Free The Objects of Her Affection by Sonya Cobb

and contemplating alternate sequencing. It was a process that, in her work, usually delivered her to a point of gratifying clarity. But this time she found herself getting more and more lost in forks, loops, and branches, unable to manage dynamic interactions, fogged in by confusion. She turned onto the avenue for the second time, nodded a greeting—again—to the grocer pushing his broom. Elliot squirmed in his seat; she looked at her watch. It was time to go back.
    ***
    The red jersey dress, Sophie decided, was too unforgiving. At least the black one was covered in sequins, which served to create some visual confusion around the more plush areas of her waist. She wasn’t sure if sequins were appropriate for the museum party they were going to—she would probably be the youngest person there, and definitely the sparkliest. But she didn’t have a lot of other options. She tugged on her “foundation garment.” Constructed of thick, industrial-strength elastic, the beige underthing flattened her belly into a smooth, taut drum. The waistband, which actually stopped just below her bra, was a wide strip of rubber that gripped her skin and left a red welt. The leg bands were made the same way, preventing the underwear from creeping northward. Wearing it made her feel like a tightly swaddled baby.
    During the four years that she spent either pregnant or breast-feeding, Sophie’s body had expanded, contracted, bulged, and cracked more often than a Philadelphia sidewalk. Both babies were large; Elliot had caused her old stretch marks to splinter into new ones—purple zebra stripes that later faded and sank, creating silvery crevices across her belly. During both pregnancies her breasts had ballooned, swollen and tender; upon weaning they collapsed, exhausted, onto her rib cage.
    She’d lost all of her pregnancy weight while breast-feeding Lucy, but gained it back the minute she got pregnant with Elliot—a huge baby who’d sprawled all over her lower abdomen and seemed, toward the end, as uncomfortable with the arrangement as she was. After he was born she wore her smaller maternity clothes for a few weeks, but then, as he nursed more and more voraciously, her body had melted away like a stick of butter in the microwave.
    Now that Elliot was weaned she was going back to her old weight, but her body was like a borrowed dress that had been returned all stretched out and wrinkled. She lifted her soft, empty breasts into a push-up bra, then pulled on the black dress and stepped into some strappy heels. She eyed herself in the mirror—from the side, from behind. Despite the undergarment’s best efforts, her belly still swayed forward, an echo of her pregnant self. She sucked it in, mashing it with her hands. The elastic made her stomach feel oddly anaesthetized.
    She rummaged among her purses and pulled out a black leather bag that was too large and casual for her dress. She frowned at herself in the mirror one more time, then headed downstairs.
    “You can call me any time tonight,” she said to the babysitter, who was feeding the kids their dinner. “We’re right around the corner, so…” She went into the kitchen and rummaged through a cabinet, blurting instructions over her shoulder.
    “Keep Elliot’s monitor on after you put him to bed—he might decide to climb out. And be sure you dry Lucy’s face really well. She’s getting chapped.”
    She kissed the children’s heads and placed conciliatory cookies on their plates. “Mommy, don’t go. Why don’t you stay?” whined Lucy. Sophie blew her one more kiss, ignored the question, and pushed through the front door into the humid night air.
    Brian was waiting outside the museum’s west entrance, scanning the crowd of valets and patrons milling outside. Sophie felt a nervous flutter as she approached, in the moments before he caught sight of her. When he did, his body became still and his eyebrows lifted. She felt blood gather in the tips of her ears.
    “Wow,”