Chapter 9 #2
Her fists were balled like a child’s. I pictured my hands on her shoulders, and for a moment believed I would push her.
Between the new hollows of her face and twist of her mouth she looked unfamiliar, like someone had swapped out my mother in the middle of the night for a cheap replica.
When she brought her hand to wipe her nose, the sleeve shifted off her right shoulder to reveal a thin and fraying bra strap. I recognized it. The bra was once mine.
“No,” I said. “You’re not.”
When my mother found me packing my bags, she wept. But I couldn’t stand to look at her anymore, the person she had become in my absence, or just in my ignorance.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You’re so unhappy there.”
Without missing a beat, I said, “I’m even unhappier here.”
I dipped into my savings to buy a ticket back to the city.
The morning of my flight, she was already waiting in the car.
We sat in silence for an hour. On the plane, I replayed our conversation, the words I shot out like a weapon.
You’re not a part of my life. When I landed in New York, I cried not because I regretted saying it, but because it was true.
I forced myself to look at James. His eyebrows were furrowed. I knew then that he didn’t understand us, me and my mother.
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay?”
“Sorry, hold on, I’m taking it all in. Is that all? You just went back to school, and now you no longer talk?”
“I told her,” I said, “that she wasn’t a part of my life. And then I never reached out again.”
“But she never reached out to you, either. And she ignored your call.”
“I’m done talking about this, I think.” I had already betrayed my mother by telling him about our fight, and he didn’t understand.
If James believed I wasn’t responsible for my mother’s happiness, it was useless to explain any further.
He would always measure my mother against his, with whom he enjoyed, in my mind, a lovely but simple relationship, neutralized by gender, cocooned by wealth, balanced with two sides.
He was white, and white people put their parents in care homes.
My relationship with my mother only had one side: hers.
She needed me, and I owed her everything.
I felt dizzy, too small for my body. James could let a feeling sit for hours. I only knew to breathe the feeling bigger, make it terrible, then make it nothing at all. He kissed my fist. “You belong here, you know,” he said. “You belong everywhere. You deserve to have your own life.”
I curled my hand over his to let him think I believed him.
—
That evening, James asked if I wanted to grab a drink in town with Isabelle.
“I don’t know.” I dangled a feather toy over Silver’s head. Though she was clearly exerting herself, she wasn’t any good at catching the feather. “I think I’d rather stay.”
“At home?”
“I went out earlier,” I said. “Like you wanted.”
James sighed. He seemed tired of playing this game but unwilling to argue after our conversation at the museum. “Aren’t you bored? Isabelle’s one of my best friends. She’s fun, she really likes you.”
I imagined sitting across from Isabelle, coming up with things to say while looking at her beautiful skin.
I would think too much about what it was like to be her.
I would resist asking the name of her perfume.
I would wonder who she loved more, her mother or her father.
If she chose her mother, I would feel sorry for her, but if she chose her father, I would feel sorry for her mother.
“It would be nice,” James said. “Get you out of your head.”
“I’m not in my head.”
“Sure.”
“Why can’t you just say that you want me to go? That it’s for you, not for me?”
Silver caught the feather. Yes! I almost cried out, but then she sprung backward and let it go, as if the feather had turned into something sinister. I swished it over her face. Maybe it was inconsiderate of me, but just like that, she became interested again.
“It’s not for me,” James replied. I was relieved. If he did ask me to go for him, I’d likely still refuse, and that probably made me a bad person. “You’ll get along. She likes you.”
“Why do you keep emphasizing that she likes me?” I pulled Silver onto my lap, then brushed her back with my palms in long, heavy strokes so her eyes slanted and her fur went flat and glossy.
“I don’t care if she likes me,” I said. “You care about that. You care about being liked, so you assume everybody else does.”
“You’re hurting her,” said James.
“We do this every morning.”
“Stop,” he said, his voice louder. “You’re holding too tight.”
I relaxed my hands. Silver coughed, gave her head a shake, then yawned. We met eyes. Don’t you dare, I thought. She did not move.
“Fine,” James said coolly. “I’ll just go by myself. Have fun.”
He shut the door with a resounding thud. I bit my lip and looked at Silver. Her ears twitched. He’s dramatic.
“I know.” I sprinkled her with kisses. “But it’s okay. Now it’s just us.” I felt guilty for saying this out loud, putting into the world the truth of my diminishing allegiance toward James. But I was relieved to be home alone, and anyway Silver wouldn’t tell a soul.
—
Hours passed. No sooner had James left than Silver lost interest in me. I sat on the couch with my knees tucked to my chest, focusing on the cramping in my legs, growing hungry.
The sky darkened. Shortly afterward came the reliable plunking sound of rain. It dawned on me that James would probably be having dinner out, with Isabelle. My stomach made an indignant noise.
The refrigerator was full of things I could not use: a slab of raw fish, leeks, shriveled peppers, half a yellow onion. We’d finished all the frozen pizzas. James’s cookbook sat on the butcher block, open to a recipe for baked monkfish with crème fra?che and vermouth. He baffled me sometimes.
In the cupboard, behind various spices and a jar of capers, I found a sleeve of old crackers. They were thick and cakey in my mouth. I needed dip, but James never bought dip, only whole ingredients with which to make dip from scratch.
The sound of thunder battered the windows.
I worried for Silver, whose ears were so delicate.
She must’ve gone hiding, she hadn’t even finished her dinner.
Her bowl was still full of the duck paté James had opened for her earlier, the can covered in smiling ducks splashing in aquamarine water.
It was truly delightful. On the side, in loping cursive: 50% Duck, 6% Essential Nutrients.
I dipped my cracker. The paté broke easily, like silken tofu. It was a little bland, but not bad. If I got past the greasiness, I could even enjoy the slight chew of what must’ve been the real shreds of duck. Plus, it had nutrients. James always said I needed to eat more nutrients.
My phone rang. It was Lou.
“Hey,” I said.
“You’ve been ignoring me.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Sure. You okay?”
“Um.” I put down the cracker. “Yes, fine.”
“I have something to tell you. I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Okay.”
Lou cleared her throat, then sucked on her teeth. The sound was familiar and filled me with the desire to be together, pregaming a bad party. “Anna found new tenants.”
She paused, presumably to let me say something. I fingered the paté.
Lou caved. “I didn’t know she was looking, I swear. I told her to give you more time. But, I mean, these people were willing to pay above market rate. She couldn’t say no. I mean, it’s shit, but. What are your plans?”
“I don’t have any plans.”
“Well, so,” Lou sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. Like, I know it’s a shock, but you shouldn’t have put all your eggs in this one basket.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, well. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“When do I have until?”
“The next two weeks, ideally.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Yeah,” said Lou. “I mean, it’s not so bad, right? At least you have James. Imagine if you were single. If this happened to me, I’d be fucked.”
It was true, I was lucky. We ended the conversation over promises to grab a drink once I was back in the city.
Briefly I entertained the idea of never going back.
I would stay with Silver in Holme. There were enough cans of food.
We would have all the time in the world to swim. This would be my life.
The cat food was slimy and bitter crawling up my throat. My stomach turned; I grabbed Silver’s bowl and spat out into it. Then I messaged James.
Where are you?
Hey b
***
He typed. The bubbles disappeared. My screen filled with a photo of him and Isabelle, smiling and pointing at a man with a small pig in his arms. Isabelle’s eyes were closed, her smile rapturous.
Her necklace caught the flash, puncturing her chest with a starry white hole.
James looked happier than I’d ever seen him.
We found this guy with a pet pig
Come join it’s just a 15 min walk
I turned off my phone.
The room filled with a new silence. The storm had ended, and soon enough I could make out the sound of Silver’s paws pattering down the stairs. She slunk into the kitchen, chirping. When she saw me holding her bowl, she stilled.
“Please don’t be mad,” I said.
But she simply jumped onto the table, sidled up to me, planted her paws on my chest, and licked the corners of my grease-stained lips.