“Did you have permission to do that?” James asked, and was ignored. He went to set his tray down on Gwen’s desk, but Gwen’s desk was no longer there. He cast around for another surface and then finally set the tray on the floor.
“She could have hurt herself, couldn’t she? They’re heavy. Please tell her. Gwen, sit down, you’re upsetting me.”
“Moving heavy furniture alone is not smart,” James agreed. “But also, and more to the point, there’s no damn way in hell that you are sharing a room with my son. Are you out of your damn mind with this? And now? Today? Seriously?”
Gwen was shaking a pillow into a pillowcase and began to snap it violently, like a terrier breaking the neck of a small animal. Her teeth were gritted.
“Gwen,” Julia pleaded, “please stop. Just sit down, darling. We need to talk. It’s going to be okay.”
Gwen set down the pillow and began punching it violently into shape. “I am not an idiot and I actually don’t need to ask permission to share a room with the father of my baby. I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me, I’m perfectly capable of moving a bed, I’m not a fucking child, and obviously we’ll have to share a room when the baby comes so we can do nights together and you are not the only adults in this fucking house, you’re not the only relationship that counts around here, and I don’t have to ask permission to move things around in my own room. Why are you even in here?” She wiped away angry tears with the back of her hand.
“What are you talking about? Father of what baby?”
“You don’t control me! You don’t get to decide every single thing that happens!”
“Come on.” James rested a hand on Julia’s shoulder. “I don’t know what the hell’s happening but this is not productive right now. We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to explain yourself like a civilized adult,” he went on, and Gwen wondered how he could still be standing there stolidly in her doorway, how his heart could continue to beat under the annihilating pressure of her hate for him. He had taken everything from her that counted, but what little remained to her, she would keep.
? ? ?
LATE ON SATURDAY MORNING Nathan came back from Charlie’s house to find his family waiting for him in the kitchen. His father and Julia were pale-faced and grave, and before he’d had a chance to make a much-needed cup of sweet, strong coffee and address his ravenous hunger they imparted unimaginable news about his girlfriend—at that moment flushed and weeping noisily in the corner. Nathan made an odd, involuntary noise in response. A hoarse bark of a laugh; a single, mirthless staccato of irritated disbelief. He felt nothing except a surge of impatience that with their histrionics they were disturbing the warm afterglow of a perfect evening. The last big night out, they’d all decided, till summer. He was looking forward to fried eggs on toast, and then a long, hot shower to wash away the grime of the bar, and the two cigarettes he had accidentally smoked on the walk home. But everybody was now looking at him, expecting a reaction. In the corner Gwen’s sobs grew louder and she surged forward and fell upon his neck, her face blotched and swollen, snorting raggedly, as if she had been crying for hours and was only now clearing and loosening rolls of mucus from the back of her throat. He was alarmed and briefly repulsed by this transformation but he folded his arms around her narrow back to reassure her. It was only when over her shoulder he noticed his father’s expression that his stomach twisted, and tightened. This was not Gwen’s solitary tragedy. Hot tears of panic began to rise and he held her tighter, for his own comfort.
He did not have time to speak to her. Almost immediately she was whisked away by her mother to see a woman who would talk to her about “options” and the noise and drama departed, together with his unrecognizable beloved. The kitchen was silent and sun filled. His father spoke softly. This must be a godawful shock. But Claire was calm and a pragmatist, James explained, and would inject a little reality into the situation. It would soon be resolved. Nathan felt his panic recede and a numbing wash of disbelief rise in its place. A drowsy numbness, he thought, where do I know that phrase, or perhaps I’ve coined it myself? Worth remembering—though “numbness” is a bit clunking. His head throbbed. Gwen herself had only suspected since yesterday, James went on, and it was not enough time for anything but stubborn, reflexive posturing. She could not mean what she said, and in fact last night she had clearly wanted the opposite. Nathan must have so many questions—(Nathan did not)—but he was not to listen to or be terrified by any of the girl’s wild assertions. A nightmare episode, uncomfortable, frightening, perhaps a wakeup call that one was not as mature as one believed. Nathan should know that James loved him and wasn’t mad, even though it was a goddamn stupid needless screwup. Things would change around here. Time to knuckle down, refocus, reestablish priorities. Nathan must be so angry.
Nathan, who wasn’t, pressed his temples. James fried him eggs and buttered him toast. Nathan said, “Okay,” meekly, and began his breakfast.