing) two little girls will be chasing Wyatt, giggling and snapping tea towels. I also know that there should have been three.
I’m struggling with my necklace when I hear Wyatt’s footsteps on the stairs.
“Shoot,” I mumble, the arm of the petite spring-clasp slipping from my fingernail yet again. The bathroom door is closed, and Wyatt stops outside it.
“You almost ready?”
“I’ll be out in a sec.” My hands are at the back of my neck, fumbling with the spring mechanism. The skin on my ever-expanding belly pulls tight, and I round my upper back to take some of the strain off. Finally, the clasp opens and I remove the necklace.
“Do you want me to send Clem and Mom on ahead? I can wait for you.”
It’s the third Saturday of the month, which means it’s the neighborhood Rise and Dine day. This once-monthly community event, a potluck breakfast, started about a year ago. This month the Crewson clan is on granola duty, and we’ve been making nightly batches for the past few days. Clementine especially loves Rise and Dine because of Eunice Beer, our across-the-street neighbor who is in her eighties and bakesmini muffins with sugar sprinkles. She calls them “pixie puffs,” and they are the first things to go.
“You go ahead,” I reply. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I slide the new ring off the chain and place it back in its silicone pouch, the MotherWise logo emblazoned in a shiny golden font. My watch alerts me to the front door’s opening and then closing, and I know my family has left.
Finally alone, I briefly consider going to my studio, even though I’m supposed to be off work at the moment. I could call Wyatt, saying I’ve decided to laze about this morning instead. But that will lead to too many questions. I reclasp the necklace with Clementine’s ring only.
As promised, I don’t step foot in my studio for the rest of the week. My blood pressure stabilizes enough that everyone is happy—MotherWise, Dr. Rice, Ana, and Wyatt.
But the painting is restless—it isnothappy with the break. How do I know?
The heartbeat. The fucking relentless beating heart.
—
It’s dinnertime, Sunday night. We’ve had a busy day preparing for the upcoming week: laundry; homework; meal planning; a playdate with Briar for Clementine. When the heartbeat starts, I’m chopping a cucumber and some fresh parsley from our garden. The parsley’s peppery-green fragrance is strong, and my nose tickles.
At first, I think it’s my own heart beating. Maybe my watch switched accidentally to speaker mode, my rate now being broadcast. But my watch is on silent when I check. It’s not my heartbeat.
