Page 23 of My Favorite Lost Cause
“For whom? There’s no one but us for miles.”
He crosses the kitchen and removes the knife from my hand before spinning me in a circle. A part of me wants to object to all of it—to the volume, to the dancing, to the fact that I have raw chicken on my hands, which means he now does too. But he is spinning me and I do love this song, and there’s no reason we shouldn’t be dancing or listening to music as loudly as we are.
The real issue is that I don’t want to start loving things I’m going to have to give back in a few days. I don’t want to start loving things Harvey will immediately snatch from my hands.
And in a few months, I might have my fondest wish—a pregnancy—but it will mean being stuck with Harvey, to one extent or another, for life.
I guess I’m giving up an awful lot. I wonder if it might be too much.
13
MAREN
The next morning, I’m in my cottage, looking out the windows and bickering with Harvey when Charlie comes into view, running hard along the trail.
“I just don’t see why it matters if I stay a few more days,” I tell him as Charlie nears. He’s removed his shirt and is carrying it balled up in his hand now. Charlie, shirtless, is a thing of beauty—all sinew and flashing muscles, his skin gleaming with sweat.
If there were a calendar of Charlie, shirtless and sweating, I would buy every copy and paper the walls of my home with it.
If I was still single, that is.
And if he wasn’t a relative.
“For starters, because my wife shouldn’t be sleeping under the same roof as another man.”
“I’m not. I’m sleeping in this little cottage on the shore by myself.” Ten feet from Charlie, but Harvey doesn’t need to know that part.
Charlie slows as he nears the house and then drops down to the grass to do push-ups. I press my face to the glass to get a better view.
“Maren,” Harvey says, “if you care this little about getting pregnant, I don’t know why I’m blowing twenty grand on in vitro.”
I blink, refocused on the conversation. He doesn’t give a shit about twenty grand. I’ve seen him lose that in a couple hours in Vegas. But of course the money isn’t the point. Reminding me I can still bepunishedis the point.
“If money’s an issue, I’m sure Henry would be willing to pay,” I reply, innocent as spun sugar, knowing it will silence him. Harvey seems to want to get in a dick-measuring contest with the men of my family, so asking them for help would be a blow he couldn’t recover from.
“I don’t need Henry’s fucking money,” Harvey explodes. “You seem to be missing the point, which is that you’re not acting like someone who’s really invested in starting a family, and maybe that’s why we don’t have a fucking kid yet.”
Tears sting my eyes. I’ve given up everything for this, and he knows it. I gave up my career, and when we’d gone a full year with no pregnancy, Harvey started blaming everything else—running, coffee, alcohol, sugar, simple carbs—and one by one, I relinquished each. Everyone else laughs about how boring I am, but nothing is enough for Harvey.
“I’ve got to go,” I whisper, hanging up the phone. He calls again but I ignore it and walk out on the deck, trying to pull myself together.
The waves lap gently against the shore. The marsh grass and Spanish moss wave in the slight breeze while seagulls swoop overhead. Charlie is still doing push-ups and my God, I don’t know how many he’s done, but he may be breaking a record.
I’d forgotten what a beautiful place the world was until I arrived here.
Charlie agreed to postpone leaving until a week fromMonday. If it wasn’t for the dogs, I wouldn’t want to leave then either.
I spendanother day removing wallpaper. It’s slow going, and all the while, I can feel the upstairs tugging at me, the way a child tugs at your hand when she wants to leave a store.
It’s exhausting. My shoulders ache from the hours spent fighting that pull. Charlie told me not to go up there, but I think the real reason I’m fighting it is…when in my life has a house ever exertedanythingon me?
Especially a house that’s already tapped me on the shoulder.
“How’s it going?” asks Charlie, emerging from the powder room.
“You’re covered in mud, so I don’t feel like I’ve got the right to complain, but…how much of the upstairs is wallpapered? Because this is taking a really long time.”
He laughs. “You don’t want to know. Regretting this yet?”
