thatâs not so terrible. And, you know, heâd set his picture up at Fox, and there was money again, and he said everything would be different. I was absolutely, completely, totally convinced that he wanted to have the baby.â
âYou know, I donât think we really have to go through all this right now,â my mother said. She wore an expression of stony disapproval â and a shapeless green muu-muu meant to hide her fat.
May pulled up at the rebuke. âOh ⦠Iâm just saying, Claire ⦠you donât know how lucky you are, thatâs all. Here with your family â¦â
My motherâs baggy face contorted once, and she pushed her last string bean through its butter with her fork. We all looked down, in fact, and our plates were strewn with only bones and wisps of mashed potatoes and streaks and puddles of butter. The carving board was down to a few gristly strips and there were just crumbs on the napkin in the bread basket. Mayâs plate alone was nearly untouched, but then sheâd taken so little to begin with. And though she lifted her fork now, she only sat poised with it. Her head bowed, her black hair pouring forward.
âYou just donât know, Claire,â she said in a high, squeaking voice. All at once, the disaster of her tears was upon us. We repressed Bernards â who knows? â we mightâve died of the embarrassment. But luckily, May lifted her head quickly, and knuckled the damp cautiously from her underlids. âI donât know why I should be crying. Iâm so, so happy now â now that itâs over. But I mean you donât know ⦠every day he would come home, night after night, creeping into bed at eight-thirty, nine oâclock, hardly saying a word to me.â She gave a juicy snuffle.
âAre you done?â my mother said to me. âWhy donât you go upstairs and Iâll call you when dessert is ready.â
I wouldâve gone, I wasnât all that riveted by this grownup stuff. It was the sight of her more than anything that held me. But May, turning to Dad now, just carried on, hoarsely: âI finally confronted him, Michael. Thatâs how it finally happened. He was leaving for work, he was going down the stairs. We had this beautiful curving staircase going down to this marble foyer with an absolutely magnificent chandelier hanging above it. And Ben was going down the stairs, and I was still in my nightgown. And I thought: âNo. Just: No.â And I got out of bed â and this was with the worst, the most awful morning sickness anyone anywhere can imagine, just crippling, utterly crippling nausea â and I just didnât care, I just ran â I ran â to the top of the stairs. I said, âBen, you have to tell me what is going on. You have to tell me right now.â And, Claire â¦â Because Mom and I were watching her again. âClaire, I just wish I could describe, I wish I could paint for you the lofty, sanctimonious expression on his face. If I could paint some sort of ⦠patron of Renaissance art being shown flying up into heaven, that was Ben, that was the look on his face. He says, âMay â¦â That was his lofty voice: âMay, Iâve joined Alcoholics Anonymous. Iâve found a higher power to help me deal with all my problems from now on.â I mean, he was that self-satisfied. And so I said, âWell, what is that supposed to mean? Youâre just going to go to bed every night and leave every morning from now on? You have your higher power, so you donât need me anymore? Is that it?â And I canât, I canât convey the holier-than-thou expression on his face. âOh, May,â he says, âOh, May, stand with me now, this is the crisis point of my life.â And I just said, well, you know, âWhat about my crisis? Ben. Iâm the one whoâs pregnant. Everyone says, oh thatâs so wonderful and