Cleopatra and Frankenstein(62)

“This woman on sugargliderlovers.com says she lets her gliders wander around her bedroom at night. You just have to keep the doors shut and proof the place the way you would for a baby.”

“Cley, that’s crazy.” Frank poured himself another glass of wine. He went to refill Cleo’s, but it was still full.

“Well, whosyoursugarmomma1956 doesn’t seem to think it’s so crazy.”

“I’m going to ask you to think about what you just said,” said Frank. “And then we’ll talk about crazy.”

But of course Cleo got her way. They moved the cage into the bedroom and left the door open at night. They researched how to sugarglider-proof the room, which required blocking the electrical sockets, ensuring that the windows were tightly shut so she couldn’t escape, and keeping the bathroom door closed with the toilet seat down so she wouldn’t fall in and drown. Other than that, she was free to roam where she pleased. It was strange and exciting to hear her whirring around the bedroom while they lay in bed. It brought new life to their life. That first night, they lay awake listening to her.

“She’s full of beans,” said Cleo.

They were facing each other in the darkness, nose to nose.

“I gave her a nut late today, that might be why,” he said.

“I gave her one, too! Frank, we’ve got to stop doing that, she’s going to have a heart attack.”

“But I love giving them to her. How else am I going to be her primary bond?”

“If we ever have a kid, she is going to be so spoiled,” said Cleo.

“You … you want children?”

It seemed ridiculous that they had never spoken about it before. That was part of marrying in a hurry, he supposed. You had to do it before you knew enough not to.

“I think so,” she said. “You don’t?”

“No, I do,” said Frank, surprising himself. It was amazing to him that they weren’t speaking hypothetically, that this was how couples made decisions like this in real life. “I think you’d be a great mom.”

“I’ve always been worried that I don’t have that maternal gene. I don’t think my mum had it, or she would never have, you know.”

“You do,” said Frank. “You definitely do. You’re so nurturing. You look after everyone.”

“You think?”

“Of course,” he said. “You look after me.” He reached for her hand tucked under her pillow.

“You’ll be a wonderful father,” said Cleo.

“How do you know?”

“You’re kind,” she said. “And playful. You’ll definitely be a fun dad. And I see how you are with Zoe. You take care of people, too.”

Frank squeezed her hand in the darkness. “I like how you see me.”

Frank turned onto his back, and Cleo moved to put her head on his chest. He stroked the hair at her temples with one hand.

“I think I see you as you are,” she said.

“I don’t want to be anything like my dad,” said Frank. “That’s for sure. You know I went to Italy to find him once? In my twenties. Refused to see me. I found the restaurant he hung out at with his drinking buddies, went there one night, and told him who I was. Wouldn’t acknowledge me. Pretended he didn’t speak English. Asshole.”

“Does your mum know about that?”

“No,” said Frank. “I think it would hurt her too much.”

Cleo rolled on top of him so they were face to face, her hands either side of his head. He could not make out her expression in the darkness.

“Frank?” she said.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to say something, and I want you to hear me.”

“Okay.”

“You are nothing like your father.”

She rolled back off him, so they were side by side. Somewhere near them, Jesus leaped from one surface to another with a soft thud. Frank lay with his eyes open, trying to listen for her next move.

“Cley?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“What was your mom like? You never talk about her.”

“She was a lot of different people,” she said quietly.

Frank stayed silent. If Cleo was ready to talk, she would. He didn’t want to push her.

“She made the best birthday cakes,” she began. “I think it’s because she was good at architectural models. Like one year, she made a cake in the shape of the Eiffel Tower with a little doll that looked like me at the top. We’d been to Paris for the Easter holidays and completely loved it, so the whole party was French-themed. It was me and twenty other eleven-year-olds all wearing berets and playing games like pin the mustache on the Frenchman. My mum even bought us fake cigarettes from a joke shop, which I think was pretty scandalous at the time.”

“That’s funny,” said Frank. “What did she look like?”

“She had blond hair like me, but she was taller. She wore high heels every day and these tailored silk shirts. I used to go into her closet to rub them between my fingers, I just loved the way they felt.”

“She sounds very glamorous,” he said.

“She was,” agreed Cleo. “But then she had to start taking this medication that made her gain a lot of weight and sleep all the time. She was very active, you know, so she hated that. I think that’s why she stopped taking it eventually.”