Free The High Cost of Living by Marge Piercy

Why did you come here?” For the first time she drank some of the wine. It wasn’t good but it was cold. Then the cold wine hit her belly, which doubled up in protest. She winced.
    He was watching carefully. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œI’m hungry is all. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
    He got up to inspect her refrigerator. “Almost as bad as the room. Well, I see sprouts and eggs. Got soy sauce? If I cook a nice Chinesey sort of omelette, will you talk to me?”
    â€œSoy sauce on the shelves to your left. Yes.” Because in a moment of weakness, she was tired of doing for herself. She wanted to be cooked for, coddled, yes.
    He lit a joint and went to work humming softly at the hotplate. She was weary and her back ached. What she really wanted was to lie down or, second best, to lean against the wall. Would she let herself? Suddenly she was tired of her continual discipline, like a spring she had to keep winding every five minutes. She could feel the one big swallow of wine she had taken. She inched backward until she was resting against the wall. Ah, better. Actually she wanted to collapse. With him gone. But she could not quite wish that with the smells coming from the hotplate. She was enormously hungry.
    He brought over the plates of eggs. “See you look almost human now.”
    â€œMeaning I look for the moment worn out and defenseless.” She took a plate and ate. The eggs were good, which she said between mouthfuls. When they had finished he took the plates to the sink. She was not sure whether he meant to wash them, but she called, “Leave them.”
    â€œSo you’re ready to talk to me?” He strolled back and sank on the edge of her mattress.
    â€œAll right.” She laughed uncertainly. “I have the feeling we should shake hands. But suppose we just talk more to the point. Square one is that I’m as queer as you are, if not a little queerer.”
    â€œYeah?” He batted his lashes. “What else is news?”
    â€œIt’s not supposed to be news. I’ve been out since I was eighteen. I was married to a woman for three years—we considered it marriage. I’ve told Honor. Not that it sinks in, and I can’t exactly sit around Mama’s house waving copies of The Lavender Woman.”
    â€œYou’re not real out. Not flagrant, as we say.”
    â€œI was outer in Grand Rapids. I don’t think I’d hit it off in my department. But I’m farther out than you are.”
    â€œI’m not closeted or out. I’m confusing and confused, dear heart.” He rolled over on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Then he sat up and glared around. “What a monastic cell. Nothing to fiddle with. No bric-a-brac, no casual clutter. I bet there isn’t a book over there that isn’t for school.” He actually got up and peered at the board and brick shelves, the books piled in cartons. She waited through his fit of restlessness till at last he came back to the mattress again, facing her. “Are you interested in Honor?”
    â€œWe both are, obviously. What else brings us together?” She sipped her wine. This time, with the food for cushioning, it did not hurt.
    â€œNow you see it, now you don’t; watch the moving shells and not the moving hand. You know what I’m asking.”
    â€œI’m a little in love with her. I don’t mean to have an affair. She’s too young.”
    â€œOh, yes,” he sighed. “On the other hand innocence is lovely, isn’t it? It’s so different.”
    â€œFrom you and me?”
    â€œFrom me. Oh, Leslie, I’m not sure about you. I think maybe you’re more innocent than you think you are.” He grinned. “If I were you, I’d make love to her.”
    â€œAnd her mother too?”
    â€œMmmm. Your objections are practical.” He waited while she shrugged. “What do you want then?”
    â€œTo