“You think it’s a good plan? I’ve suddenly had doubts.”
“You know what I think.”
“That I should come home?”
“Of course you should come home! Rattling around in that big transparent house of yours, all alone. In that remote place. Come back to where your real friends are. Where your family is! Your dad needs you.”
“Dad didn’t have a clue who I was last time I visited.”
I heard her sigh, but she didn’t reply. Who I was? Whom I was? I could picture her mouthing the words, correcting my grammar.
“I can’t give up this beautiful house,” I went on. “How many people get to live in a place like this? Not even one in a million. It’s a dream home.”
“There you go again. Materialistic things will not buy you happiness, believe you me! Are you happy, with those big glass doors and big glass walls, living like a tiny fish in an aquarium too big for you? You don’t even have any curtains in that place. Up on that cliff, alone. Husband gone. Come home where you belong.”
She didn’t understand the magic of this place. Home to her was a cozy semi-detached with low ceilings, padded chintz curtains with matching armchairs, and wall-to-wall carpeting. And the TV always droning on in the background like a soundtrack. She even had the horse racing hammering away now, because that’s what my father always watched on weekends. She is that sort of person. A slave to her man: likes what he likes, and agrees with everything, including every single one of his political beliefs, however bigoted or racist, however divisive. My dad hated the fact that Juan was half Mexican.
“I’ve got to go, Mum. I promised I’d meet… a friend. Speak next week?”
She sighed again, as if I tired her out. “Take care, darling. Think about what I’ve said. We miss you.”
I hobbled into the kitchen, trying to keep the weight off my ankle. Unwashed teacups and plates were strewn about the countertop. The triplets had made themselves tea while I had been holed up in the bathroom with my wine. Half the teapot was filled with loose, soggy tealeaves. They’d even helped themselves to an extra packet of chocolate-chip cookies. I should’ve been irritated by their familiarity, but I was pleased they’d made themselves at home after my little disappearing act.
A chilling quiet rippled through the house. Their presence had made me so happy.
With their mess or without it—and even with their nosiness—I wanted the triplets back.
Nine
“You’re like blotting paper.” Juan’s words floated with the sound of the wind, the rustle of trees, the bark of a distant seal, and the ever-crashing waves. Were his words a memory or a dream?
I tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep, but memories of Juan, especially around the time we first started dating, circled in my mind like an eagle hovering over its prey, homing in on me, forcing me to remember. Sleeping a full night was a luxury I hadn’t known in the last six months. This new, sexless life made it hard for me to tune out or relax. Whatever our ups or downs, Juan had skills when it came to the bedroom. I’d had one boyfriend before him, and his only knack was making me numb, focusing on certain areas as if they were islands isolated from my body and nothing to do with my brain. I felt less than nothing. I was not alone. Women all over the world complain about men like that: blissfully unaware, only catering to their own needs. Not my Juan. Little Miss Librarian became a tigress between the sheets—I couldn’t get enough of my husband.
Especially at night.
“Blotting paper?” I’d repeated back to him. “What a weird thing to say to me. What do you mean by blotting paper?”
“You soak up all my worries. I mean it in a good way, honey. When I’m with you I don’t have a care in the world.”
“Why blotting paper, though? Why not a sponge? Not that I like the idea of being a sponge either, but blotting paper sounds so… who uses blotting paper anymore anyway?”
“Sponges you have to squeeze out,” he said, his husky voice a croaky whisper. “Blotting paper just sucks up all that ink, over and over again.”
I laughed. Finally I got his sexual innuendo.
Awoken from my dream with my own laugh, I lay there now, my eyes staring into the thick velvet night. There was no