The Break(10)

“The Bronx Zoo is magical,” I say.

Sean’s light brown eyebrows go up. They’re too thin for his face. “Right?”

I nod. “I can’t wait to take Lila when she grows up.”

“It can be romantic, too, though,” he says, his face darkening. “It’s not just for kids.” It falls flat between us, too awkward for this already strange moment.

“Oh, definitely,” I say, nervous.

Mercurial moods have always scared the crap out of me. My dad and a lot of his drinking buddies were moody, alternating between sweet kittens when they first got drunk and angry beasts somewhere after ten or twelve beers. And then weeping after sixteen. (I used to count.) And even when my dad wasn’t drinking or only slightly buzzed, he could be set off for hours by someone saying something the wrong way, and there was no getting him back until something or someone else reset him. That someone was never me; sometimes it was my mom, with a compliment or a good meal. (Or maybe sex? I was too young to know how any of that worked, and he was killed and gone before my sixth birthday.) He never hurt me physically, but he was a monster to live with those years. His moods were poisonous, and the unpredictability of it all was enough to set my teeth on edge even when he was downstairs and I was hiding in my room. I could feel him pulsing through the hot pink walls of my bedroom like a presence. My mom never married again, never even had a boyfriend. Why would she?

Once, soon after I’d turned five, a police officer came to our house to find my dad because of a broken window and petty theft in town that night. I don’t know whether my father had done anything—that wasn’t the part that killed me. It was when my mom stood at the front door and lied to the police. There she was, her pale pink nightgown fluttering over the outline of her body, lying to the officer at our door, telling him my dad had been home the entire night with her. But he’d been out—he’d only just come home, drunk; I’d heard them slamming around the kitchen when he returned. The way she’d lied so easily for him—how could she do that after all she’d doggedly tried to teach me about the truth?

I kiss the top of Lila’s head, lost in my thoughts.

“I took June to the Bengal tiger exhibit,” Sean is saying, snapping me back.

He waits for me to say something. When I don’t, he goes on: “They’re stunning creatures,” and I think literature major. Confidently using creative adjectives only comes with practice. “June loved them, actually,” he says.



And you love her, I think. I need to call her—I need to at least try to accomplish the one thing I set out to do on this trip.

“So where did June go?” I ask.

I wait, but Sean doesn’t answer. He shrugs, as if all of it is beside the point, which annoys me. I go for my phone again, wrenching it free from my pocket and holding it in my clammy hand. Sean just watches me. I’d forgotten I’d turned it off, and it’s awkward trying to get the grip right and power it on while I’m clutching Lila against me. I finally do it, expecting a flood of messages from Gabe, but none come.

Sean crosses his legs. I really need a drink of water, but I worry I’ve asked for too much already, and I need him not to get sick of me and kick me out before Lila’s done eating.

“How do you know June?” Sean asks flatly, less friendly now.

If Sean is secretly in love with June, or somehow being strung along by her, I don’t want to tell him I know June through Harrison. Maybe he doesn’t even know June’s dating Harrison. My brain feels like it’s not working right; I haven’t had to juggle this many balls since Lila’s been born. A few months ago I could’ve navigated this social situation easily, but ever since Lila came my mind doesn’t feel as sharp, as capable.

“I met June through a friend of my husband, Gabe,” I finally say.

“Harrison?” Sean asks. His face falls; he’s like a stage actor with how quickly emotions twist his face. “That’s the friend you met June through,” he says, suddenly all knowing, like he just figured me out.

He stands up and goes to the fridge. I half think he’s going to pull out a lock of June’s hair, but that’s just me and my imagination. You get so carried away, my mother used to tell me. Use it for your writing: not for your life.

“Yes,” I say. “Through Harrison.” June works for an agent named Louisa at WTA, which is where she met Harrison. But June must not tell Sean a lot about the details of her life, because wouldn’t he already have heard about all the times June, Harrison, Gabe, and I have hung out as a foursome?



Sean retrieves a Lean Cuisine from the freezer. He unwraps it, and then it takes forever for him to break down the cardboard box and peel the plastic off the top. He pops the container into the microwave and beeps a few buttons. I use the moment his back is turned to fire off a text to June:

Was in the neighborhood and stopped by your apartment. Any chance we can talk if you’re close by?

Sean punches a final button and the microwave whirs to life. Another beep sounds from somewhere inside the apartment, and Sean’s head snaps up. I get Lila onto my shoulder to burp her, and then Sean comes back to sit, eyeing me suspiciously. I pat and rub Lila’s back, alternating between the two like I saw someone do on YouTube, smiling at Sean and preparing my escape. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair in a minute,” I say.