What Alice Forgot - Liane Moriarty [153]
“Yes,” said Elisabeth after a while. “I guess we did eventually forgive her. I don’t know when exactly, but we did.”
“It’s strange how things work out.”
“Yes.”
They watched an ad for a carpet sale, and Elisabeth spoke again. “I feel really angry. I can’t tell you how angry I feel.”
“Okay,” said Alice.
More silence.
“We’ve wasted the last seven years trying to create a life for ourselves, just a standard suburban life with two-point-one kids. That’s all we’ve been doing—we haven’t been actually living—and now this will put everything on hold for a few months longer until I lose it, and then I’ll have to get over that, and then Ben will be at me to fill in the adoption papers, and everybody will be all enthusiastic and supportive. ‘Oh, yes, adoption, how lovely, how multicultural!’ And they’ll expect me to forget this baby.”
“You might not lose it,” said Alice. “You might actually have this baby.”
“Of course I’m going to lose it.”
The cooking show host drizzled honey into a pan. “You must use nonsalt butter. That’s the secret.”
Elisabeth said, “All I need to do is pretend I’m not pregnant, so that if I lose it, it won’t hurt so much, but I can’t seem to do that. And then I think, Okay, just be hopeful! Assume it will work. But then every moment I’m scared. Every time I go to the bathroom I’m scared of seeing the blood. Every time I go for an ultrasound I’m scared of seeing their faces change. You’re not meant to worry, because stress is bad for the baby, but how can I not worry?”
“Maybe you could delegate the worrying to me,” said Alice. “I could worry all day long for you! I’m an excellent worrier, you know that.”
Elisabeth smiled and looked back at the television. The cooking show host pulled something out of the oven and sniffed rapturously. “Voilà!”
Elisabeth said, “I should have driven over straightaway when Gina died, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
How strange, thought Alice. Everyone had to apologize for something to do with Gina’s death.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know if you’d want me there,” said Elisabeth. “I felt as if I’d say the wrong thing. You and Gina were such a pair, and you and I, we’ve . . . drifted.”
Alice moved closer to Elisabeth, so their thighs were touching. “Well, let’s drift back.”
The credits were rolling on the cooking show.
“I’m going to lose this baby,” said Elisabeth.
Alice put a hand over onto Elisabeth’s stomach.
“I’m going to lose this baby,” said Elisabeth again.
Alice put her face down close. She said, “Come on, little niece or nephew. Why don’t you just stick around this time? Your mum has been through so much for you.”
Elisabeth picked up the remote, turned off the television, and began to cry.
Frannie’s Letter to Phil
He kissed me. Mr. Mustache, I mean. Xavier. In the backseat of a cab.
And I kissed him back.
You could knock me down with a feather, Phil.
“I like the lions,” said Dominick.
It was nine o’clock at night and he was standing at the front door, holding a packet of chocolate biscuits, a bottle of liqueur, and a bunch of tulips. He was wearing jeans and a faded checked shirt, and he needed a shave.
Alice looked at George and Mildred, back in their old places, guarding the house. It had been an exhausting effort, cleaning them up, and then she’d had to use a wheelbarrow to get them out to the front of the house. Now she couldn’t decide if they looked quirky and fun, or grubby and tacky. “I just thought I’d drop by on the off chance you felt like some company,” he said. “If you’re too busy planning for tomorrow . . .”
Alice hadn’t been doing anything, except lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and thinking vague thoughts about Elisabeth’s baby, and Nick: “trying again.” Nick seemed to think they should start out with a “date.” “Maybe a movie,” he’d said, and Alice had wondered how hard they would have to “try” as they sat in the movie. Would they have to eat their popcorn really enthusiastically? Have an especially