James is blowing his nose when I return. He seems more in control of himself. Perhaps Ama’s interruption has been a useful reminder that he needs to keep it together; he can’t risk coming apart entirely at this party. Half the people here either currently or used to work for his business. It’s also perfectly possible that he’s just been able to take a breath in the moments I’ve been gone. Either way, it feels like a conversation should be possible now.
Almost as if to prove this point, James gestures to the space next to him on the bed. I sit.
“I know how much having a baby means to you. Means to us,” he says.
I feel my own lip quiver at that, but it comes to a quick stop. I’m more adept at keeping my emotions under control than he is.
“And this was our only chance, James.”
He nods. “And this was our only chance.”
He reaches for my hand and that dangerous anger flares up again.But the letters flutter before my eyes, tokens of blank nights heralding bloody mornings, and I quiet it. I can do this. Be a good, normal wife. And if not good, at least not dangerous. Even if I’m soon to be an ex, let the separation be the end of it.
“So, can you explain to me why you canceled our IVF treatment and stole twenty thousand pounds of my money?”
8
Then
My plan to not spend too much time with James is failing miserably. Although perhaps “plan” is too generous a framing—“ambition” would be more apt. When you’ve not had sex in years, it’s a bit like eating a slice of bacon after going veggie for a while, or having a few Kettle Chips after swearing off junk food. You just want more. And more. And more. I can’t help but feel we’re hurtling toward a dangerous inevitability, hard as I’ve tried to avoid it.
But new plan, new rule. Just don’t fall in love with him. Don’t get attached. Certainly don’t become his girlfriend.
“Don’t you think this is all a bit risky, though?”
Claire. Wonderful Claire. Her voice is like sunshine to me, as if she’s sending the Los Angeles rays through the phone while I’m stretched out on my coffee-stained couch, wondering what to wear for my date with James. She’s been out there for four years, chasing her dream. Mostly waiting tables, but her big break is coming, she can feel it. When I can finally afford it, I’ll fly out to see her.
Claire’s good with me. She understands the dark veil that sometimes descends upon my mind. She gets that it’s harder for me to begood, to be likable; I have to work at it. Not like her. She’s magnetic, good at lighting up rooms.
It always seemed obvious that between myself and Claire, I would grow up the troubled one. Round face, wide eyes, and ringlets, Claire was the perfect portrait of a little girl. The cherub to my glowering demon who sat sullen in corners, wiping an always runny nose on the back of my sleeve.
There was a pointed feeling of failure in me, even when I was little. I managed to click well with Joy, Aunty Dev’s daughter. Joy by name and joy by nature, she was all smiles and dimples, a head of thick curls to rival Claire’s. But our mother being who she is, the friendship with Dev didn’t last, and Dev and Joy disappeared from our lives.
Other children didn’t like me. I was too withdrawn. Too watchful. I liked to observe people, even if I was too afraid to interact with them. It took me too long to understand that people don’t like to be watched. They don’t like you taking note of what they do.
I was the child in class who didn’t always get a birthday party invitation. But then little Claire joined school the following year and, oh! Didn’t all the teachers love her? Weren’t all the students clamoring to be her friend?
It was only a few days into the new school year that sweet little Claire noticed that her big sister wasn’t loved by the other students as she knew I ought to be. And so she’d invited me to play with her new friends. She could tell that I didn’t want to be playing with babies, but she could also tell that I didn’t want to be alone anymore. She was intuitive like that.
I fell in with Claire’s friends. And I watched how she could smile or pause at just the right moment. Offer to share a toy with the right person.
As I grew older, I learned how to keep the right people around me, too. I never stopped watching, though. I just learned ways to hide it.Don’t be too still; don’t let your eyes linger on anything for too long; prattle about something mindless so that your brain can stay busy soaking things in.
For a while, I thought perhaps I really was growing warmer, friendlier, kinder. I thought that my edges were softening. That I could be a normal girl. But on the eighteenth of June on a sunny day, I woke to find Marc Baxter dead, and I knew that I had simply been fooling myself.
“So, tell me more about him,” Claire says now, and I can almost hear her smile in her voice.
“Well, he’s handsome, and smart, and kind. And he’s obviously loaded. Not that that’s so important, but it was always a bit annoying when Dad was between jobs, wasn’t it?”
“ ‘Between jobs’ is one way of putting it,” Claire replies. There’s a momentary discomfort lodged in the call. I know we both look back at our childhood through our own lenses, separate prescriptions pushing differing parts of our past lives into a soft blur and sharp focus. “It’s good he’s got his shit together. But you’re talking about him like…It just sounds like you’re thinking quite long-term.”
“Don’t start, Care.” Care, a remnant from when I couldn’t pronounce her name properly as a toddler. The name just stuck. “I promise I’m not getting attached,” I continue. “It’s just a bit of fun and great sex.”
“God, Natty…There are some details I don’t need to know.”
“I don’t think you can lecture me on that after all the times you—”
“Whatever.” A chuckle. “As long as you’re being caref—”
