by Karma Brown
“Why is Beverly sending me a listing for our house, Nate? I told you, I’m not moving. I told her too, but obviously you’ve made other plans?”
Nate spoke to someone nearby but muffled the phone with his hand so Alice couldn’t tell what he said. “Ali, we’re selling the house.” She heard a door shut, the ambient noise of the office disappearing as it did. “Look, I didn’t want to do this over the phone, but you’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want to be in the same room as me these past few days, so here it is.”
Alice lit a cigarette, didn’t even bother to open a window. She trembled as she held it, brought a shaky hand to her mouth to inhale. “Is this about Drew, Nate?”
“What?”
She exhaled impatiently. “Is. This. About. Drew. Baxter?”
“Ali, I have no idea what—”
“Does she even care that you’re married? Do you?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.” Alice snorted, but then something bubbled up to smother her anger. It was fear. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Nate right now, but she also needed him. “Are you sleeping with her?”
A sharp inhalation from Nate. “Have you gone insane, Ali? You actually think I’m having an affair? With Drew?”
“I know she called you that day, when you told me it was Rob. So don’t be so fucking righteous. You lied to me about her.”
Nate sighed, his frustration seeping through the phone. “I told you it was Rob because I didn’t want to get into it right then. We were talking about James Dorian and what happened, and, well, it didn’t seem like the right time.”
“So what was that call about, then, if not a check-in from your lover?”
“Stop it, Ali.” Nate was angry now too. Good. At least he was taking her seriously. “I would never . . . God, is that how little you think of me?”
She shrugged, forgetting Nate couldn’t see her.
“Drew and I were both offered positions in the L.A. office. But I didn’t want to say anything to you until I knew it was a for-sure thing. And that afternoon Drew called because her mom is recovering from cancer treatment and she was worried about leaving New York. I was trying to help her with the decision, which we had to give by the end of the day. She’s a friend, Ali. That’s it.” Alice couldn’t be sure Nate was telling the truth about Drew, but there was a different sort of betrayal to focus on—that he had unilaterally decided to take a job across the country and expected Alice would fall in line behind him.
“And when did you make your decision, Nate?”
A pause. “I accepted the week before.”
“Without talking to me first?” Alice’s body quaked, and she stubbed out the cigarette, feeling nauseated. “Why are you doing this to me? To us?”
“Ali, listen to me.” He softened his voice, pleading with her to understand. “It’s a big promotion. A lot—like, a lot—more money, and even more when I pass the exam. A chance to run my own team! And the timing seemed good, because I know we just moved, but you can write anywhere and we can get settled and then do the whole baby thing down there.” The “whole baby thing”? Alice closed her eyes tightly, set her forehead into her hands. “Your mom and Steve will be close enough to help out. I honestly thought you’d be relieved.”
“Relieved?!”
“I know you were stressed about money, and how much the house was costing us. And the move has been extra-hard on you. I get it. It’s a big change.” Nate paused, took a breath. “Things haven’t been the same between us lately, and I hoped this might get us back on track.”
Alice sighed. “When are you supposed to be in L.A.?”
“End of October.” Nate’s voice was subdued, his tone conveying his regret. That was a month and a half away. “Right after my exam. But everything will be paid for. And they hire a company to come and do all the packing up, so you’ll have help.” Go to hell, Nate.
“What if I don’t want to go?”
He huffed with exasperation. “What’s the alternative? You’re going to stay here in Greenville, alone? I can’t afford to carry our place and something else in L.A., so how would that work? I know I should have said something earlier, but this is good for us. Now we can really get ahead.”
Get ahead to where? Then Alice thought about Sally’s question. Who am I? The answer—a flailing, unemployed writer; a mediocre housewife; a woman forced to bend to her husband’s ambition—made her sick to her stomach.
Nate had stopped talking, was waiting for her to say this was fine, she forgave him for not telling her until now, understood the money mattered, as did his future success with the company (he was the breadwinner of the family, after all), and didn’t blame him for wanting more. We’re a team, she knew he expected her to say. We stick together.
“I’ll have dinner ready at seven thirty. Don’t be late.” Then she ended the call.
* * *
• • •
Alice spent the rest of the day working on a plan, and by the time Nate came home—walking through the door at 7:20 P.M.—she was ready.
She had made a simple supper of pork chops, mashed potatoes, and salad and had a bottle of wine breathing when he came to stand at the kitchen door. He glanced at her and sensed a shift, and hope bloomed on his face.
“Come and sit down,” she said, pouring them both wine. He sat across from her at the Formica table and took the wineglass she offered him. “First, I need you to know I’m really upset,” Alice said. “This is a big deal, and I still can’t believe you took the job without telling me.”
“I know, and again, I’m sorry,” Nate said, then added evenly, “We haven’t been good at telling each other the truth recently, have we?” The scent of cigarette smoke—faint but undeniable—lingered in the living room, and Nate had undoubtedly noticed. Alice had tried to quit, but the cigarettes were like a salve she desperately needed at the moment. She’d stop, eventually.
Alice didn’t react to Nate’s comment. He was right (and her lies certainly outnumbered his), but she didn’t want to have a discussion, which would certainly lead to an argument about it; she needed to focus on resolving the problem at hand.
“I was thinking about things today, about what I want, and I have a proposition for you,” Alice said.
Nate raised an eyebrow, curious though wary. “I’m listening.”
“I made a few calls, one to Megan Tooley, my friend who’s a literary agent? Remember her?” Nate nodded. “I pitched her my book idea, and she was interested. Like, really interested. Said the premise was fantastic and that she could think of a half-dozen editors who would jump for a book like that.”
“Okay,” Nate said, his voice even. “That’s great news.”
“It is.” Alice went to the oven to pull out the pork chops, unable to sit still. “So, I was thinking . . . let me have six months. I can finish the book and then Megan can sell it. If it all works out, we can stay because my book advance—and then the royalties, once it publishes—can help with expenses. If it doesn’t sell, I’ll go with you to L.A.” Alice was plating the meat, so she didn’t see Nate’s expression, which had shifted from curiosity to disbelief.
“What do you think?” she asked, setting the plates in front of them. She finally looked at Nate, and her stomach dropped.
“I already took the job, Ali. Papers are signed. It’s a done deal.”
“But if it’s about the money, I’m telling you in a few months—a year, tops—I can contribute! Or I’ll get another job. It won’t be all on you.” She sat back and away from her dinner, her appetite gone. “Ask for an extension for the promotion. They love you and know you’re brilliant. They’ll hold the job if you say you can’t leave for another few months.”
“No, they won’t.” Nate’s tone was incredulous. “Maybe if you had suggested this earlier,
like in June or July, I could have made it work. But now? It’s too late, Ali. We have to go.”
“Too late? How could I have suggested anything when I had no idea! California is thousands of miles away.”
Nate crossed his arms over his chest, his voice rising. “Thousands of miles away from what, Ali? It’s not like there’s a job you’re leaving behind. What exactly is holding you here?”
Alice narrowed her eyes, then took her wine and got up from the table. She left the kitchen and went into the living room, sitting at her desk, her muscles tense and vibrating with adrenaline. Nate was right behind her.
“Okay, you want to play it this way?” he said, his tone challenging. “Show me your book.”
“What?”
He gestured to her laptop. “Open it. Let me see what you’ve been working on.”
She shook her head.
He gave a mock look of surprise. “Why not? I mean, if you want me to turn down this promotion and stay here so you can sell it, you must be feeling pretty confident about your work.”
“No.”
“Come on, Ali. Just a chapter. One little chapter!”
“Stop it, Nate. I’m not ready to—”
But he was quick, reaching around her to grab the laptop from the desk, and before she could react he had the screen open and tapped a few keys. Alice regretted ever giving him her password. She was shocked by his behavior; it was so unlike him—or at least so unlike the old Nate.
Alice made one last attempt to take the laptop back from him, but he was taller than she was and held it over his head. And then she saw he’d managed to open the Word document titled “Novel” and, breathing heavily, she let her arms fall to her sides.
Nate looked at the first page, scrolled down for a few moments, then locked eyes with his wife. The first page remained on the screen and showed the title, written in bold caps in a large font so it stood out against the brightness of the screen:
RECIPE FOR A PERFECT WIFE, and then: by Alice Hale.
Alice’s heart beat as fast as hummingbird wings.
“Is this all of it?” Nate asked, scrolling down the page. The cursor soon stopped, reaching the bottom of the document, which was only two pages long. He minimized the document, started looking around the computer’s desktop. “Is there another file?”
“Give it to me, Nate.”
“Alice, where the hell is your book?” Nate turned to her.
“That’s it.”
“This is it?” He looked back at the screen. “But there’s hardly anything here.”
“I know,” she said.
“What have you been working on?”
“I’ve done a ton of research. I’ve got websites bookmarked. . . .” She was breathless, high-strung with adrenaline. “I’ve been trying, honestly. But . . . it’s been more complicated than I expected.”
“You’ve been lying to me, again, this whole time?” Nate lowered the computer. “What’s happened to you?” He scrubbed his free hand through his hair, distraught. “Maybe we never should have moved here. . . . It’s not good for you, or me. . . . This goddamn house . . .”
Alice snapped. With an anguished grunt, she ripped the laptop from Nate’s hands and sprinted to the back door. Nate was on her heels, telling her to stop. She pushed open the door and threw the laptop as hard as she could against the stone patio steps, where it broke apart, the keyboard bouncing erratically before settling onto the lush green lawn. Alice was glad Sally was away, especially when Nate screamed, “Have you lost your fucking mind?” at her once the pieces of the laptop settled. Arguments this volatile between a couple belonged inside the four walls of a house. It was the neighborly thing to do.
* * *
• • •
The fight fizzled shortly after the scene on the patio. Alice was drained to the point of being ill, and Nate didn’t look much better. Their meal was cold by the time they returned to the kitchen, and Alice reheated both plates in silence, though she was unable to eat anything. Not long after, she scraped her uneaten dinner into the garbage and went upstairs, exchanging not a single word with Nate. Soon, she heard the back door squeak open, a thin stream of light illuminating a swath of patio stones. Alice looked out the bedroom window to see Nate sweeping up the bits of laptop casing, holding a small flashlight in his mouth so he could see and sweep at the same time. Then he turned off the flashlight and stared for a while at the shadowed garden, statue still in the moonlight.
43
Just as the vampire sucks the blood of its victims in their sleep while they are alive, so does the woman vampire suck the life and exhaust the vitality of her male partner—or victim.
—William J. Robinson, Married Life and Happiness (1922)
Alice
SEPTEMBER 28, 2018
Nate knocked on the bathroom door. “You okay?”
It was early. Nate was up for work, and Alice was on hands and knees, dry heaving into the toilet.
“Ali?” He knocked again. She tried to answer through her gagging but couldn’t catch her breath.
“I’m coming in,” Nate said, the door handle starting to turn, and Alice managed to gasp, “No, don’t. Give me a minute.” The door handle stopped turning, and Alice heard Nate’s footsteps retreat down the hall. She flushed the toilet and splashed water on her face.
Nate was sitting on the guest room bed, where she had been sleeping now for nearly a week, waiting for her. He was still in boxers and a T-shirt, and he looked concerned and exhausted. Alice cleared her throat, happy at least the horrible nausea she’d woken up with—that had sent her bolting for the washroom—was mostly gone. “I’m fine,” she said, pulling on leggings and a sweatshirt. No way she was going back to sleep now.
“Didn’t sound like it.” Nate fiddled with the drawstring of his boxers. “Are you sick?”
“Probably something I ate. I feel better now.” Alice suspected her weak stomach had more to do with what had transpired the day before. She thought about the in-pieces laptop and cringed with the memory; she’d lost her temper, and so had Nate, and things were worse than ever.
“Okay, well, I need to hop in the shower. If you’re sure you don’t need . . . ?”
“Go ahead.” Nate nodded, got up from the bed, and brushed past Alice, who moved slightly to the side so there was no chance they’d touch. She heard the shower go on; then a minute later Nate called out for her.
“Could you grab some soap?” he asked, his dripping-wet head sticking out from behind the shower curtain. “None left in here.”
“Sure,” Alice said, going to the linen closet to find the large package of soap she’d bought on her last trip to Costco. At least they were being civil—she wasn’t sure that would even be an option today. Alice reached for the package, then stopped, glancing at the box beside the soap. Tampons—the package unopened. She frowned, her hand hovering.
“Ali?” Nate was getting impatient.
“Just a second,” she shouted, needing more like a minute to figure things out. To do the math, because that box of tampons should not be unopened. A strange sense of prickly warmth filled her as she began counting backward in her head, her eyes widening as she did. Holy hell. It seemed impossible, and yet . . .
She took the soap and shut the linen closet door, her hand lingering there for a moment as she pulled herself together. Then she took it in to Nate and said she was going out.
“It’s barely six,” he said, wiping the water from his eyes as he watched her brush her teeth. She spat into the sink, then said, “I have something to do,” before leaving the bathroom and a puzzled Nate to his shower.
* * *
• • •
Alice was locked in the washroom at the Scarsdale Starbucks, the only place open that time of morning aside from the pharmacy where she’d bought the pregnancy test. Someone knocked on the door
and she shouted, “I’m in here!” and stared at the stick on the sink’s counter. With shaky fingers, she held it close to her face, but there was no need—staring back at her was the undeniable plus sign in the test’s small round window.
Who am I? Alice thought, looking into the coffee shop’s bathroom mirror, eyes a bit wild, though clear and bright. A mother, and that changes everything. . . .
* * *
• • •
After dinner, after Alice handed him the test stick, after Nate’s face transformed from frown to beaming smile, they sat together on the living room couch, as close as they’d been in more than a week.
“I can’t believe it,” Nate said. Rubbing her socked feet, which were on his lap, distractedly. It tickled, but she didn’t pull away. “I mean, I know it’s possible—nothing’s perfect—but still. Wow.”
While one could get pregnant on the pill (especially if one forgets to take it at the same time each day, which Alice had), the chances were minuscule. Because Nate lived and breathed statistics and risk, he was always prepared for the tiny percentage—no matter how unlikely—for in his line of work that typically ended up being the thing with the greatest impact. However, he remained stunned, if not deliriously happy, by the news.
“Do you think it’s a boy or girl?” he asked.
“I haven’t even been to the doctor yet, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Alice lay her head back against the sofa cushion, the ceiling crack yawning above her. “We should get that fixed.”
“What?” Nate asked, and Alice pointed up.
“Probably a good idea, especially before the open houses. I’ll call Beverly to find out if she knows a good plasterer.”