do that to me?â
âI didnât do anything to you. We were having coffee.â
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 couldnât figure out what he was thinking. Her breaths came harder, followed by tears. Not sad tearsâupset tears, accusing tears.
âWhat is it?â he said.
She kept looking into his eyes, and finally he seemed to get it.
âOh, no,â he said. âNo, no, no. No, no, no.â
âWhy not.â
âPip, come on. No.â
âHow could you not see,â she said with a gasp, âhow much I want you?â
âNo, no, no.â
âI thought we were just waiting . And now itâs happened. It finally happened.â
âGod, Pip, no.â
â Donât you like me? â
âOf course I like you. But not like that. Truly, Iâm sorry, not like that. Iâm old enough to be your father.â
âOh, come on! Itâs fifteen years! Itâs nothing!â
Stephen looked at the window and then at the door, as if weighing escape options.
âAre you telling me you never felt anything?â she said. âIt was all in my head?â
âYou must have misinterpreted.â
âWhat?â
âI never wanted to have kids,â he said. âThatâs the whole issue with Marie and me, I didnât want babies. I kept telling her, âWhat do we need babies for? We have Ramón, we have Pip. We can still be good parents.â And thatâs what you are to me. Like a daughter.â
She stared at him. âThatâs my role? To be like Ramón for you? Would you be even happier if I stank ? I have a parent! I donât need another parent!â
âWell, actually, it kind of seemed like you did,â Stephen said. âLike a father was exactly what you needed. And I can still do it. You can still stay here.â
âAre you out of your mind? Stay here? Like this?â
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 sheâd 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. â Do I look like a daughter? Is that what I look like to you?â
He cowered with his hands over his face. âStop it.â
âLook at me.â
âIâm not going to look at you. Youâre the one whoâs out of your mind.â
âFuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Are you too fucking weak to even look at me?â 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 sheâd really done it this time. He looked terrified.
âJust be sure, OK?â she said. âBe sure thatâs all I am to you.â
âI canât believe youâre doing this to me. Four hours after she left the house.â
âOh, so four days would make a difference? Or four months? Four years?â She lowered her face toward his. âTouch me!â
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.
âYou know,â he said, breathing hard, âI donât really believe in therapy, but Iâm thinking