Free Shout Her Lovely Name by Natalie Serber

together, soon to marry, Ruby wondered if she could claim some of his luck as her own. After all, Marco had called her when he returned from his summer abroad. They’d decided, together with both sets of parents, that under the unfortunate circumstances, it would be best to move to New York and make a go of it. Her mother was relieved that the move put Ruby near her aunt and uncle—just in case. Ruby would not be alone. And surely constant proximity to Marco gave Ruby some license to his luck.
    After twenty minutes, two teenage boys eagerly accepted three dollars and half a pack of Lucky Strikes to drag the sofa two blocks to their apartment. Ruby waddled behind. Her hips had grown so wide she supposed there really was no other way to describe her walk, though the first time Marco said it, he hurt her feelings. Twilight rushed at them along with the throng of office workers. Streetlights came on; hatted men, clutching briefcases and their girls’ elbows, hurried for cabs or for the subway, hurried toward cocktail hour and dinner, toward life after work. The women wore suits with tight skirts and pumps that reminded Ruby of the shoes her aunt had sent from Bergdorf’s when Ruby went away to college. She wondered about office life and belts. Would she ever wear a belt again? A young man in a brown suit, the same color as their new sofa, held a cab door for his date, his hand guiding the small of her back. He slid in beside her, tossed his cigarette into the gutter with the candy wrappers, a tattered page from the Times, and the last of the autumn leaves.
    Soon it would snow. Drifts would entomb the tree trunks, and she and Marco would have the baby. She imagined holding an infant, looking out the window at the quiet street, the snow absorbing the sound of traffic, reflecting light, remaking the world, clean and new. Behind her on the stove, a yellow kettle would whistle, ready to warm the baby’s bottle. When she thought of the months ahead, that was the fullest moment she could imagine, clear light, the whistle from the kettle, the baby real in her arms. The two of them, alone in the apartment. Today the November light fell pale and flat, as if the entire day was flu-ish. She scooped the last of the rice into her mouth, burped up spicy pork. Kung pao was Marco’s favorite.
     
    The sofa was preposterously large, and even among the menagerie of accumulated furniture in their living room, it was awkward. Again, Ruby spent the evening home alone. She arranged a chenille bedspread over the sofa and shoved it from one wall to another, heaving against its bulk with the backs of her thighs. Her belly was too big, and the sofa too unwieldy, to move it any other way. Marco came home late from auditions most nights, his shirt smelling of smoke, his breath sweet and medicinal, like mouthwash. If anyone knew the smell of a bar, it was Ruby. For now, it was enough that he came home at all. It was only late at night, when he returned and sat on the edge of their bed, removing his shoes in the dark, that she was brave enough to mention the future.
    “Classifieds have plenty of secretarial jobs.”
    He held her ankle, his fingers firm against her skin.
    “We can pay someone, or maybe my aunt could help out.”
    “Meep,” he said. She never knew why or where the name came from, she was just Meep. Like a private joke he had with himself. Now when he said it, his voice was a cocktail of frustration and resentment. “Meep. It’s not my time.” He just wasn’t ready. And neither was she. They could stay together, keep trying, if it was just the two of them. “I brought papers. From an agency. Someone I know knows someone who used them. They have good families.” He loved her, he said. Yes, he did. He had made an appointment. This is what he hoped for.
    His hand grew tight around her ankle, shifted from reassuring to insistent to forceful, his fingers sinking into her swollen flesh. She would say anything to bring him beneath the