Beautiful Little Fools(37)

Tom had opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn’t say anything at all for a few moments. When he finally spoke he said: “A baby?” It was more a question than a reaction, good or bad.

We’d stared at each other, the ocean breeze wafting in through the window I’d opened to try and ease my nausea earlier. It gave me a chill; I shivered a little, but neither one of us moved to shut the window.

There were so many things left unsaid in that moment, but neither one of us said them to the other, either.



* * *



IN LOUISVILLE, MY belly grew and grew, and I had never felt more unattractive, more ill, in my entire life. Mother couldn’t stop crowing about what a blessing this baby was. I’d walk by her in the mornings, on my way to try and swallow down some breakfast, and she would put her hand on my belly and trill like a snow goose. Blessings and grandbabies and new life! It was like she forgot all other words but these.

But this was the first time in my life I truly despised being a woman. I no longer felt, in the slightest, pretty. When I looked in the mirror, I saw unfamiliar bloated and blotchy cheeks staring back at me. And I felt like I was suffocating from the inside out. Trapped by this baby swelling up inside of me, taking over my body, making me ugly. And trapped by Tom, too.

Mother would never understand it, and so when she cooed, I smiled politely, and kept all the awful feelings inside. I couldn’t bear to tell her that Tom had been unfaithful to me. I couldn’t bear to admit out loud what I now understood deep down: any power I’d thought I’d gained in becoming Mrs. Buchanan was all an illusion. Instead, by marrying Tom, I’d given up every last part of myself. Even now, my beauty.

And then I hoped to God this baby would at least be a boy. That it would come out of me already having choices.



* * *



I AWOKE ONE night in the middle of April, my stomach clenching. Mother called for the doctor, and he came and gave me ether for the pain, and then I truly was grateful she was close, her snow goose trilling and all. I was in and out for hours or days, sweating and screaming and pushing. Mother held my hand. Maybe Tom was down the hall in Rose’s room, or, maybe he wasn’t. I didn’t know where Tom was.

Then, there came the ether again; a dark and dreamless sleep followed.

When I awoke again, there was Mother’s face, hovering, and the doctor’s voice. He placed a baby into my arms. “It’s a girl,” he said, brightly.

A girl.

I tried to squeeze back tears, but I didn’t have the strength to stop them now. Mother cooed with delight, and I cried and cried until I had no more tears left. When I cried myself out, I felt the weight in my arms, this baby. This girl. I examined her soft pink skin with my fingers, and she was so beautiful, it felt like the greatest cruelty.

“All right,” I said, more to myself than to Mother, who was still hovering. “I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

“Oh, Daisy Fay!” Mother’s snow goose voice. “Why would you say that? We want her to be a lady, a beautiful little lady.” Mother cooed that last part in the baby’s face in a baby snow goose voice.

“Daisy Buchanan,” I corrected Mother now, softly.

Daisy Fay might’ve been a beautiful little lady, once. But Daisy Buchanan was nothing more than a fool. A goddamned fool.



* * *



I AWOKE SOMETIME later, the middle of that night, or, the next night. The baby cried and Mother brought her to me, and I slept in between. In and out. Time was nothing.

But now, my eyes fluttered open and my room was dark. Tom stood over me, a shadow. His hand reached for my shoulder. He lowered his lips to my forehead and kissed me gently, and I could smell that whiskey and cigarette smell of him. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I love you. Daisy, I love you so much.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. My body was tired, but the swelling in my ankles and face had already gone down, and when I’d looked in the mirror earlier, I’d had the slightest bit of hope I might be beautiful again, soon. I wondered if Tom saw it now too?

I moved my arm slowly, patted the space on the bed next to me. Tom got in and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tightly to him. I relaxed against him, and he stroked my hair softly. We lay there for a little while, saying nothing at all.

“Let’s go to France,” Tom finally said. “You and me and the baby. We’re a family now, and I’ll never hurt you again. I promise you, Daisy.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I imagined Paris, walking down the Champs-Elysées, holding Tom’s arm, pushing the baby in the carriage. It was spring, and the air would smell like flowers. And we would be so gay, laughing, stopping to kiss each other whenever the moment struck us.

“Please forgive me, Daisy,” Tom whispered into my hair. “Please try to love me again. I miss you.”

I curled in tighter to him. “Hush,” I finally spoke. “You’re my husband. I’ll always love you, Tom Buchanan.”

I felt like I could breathe deeply again for the first time in months. Tom had made a mistake, but he was here, holding me, apologizing. We could still be okay.

He loved me; he needed me. And that made me more than a fool, didn’t it? That, in itself, gave me all the power.