Cleo hadn’t actually noticed.
“Or lipstick? Or coffee, or ziplock bags, or soap or shampoo or rice or your favorite yogurt or clean clothes for work?” said Danny. “Did you ever wonder why you never run out ofanything?”
“Please don’t yell,” said Cleo. She did feel ashamed, but just a bit. Shepaidfor everything, after all.
“I’d been telling myself it didn’t matter, since we were going to have a baby, and that was who I’d be.”
“What? Telling yourselfwhatdidn’t matter?”
“I’m a failure,” said Danny, drying his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m never going to write a novel. I’m just your fucking housekeeper, Cleo. But I was trying to convince myself that once we had a kid…it would all add up. I would be a dad.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” said Cleo. “I’m just not ready.”
“I’ve been keeping track of your fucking fertility cycles,” said Danny. “I know it sounds like I was trying to trap you, but I just love you. I thought we both wanted this. You told me you wanted this. You told me we were a family.”
Cleo’s anger petered out. “I just…I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the truth, Danny. I don’t even know what I want. Sometimes, I feel like maybe therapy can make me ready. But sometimes, I think I’d just fuck a kid up. I like my life the way it is.”
“You do?” said Danny. He seemed genuinely interested.
Cleo thought about her clothes, her office, her endless haircuts and nail appointments and Botox and filler injections. Thepurposefulnessof her life felt good. Was it false purpose? Her mother had hammered home to Cleo and her sisters that getting a husband was paramount. A woman needed a man—her entire self-worth should be predicated on being thin, maintaining looks that awed and made others feel inferior, and being seductive to men.
“Doyou like your life the way it is?” said Danny.
Cleo leaned toward Danny. She loved his smell. They knew each other. “I don’t even know how I feel,” said Cleo.
“Is it Isaac?” said Danny. “You know he’ll never take care of you, Cleo. He’s a workaholic like you. He’s a mess.”
“You’re right,” said Cleo.
“But you love him.”
Cleo felt tears in her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t capable of love. She only knew how to avert disaster; how to fight. Love required vulnerability, and Cleo wasn’t going to let down her guard. Yet Isaac made her feel calm. His messy apartment was home.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You should have told me,” said Danny.
“You’re right. I should have told you.”
“What do you want, then, Cleo?”
Cleo shook her head. When she asked herself the simple question—What do you want?—all she saw was Isaac’s living room and a Hamburglar glass next to a takeout container of noodles.
Danny’s gaze moved over Cleo’s shoulder and he straightened, setting his shoulders back. His expression morphed from sad andconfused to the smarmy visage he put on when he wanted to seduce. He did something with his eyelids, dropped them to half-closed so he looked sexy and drugged.
“I’m going to figure out what I want,” said Cleo, suddenly panicked at the idea of losing Danny. “Can you give me a chance?”
“There you are, Cleo!” said a familiar voice. “And who is thisbeautifulyoung man?”
Cleo saw her mother’s hand first, an old hand with a new manicure, gripping Danny’s bulging bicep. In slow motion, as if she were in the midst of a harrowing accident, Cleo followed the arm (clad in bright blue fabric) to a set of massive shoulder pads.
Donna was wearing a double-breasted blazer dress with shining gold buttons, matching blue pumps, and (Cleo forced her eyes to travel to her mother’s face) a chapeau with wings.
“Mom?” said Cleo.
“I see you both admiring my hat,” said Donna, lifting her chin to show off her wide-brimmed white hat with an aqua band.
“Is it the same one Princess Diana wore?” said Danny. “Her royal visit to Egypt, right? Was it 1992?”
