Her Fearful Symmetry

tape. Light flooded the room. Martin stood blinking, looking out at trees and sky. My goodness, it’s spring again. Julia coughed in the dust she had stirred up. When the coughing subsided she said, “Well?”

Martin nodded. “Very nice.”

“Can I do more?”

“More windows?” He wasn’t sure. “Let me adjust to-sunlight-first. Perhaps in a few days you can do some more.” Martin walked to within a few feet of the windows. “What glorious weather,” he said. His heart was pounding. The world seemed to press itself upon him. Julia said something but he did not hear.

“Martin?” Ohmigod. Julia grabbed him by the shoulders and propelled him towards his chair. He was covered in sweat; his breath was laboured. “Martin?” He held up one hand to forestall questions and sat down abruptly. A few minutes later he said, “It’s only a panic attack.” He continued to sit with his eyes closed and an inward expression on his face.

Julia said, “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Sit with me.”

She sat and waited with him. Soon Martin sighed and said, “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?” He patted his face with a handkerchief.

“I’m sorry.” Nothing she did today was right.

“Please don’t be. Here, let’s move our chairs and sit in the sun.”

“But-?”

“It will be fine. We’ll stay away from the windows.” They moved their chairs.

Julia said, “I keep thinking I understand, but I don’t.”

“I don’t understand it myself, why should you?” Martin said. “That’s what madness is, isn’t it? All the wheels fly off the bus and things don’t make sense any more. Or rather, they do, but it’s not a kind of sense anyone else can understand.”

“But you were getting better,” she said, near tears.

“Oh, I’m much better. Trust me.” Martin stretched out his legs and let the sun cover him. Soon it will be summer. He thought of Amsterdam in summer, the narrow canal houses basking in their allotment of northern sun, Marijke tanned and agile, laughing at his Dutch accent; it was a long time ago, but summer was coming again. He reached out and offered Julia his hand. She took it, and they sat side by side in the light, looking out at the spring day from a safe distance.

Coming Apart at the Seams

VALENTINA HAD brought her sewing machine to London, but she hadn’t laid a finger on it since that first day when they’d arranged all their belongings in the flat. It sat in the guest room and reproached her whenever she happened to notice it. The sewing machine had started to feature in her dreams, needy and neglected, like a pet she’d forgotten to feed.

She stood in the guest bedroom, staring at the machine. If this is what I want to do, I ought to do it. She had researched fashion-design courses on the Internet; you needed a portfolio to be admitted. She had not spoken to Julia about college in weeks. I’ll apply, and if I get in, I’ll just go. Dad would pay for school. Julia can’t do a thing about it. Valentina took the cover off the machine. She brought in a chair from the dining room; she found her suitcase full of fabric and emptied it onto the bed. As she picked up each piece of fabric, unfolded and smoothed and refolded it, she thought of Edie. Julia had no patience for sewing and had never learned. Valentina untangled ribbon and sorted spools of thread. She found her box of bobbins and her good scissors. Now everything was neatly laid out on the bed and she stood wondering what to make with it.

There was a pair of half-finished blouses she’d begun before they left Chicago. She could work on those. No, she thought. I want to make something new. And not a pair; I’m going to make just one.

At home she had a dressmaker’s dummy, but it was too cumbersome to bring to London. She got out her measuring tape and took her own measurements. How weird. I’ve lost weight. She sorted the fabric into piles: yes, no, maybe. In the maybe pile was a swathe of black velvet. She had bought it in eighth grade, during a brief flirtation with Goth fashion; Julia hated to wear black, so the velvet had stayed unused in Valentina’s collection of yardage. She unfurled it. Four yards? That’s enough for a dress.

She was sketching the dress when Elspeth appeared. “Oh, hi,” Valentina said. You’d think she’d notice the door was closed and I want to be alone.

Elspeth mimed writing and Valentina opened the sketchbook to a fresh page. ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE SOMETHING?

“Yeah.” Valentina showed her the sketch. “It’s a minidress with a built-in shroud.”

YOU’RE SPENDING TOO MUCH TIME WITH ROBERT.

Valentina shrugged.

MAY I WATCH?

“Whatever.” Valentina rubbed her hands to warm them and went back to her drawing. Elspeth curled up on the bed and vanished.

Hours went by. Valentina was trying to make a pattern and feeling frustrated. Pattern-making was one of the things she wanted to learn in college. She sat on the floor with the paper in front of her, knowing it was wrong but unable to correct it. I’m so stupid. Maybe I should take one of Elspeth’s dresses apart, to see what I’m missing. She heard Julia’s footsteps in the hall. “Mouse?” Valentina sat barely breathing. “Mouse?” The door opened.

“Oh, there you are. Oh, cool. What are you making?” Julia had been outside all day, roaming Hackney. She was drenched. Valentina became aware that it had been raining; she hadn’t noticed.

“Why didn’t you take an umbrella?” Valentina asked.

“I did. It’s really coming down out there, I got wet anyway.” Julia disappeared and came back wearing pyjamas with a towel around her head. “What are you gonna make?”

“This.” Valentina handed over the sketch reluctantly.

Julia looked at it carefully. “Out of that black stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s-different.”

Valentina didn’t reply. She held out her hand and Julia gave her back the sketchbook.

Julia said, “Where are we even going to wear that? It looks like a Halloween costume for Lolita.”

Valentina said, “It’s an experiment.” “You don’t have enough fabric, anyway. Maybe we could find a fabric store. You could do it in pink. That would be cool.”

“I have enough fabric to make one dress. And it wouldn’t look right in pink.” Valentina pretended to correct the pattern. She wouldn’t look at Julia.

“What’s the point of making one dress?”

“It’s for my portfolio,” Valentina said quietly.

“What portfolio?”

“For school. Design school.”

“But you’re not going to school. We agreed, you’re not.” Julia circled around the pattern and crouched down, trying to see Valentina’s face. “I mean, what’s the point? We have money.”

Valentina said, “We haven’t agreed on anything. You just keep trying to, you know, ram stuff down my throat.” She began to roll up the pattern, to put away her pencils and sketchbook.

“But you keep doing things without me. I hardly ever see you any more, you won’t go anywhere with me and you’re out every night with Robert. You spend all day talking to Elspeth. It’s like you hate me.”

Valentina finally looked at Julia. “I do. I do hate you.”

“No,” said Julia. “You can’t.”

“You’re, like, my jailer.” Valentina stood up. Julia remained kneeling on the floor. “Just let go of me, Julia. At the end of the year, we’ll ask Mr. Roche to split the estate. You can keep living here if you want to. I’ll just take some money, I won’t even take very much, just enough to live…You can do whatever you want. I’ll go to school, I’ll work, or whatever, I don’t even care. I just want to do something, have a life, grow up.”

“But you can’t,” Julia said. She stood up, the towel awkwardly unwrapping itself from her head as she did so. She tossed it onto the floor. She looked pathetically young, with her hair matted to her head, her baby-blue pyjamas. “Valentina, you can’t even take care of yourself! I mean, the first time you get really sick and I’m not there to take care of you, you’ll just die.”