Purity by Jonathan Franzen Page A

do that to me?”
    â€œI didn’t do anything to you. We were having coffee.”
    She looked at him beseechingly, searching his eyes, asking them if he really was so clueless or was just pretending to be clueless for some cruel reason. It killed her that she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. Her breaths came harder, followed by tears. Not sad tears—upset tears, accusing tears.
    â€œWhat is it?” he said.
    She kept looking into his eyes, and finally he seemed to get it.
    â€œOh, no,” he said. “No, no, no. No, no, no.”
    â€œWhy not.”
    â€œPip, come on. No.”
    â€œHow could you not see,” she said with a gasp, “how much I want you?”
    â€œNo, no, no.”
    â€œI thought we were just waiting . And now it’s happened. It finally happened.”
    â€œGod, Pip, no.”
    â€œ Don’t you like me? ”
    â€œOf course I like you. But not like that. Truly, I’m sorry, not like that. I’m old enough to be your father.”
    â€œOh, come on! It’s fifteen years! It’s nothing!”
    Stephen looked at the window and then at the door, as if weighing escape options.
    â€œAre you telling me you never felt anything?” she said. “It was all in my head?”
    â€œYou must have misinterpreted.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI never wanted to have kids,” he said. “That’s the whole issue with Marie and me, I didn’t want babies. I kept telling her, ‘What do we need babies for? We have Ramón, we have Pip. We can still be good parents.’ And that’s what you are to me. Like a daughter.”
    She stared at him. “That’s my role? To be like Ramón for you? Would you be even happier if I stank ? I have a parent! I don’t need another parent!”
    â€œWell, actually, it kind of seemed like you did,” Stephen said. “Like a father was exactly what you needed. And I can still do it. You can still stay here.”
    â€œAre you out of your mind? Stay here? Like this?”
    She stood up and looked around wildly. It was better to be angry than to be hurt; maybe even better than being loved and held by him, because maybe anger was what she’d been feeling toward him all along, anger disguised as wanting.
    In a kind of anarchy of involition, she found herself pulling off her sweater, and then taking off her bra, and then dropping to her knees on the bed and pushing herself at Stephen, abusing him with her nakedness. “ Do I look like a daughter? Is that what I look like to you?”
    He cowered with his hands over his face. “Stop it.”
    â€œLook at me.”
    â€œI’m not going to look at you. You’re the one who’s out of your mind.”
    â€œFuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Are you too fucking weak to even look at me?” Where were these words coming from? What hidden place? Already a riptide of remorse was swirling around her knees, and already she knew it would be worse than all of her previous remorses combined, and yet there was nothing to be done but see it through, and do what her body wanted, which was to collapse on Stephen. She rubbed her bare chest against his seersucker shirt, pulled his hands from his face and let her hair fall around it; and she could see that she’d really done it this time. He looked terrified.
    â€œJust be sure, OK?” she said. “Be sure that’s all I am to you.”
    â€œI can’t believe you’re doing this to me. Four hours after she left the house.”
    â€œOh, so four days would make a difference? Or four months? Four years?” She lowered her face toward his. “Touch me!”
    She tried to guide his hands, but he was very strong and pushed her off him easily. He scrambled away from the bed and retreated to the door.
    â€œYou know,” he said, breathing hard, “I don’t really believe in therapy, but I’m thinking