Wife 22

He glares at me.

“Think I’ll go to bed now,” I say, tucking Jampo under my arm.

“You’re bringing him with you?”

“Only until you come to bed and then I’ll kick him out,” I say. “I promise.”

I wave my Kindle at him.

“What are you going to read first?” William asks.

“The Stand. I can’t believe you remembered how much I loved it. I want to see if it’s as good as it was when I first read it.”

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” says William. “I suggest you don’t hold it to the same standard.”

“What-I should make a new standard?”

“You’re not seventeen. The things that were relevant then aren’t anymore.”

“I disagree. If it was gripping then, it should be gripping now. That’s how you know something is a classic. A keeper.”

William shrugs. “The dog’s ruined my chair.”

“It’s just pee.”

“It’s soaked through the entire cushion and into the frame.”

I sigh. “Happy anniversary, William.”

“Twenty years. That’s something, Alice.”

William pushes the hair back from his eyes, a gesture I know so well, and for a moment I see the young man that he was, the day I first met him, when I was interviewing for the job. Everything is colliding, past and present and future. I grip Jampo so tightly he squeals. I want to say something to William. Something so he knows to reach out and pull me back from the edge.

“Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t,” says William, the remote control back in his hand.

That night he sleeps on the couch.

69

John Yossarian added Games

Clue

Lucy Pevensie added Lives in

Spare Oom

How was your anniversary, Wife 22?

Confusing.

Is that my fault?

Yes.

What can I do?

Tell me your name.

I can’t.

I imagine you have an old-fashioned sort of name. Like Charles or James. Or maybe something a bit more modern, like Walker.

You do realize everything changes once we know each other’s names. It’s easy to reveal our true selves to strangers. Far harder to reveal those truths to those we know.

Tell me your name.

Not yet.

When?

Soon-I promise.

70

73. Yes, it was different with Peter. After the delivery, after I had slept for a few hours, they brought him to me. It was the middle of the night. William had gone home to be with Zoe.

I peeled back the swaddling blanket. He was one of those babies who looked like a grizzled old man, by which I mean he was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen (although the size of his forehead worried me).

“I already hate his wife,” I told the nurse.

74. Bliss. Exhaustion. Coming-home party. Too tired to clean. Too tired to have sex. Too tired to greet William when he comes in the door after work. Zoe tries to smother Peter. Peter adores Zoe even though daily she thinks of inventive new ways to try and knock him off. Forty-plus diapers a week. Is three years old too young for a sister to change her baby brother’s diaper? Afternoons on the couch, Peter sleeping on my stomach. Zoe watching inappropriate TV for four hours. Fight with husband over whether Oprah inappropriate TV. Shirts soaked in spit-up. Family of three, hours of 6 a.m. to 7 p.m. Family of four, hours of 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. Family of two (me and Peter), hours of 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. Don’t worry, say all the books. Distance between you and husband is only temporary. Once baby is four months old, sleeping through the night, eating solids, a year old, past the terrible twos, in kindergarten, reading, getting more pee in the toilet than on the floor, recovered from the poison oak that got everywhere including under his foreskin, has learned to do the backstroke, had his tetanus shot, stopped biting girls, is capable of putting on his socks, no longer lies to you about brushing his teeth, no longer requires lullabies, goes to middle school, enters puberty, comes out as a proud gay tween-then you and William will get back to normal. Then the distance will miraculously disappear.

75. Dear Peter,

The truth-I was upset when I found out you were going to be a boy. Mostly because I had no idea how to mother a boy. I thought it would be much more difficult than being a mother to a girl because of course I knew all about being a girl due to the fact that I was one. Actually still am. The girl inside me lives. I think you’ve seen her from time to time. She’s the one who understands the pleasure of a good nose pick-just do it in private, please, and wash your hands afterward.

Some things you might not know or remember:

1. When you were two and had a horrible ear infection and wouldn’t stop crying, I was so distraught at seeing you in pain that I climbed into your crib and held you until you fell asleep. You didn’t wake for ten hours, not even when the crib broke.

2. When you were three, you had only two things on your Christmas list: a potato and a carrot.

3. Funny thing you once said upon me giving you ravioli with butter for dinner (we’d run out of tomato sauce): I can’t eat this. This ravioli has no heart.

4. Unanswerable thing you once said while helping me fold laundry: Where was I when you were a little girl?

5. Thing you said that broke my heart: Even when I die I’ll still be your boy.

It has given me unbelievable pleasure to be your mother. You are my funniest, dearest, brightest star.

Your loving Mama

76. First part of question: I don’t know; second part of question: to some degree.

71

“Oh, darling, this is nice. Isn’t this nice? Why don’t we do this more often?” asks Nedra.

Nedra is taking me to the M.A.C store on 4th Street in Berkeley to buy makeup, her treat. She says she’s tried