I told my husband about the crow that night. He was reclined on his pillow, chest sweaty and face numbed from sex. “You’re imagining things,” he said. “Birds don’t have teeth. It’s a biological impossibility. You’re so worried about Dylan’s loose tooth that it’s seeped into your head.”
I was sweaty, but not numb. I kept my eyes trained on the oscillating fan in the corner of our room. Its cold couldn’t reach me. “Yeah,” I said, “you’re right. I’m just stressed.”
“You’re always stressed. That’s what I’ve been saying: you need to loosen up.” He took a second to look me up and down, eyes lingering on the parts I kept covered by the blanket. “Not too much, though.” He weasel-laughed and I rolled over.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” he said. “You overreact to everything.”
I sighed. “Sorry. Don’t know what my problem is.”
“Well, I’ve got a good idea,” he said, and for a moment I glanced at him as if he, just once, had something of substance to say. “Your biological clock. You’re getting older, you know, and you’ve only had one kid. Makes sense your body’s begging you for another. Making you all emotional and shit.”
I was quick to turn back to the wall.
“Come on,” he persisted. “You used to be so happy. When you were pregnant with Dylan, I mean—don’t you want that again? We were happy. We weren’t even married then, and yet you acted more like my wife than you do now.” He let the fan’s humming swell up in place of words. “And don’t get me started on the sex.”
“Is that what this is about?”
“No. But it’s certainly a perk. You used to act like you actually wanted it. Shit, you used to make the first move.”
Another sigh and I closed my eyes. “I’m done with this. Goodnight.”
“Carolyn, come on. You seriously don’t want another kid?”
“No.”
“A little girl? A mini-you?”
I stayed wordless on my pillow. Even if I hadn’t, even if I’d spoken up and said “no, hell no, never,” he would’ve buried it beneath his own booming insistence that I did. “You love being a mom,” he said. “Remember when Dylan was born? You two were inseparable. I couldn’t get you alone for a good year.”
My eyelids tightened, turning the shadow of my pupils bright in their dark, pre-sleep void. “Goodnight, Phil.”
I could hear his face go gnarled. “Whatever.” He was asleep and snoring in minutes.
Add comment