The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides [98]
“It’s bad enough the way you insist on nursing Richard in public. But to use that contraption—”
“It’s a breast pump, Mummy. Everybody has them. You didn’t because your generation put all the babies on formula.”
“You two seem to have turned out all right.”
When Alwyn had become pregnant, a little over a year ago, Phyllida had been thrilled. She’d gone up to Beverly to help decorate the nursery. She and Alwyn had gone shopping together for baby clothes, and Phyllida had shipped Alwyn and Maddy’s old candlestick crib up from Prettybrook. Their mother-daughter solidarity lasted until the birth. Once Richard arrived in the world, Alwyn suddenly became an expert on infant care and didn’t like anything their mother did. When Phyllida brought home a pacifier one day, Alwyn acted as if she’d suggested feeding the baby ground glass. She said that the brand of baby wipes Phyllida bought were “toxic.” And she jumped down Phyllida’s throat when Phyllida had referred to breast-feeding as a “fad.” Why Alwyn insisted on breast-feeding Richard as long as she had was a mystery to Phyllida. When she’d been a young mother, the only person she knew who insisted on breast-feeding her children was Katja Fridliefsdottir, their neighbor from Iceland. The entire process of having a baby had become incredibly complicated, in Phyllida’s opinion. Why did Alwyn have to read so many baby books? Why did she need a breast-feeding “coach”? If breast-feeding was so “natural,” as Alwyn was always claiming it was, why was a coach necessary? Did Ally need a breathing coach, or a sleeping coach?
“This must be your graduation present,” Phyllida said as they came to the car.
“This is it. I love it. Thank you so much, Mummy.”
Alwyn climbed into the backseat with her bags. “I never got a car from you and Daddy,” she said.
“You didn’t graduate,” Phyllida said. “But we helped you with the down payment on your house.”
As Madeleine started the engine, Phyllida continued, “I wish I could persuade your father to buy a new car. He’s still driving that awful Thunderbird of his. Can you imagine? I was reading in the newspaper about an artist who had himself buried in his car. I tore it out for Alton.”
“Daddy probably liked that idea,” Madeleine said.
“No, he didn’t. He’s gotten very solemn on the subject of death. Ever since he turned sixty. He’s been doing all kinds of calisthenics in the basement.”
Alwyn unzipped one of her bags and took out the breast pump and an empty bottle. She began unbuttoning her shirt. “How far is it to your place?” she asked Madeleine.
“About five minutes.”
Phyllida glanced back to see what Alwyn was doing. “Can you put up the roof, please, Madeleine?” she said.
“Don’t worry, Mummy,” Alwyn said. “We’re in P-town. All the men are gay. No one’s interested.”
Following orders, Madeleine put the top up. When the roof had finished moving and clicked in place, she drove out of the airport parking lot onto Race Point Road. The road led through protected dunes, white against the blue sky. Around the next curve, a few isolated contemporary houses popped up, with sundecks and sliding doors, and then they were entering the hedged lanes of Provincetown.
“Since you’re feeling so overwhelmed, Ally,” Phyllida said, “maybe now would be a good time to wean Richard the Lionhearted.”
“They say it takes at least six months for a baby to develop the full antibodies,” Alwyn said, pumping.
“I wonder if that’s scientific.”
“All the studies say at least six months. I’m going to do a year.”
“Well,” Phyllida said, with a sly look at Madeleine, “then you’d better get back home to your child.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Alwyn said.
“All right. Let’s talk about something else. Madeleine, how are you liking it up here?”
“I love it. Except that I feel stupid sometimes. Everybody here got an eight hundred on their math SAT. But it’s beautiful, and the food’s amazing.”
“And is Leonard enjoying it?”
“He likes it,” Madeleine lied.
“And do you have enough to do?”
“Me? Tons. I’m rewriting my thesis