Page 66 of Lucky Night

Yes, because they were each the result of earlier decisions, which were themselves the result of even earlier decisions—as well as the product of my upbringing, my genetics, prior experiences, environment. There’s a chain of prior causes, stretching way, way back, through our lives, through time, through the history of the world, and they form the sum total of the conditions we find ourselves in at any moment. Everything we do is the direct result of things that already happened—things we had absolutely no control over.

Fine, earlier decisions and circumstances led me here, she says, but why does that mean the next decision I make isn’t free? It feels like it is. It feels like I spend half my life agonizing over my choices, wondering whether I’m doing the right thing.

That’s an illusion, he says. You were always going to do the thing you end up doing. You just didn’t knowit.

There’s something wrong with his logic. She just doesn’t know how to articulate it.

She glances at the television. Still no Edvin.

So when I thought I was deciding whether to go with Edvin, I wasn’t? That choice had already been made?

Well, it wasn’t even a choice, he says. It was an outcome, already determined, based on who you are, how you think and behave—everything that’s ever happened to you led you both to vacillate about staying, and ultimately to stay.

Why did you persuade me so hard to stay, if you knew the outcome was already whatever—fixed in place?

Because I had no choice either, he says. That was my predetermined course of action.

Okay, there’s definitely something wrong with his logic.

It’s like your argument about women being brainwashed, he adds. In fact, if we circle back to that discussion—

You’re actually bringing this back to blow jobs, she says. Incredible.

As we say in the courtroom, you opened the door, sweetheart. So. Imagine we have a woman. And this woman happens to find herself in the presence of a tasty-looking dick.

Ha! she says. Now we’re truly in the land of illusion.

Be that as it may. We have a woman, we have a dick. Said woman perceives said dick. Thinks, hey, that looks good! So she wraps her lips around it, and proceeds to—

Thank you, she says. I get the idea.

Great. Now if—as you yourself insisted—she made that choice because she’s been trained to do it, persuaded by forces beyond her control, then how is her choice in any way free?

Because, she says, well, because…she still chooses. Sure, she’s influenced by her environment, but that doesn’t mean she’s completely…I mean, it doesn’t strip her of all…shoot, what’s the word?

Agency, he says. And I think it does. There’s no such thing as partial freedom.

Dammit! She doesn’t know how to circumvent his reasonableness, how to articulate what she feels in the deepest pit of herself tobe true—that her choices are hers.Sheelects,she’sresponsible, all blessings and faults her own. His big words and irritating logic don’t matter.

Oh, but they do. They do matter, because she’s a frozen duck!

She glances at the television. The anchors are discussing construction delays at LaGuardia. The fire is getting boring—that’s a positive development. Though it also means she can’t see whether a big man in a tiny robe has emerged through the lobby doors.

She tries calling her number again.

It rings and rings.

Norman’s not picking up, she says.

Isn’t that a good sign? I mean, it’s awful for him, but it shows we were right not togo.

She feels Edvin’s hand on her again, pulling her. Just thinking about it…she stands and moves to the window. She’s getting worked up again. Riled by these four walls, this unbelievable situation. She wants to fling herself around the room and shriek. Tear the stuffing out of the pillows, throw herself on the floor and pound on it with her fists.

Instead, she looks out at the snow and takes deep calming breaths. Inhale, one, two…

Why, though? Why hide her rage, her fear, her burbles of hysteria? She hides them and hides them, all night she’s been hiding them. Or trying to, and failing miserably.

Why hide anything? It never really works. Maybe it shouldn’t.

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