We Need to Talk About Kevin_ A Novel - Lionel Shriver [116]
It was after I’d missed my third cycle that Kevin started accusing me of getting fat. He’d poke at my stomach and jeer, “You’re giant!” Commonly vain about my figure, I concurred cheerfully, “That’s right, Mommer’s a big pig.”
“You know, you may have gained just a bit around the waist,” you remarked finally one night in December. “Maybe we should take it easy on the spuds, huh? Could stand to drop a couple pounds myself.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, and I practically had to put my fist in my mouth to keep from laughing. “I don’t mind a little extra weight. All the better for throwing it around.”
“Jesus, what’s this, maturity? Usually if I suggest you’ve gained an ounce you go ape-shit!” You brushed your teeth, then joined me in bed. You picked up your mystery but only drummed the cover, sidling your other hand to a swollen breast. “Maybe you’re right,” you murmured. “A little more Eva is pretty sexy.” Slipping the book to the floor, you turned toward me and lifted an eyebrow. “Is it in?”
“Mmm,” I hummed again, with an affirmative cast.
“Your nipples are big,” you observed, nuzzling. “Time for your period? Seems like it’s been a while.”
Your head stilled between my breasts. You pulled back. You looked me in the eye with the soberest of expressions. And then you turned white.
My heart sank. I could tell that it would be worse than I’d led myself to believe.
“When were you planning to tell me?” you asked stonily.
“Soon. Weeks ago, really. It just never seemed the right time.”
“I can see why it wouldn’t,” you said. “You expecting to palm this off as some kind of accident?”
“No. It wasn’t an accident.”
“I thought we discussed this.”
“That’s what we didn’t do, discuss it. You went on a tirade. You wouldn’t listen.”
“So you just go ahead and—a fait accompli—just—like some kind of mugging. As if it has nothing to do with me.”
“It has everything to do with you. But I was right and you were wrong.” I faced you squarely. As you would say, there were two of us and one of you.
“This is the most presumptuous ... arrogant thing you’ve ever done.”
“Yes. I guess it is.”
“Now that it no longer matters what I think, you going to explain what this is about? I’m listening.” You didn’t look as if you were listening.
“I have to find something out.”
“What’s that? How far you can push me before I push back?”
“About—,” I decided not to apologize for the word, “about my soul.”
“Is there anyone else in your universe?”
I bowed my head. “I’d like there to be.”
“What about Kevin?”
“What about him.”
“It’s going to be hard for him.”
“I read somewhere that other children have brothers and sisters.”
“Don’t be snide, Eva. He’s used to undivided attention.”
“Another way of saying he’s spoiled. Or could get that way. This is the best thing that could possibly happen to that boy.”
“Little bird tells me that’s not the way he’s going to look at it.”
I took a moment to reflect that in five minutes we were already dwelling on our son. “Maybe it will be good for you, too. For us.”
“It’s an agony aunt standard. Stupidest thing you can ever do to cement a shaky marriage is to have a baby.”
“Is our marriage shaky?”
“You just shook it,” you fired back, and turned away from me on your side.
I switched off the light and slid down on the pillow. We weren’t touching. I started to cry. Feeling your arms around me was such a relief that I cried harder still.
“Hey,” you said. “Did you really think—? Did you wait so long to tell me so it would be too late? Did you really think I’d ask you to do that? With our own kid?”
“Of course not,” I snuffled.
But when I’d calmed down you grew sterner. “Look, I’ll come around to this if only because I have to. But you’re forty-five, Eva. Promise me you’ll get that test.”
There was a purpose to “that test” only if we were prepared to act on a discouraging outcome. With our own kid. Little wonder that I put off telling you for as long as possible.
I didn’t get the test. Oh, I told you I did, and the new gynecologist I found—who was lovely