Page 27 of My Favorite Lost Cause
I tell her there must have been amiscommunication. It’s a word I don’t think I ever used once prior to marrying Harvey, and now find myself using frequently. It’s the polite way adults cover their rough edges, and Harvey and I have a lot of rough edges.
Hey. I just talked to Lori, and she said you had someone pick up the dogs?
Harvey
At least I know how to get your attention now. Why didn’t you call me back?
I was going to call you tonight. I didn’t want to bother you at work.
But once the dogs come into the picture, you don’t mind bothering me, apparently.
I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t some kind of mistake. Because I know that you don’t want to take care of them.
No, I really don’t want to take care of them, but it seems pretty fucking cruel to leave them with a stranger, don’t you think? You’re not planning to do this with our future children, are you?
Lori isn’t a stranger. And they like playing with the other dogs.
Part of being a responsible parent—to dogs or to humans—is making some sacrifices so that you are there for them.
My jaw grinds. Harvey isn’t concerned about the dogs—this is his way of punishing me for staying here and kudos to him, because it worked. I’d rather they stay with Lori than him. He won’t even remember to feed them.
I thought you were planning to leave town again?
If I have to go, I’ll just leave them with Elodie.
I like that even less. Maybe it’s simply that I don’t knowmuch about little boys, but watching his sister’s kid stab a wounded bird with a stick when we were all in St. Barth’s last winter sent a chill up my spine.
What kind of kid wants to inflict damage like that? Probably the kind of kid who’d feed a puppy chocolate to make it sick or kick it if no one was looking.
And what kind of parent doesn’t stop him? Because Elodie saw it and shrugged.
So I tell Charlie I have to go home on Thursday after all, and when he asks why, I tell him that Harvey has a client thing. Because otherwise I’d have to admit that I’m planning to have children with someone I can’t trust with a pet.
And it would sound pretty fucked up if I said that aloud.
15
MAREN
Istand on my newly reinforced deck the following morning, looking for Charlie.
It rained overnight and the air is cool, the world soaked in soft pastels. Sunlight sparkles across the damp grass and the trees that shade the path around the inlet hang low, heavy with moisture.
He appears in the distance, running hard, and jealousy pangs in my chest. I miss jogging. I never pushed myself the way he does, but I was once someone who could easily knock out a few miles without thinking about it and who’d spend the rest of the morning luxuriating in the extra endorphins.
Why’d I give it up? Why’d I give everything up?
A few ounces of wine won’t impact my fertility. Same with the occasional piece of pizza or a morning jog.
And some part of me knew this. I wasn’t doing it in order to build us a family—I was doing it to avoid Harvey blaming me, while knowing he’d blame me anyway. Whenever he doesn’t get what he wants, he finds a way to pin it on me, and I generally wind up agreeing with him.
I’m tired of hating myself for my failure to get pregnant, butif it’s going to happen no matter what I do, I might as well make myself happy now.
I go back into the cottage and begin shucking off my pajamas before I can change my mind. I didn’t bring real running clothes, but something about this moment feels too important to be put off. So I slide on cut-off jean shorts and a T-shirt, paired with the ruined sneakers—flat soled, only meant to be fashionable—and jog down to the trail.
In my head, I am still that same girl who could knock out several miles without even thinking about it.
I discover withinsecondsthat I’m no longer that girl. My lungs burn, my thighs tremble, and when I finally stop to walk, I’m still close enough to hit my cottage with a rock if I had a good arm.
