The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(70)
Instead, she said, “People don’t change overnight, but he’s gotten better.”
As they neared the corner where Simon would continue straight to go to his apartment and Nita needed to veer left to go to the market, Simon turned to her and said, “If you ever need anything, I want you to come to me. It doesn’t matter what it is.”
Her heart ached for this man who was willing to offer her so much more than she had ever deserved.
“We’re going to be okay,” Nita said, trying to convince herself as much as Simon.
Around the fifth month of her pregnancy, Nita was now showing in her normal clothes. Mathieu had tired of being the devoted boyfriend and future father and had moved from the ecstasy pills to powder cocaine that he would snort off a small mirror. Nita had tried it once and found herself energized and happy. The two of them had had so much fun that night, jumping on the bed like schoolchildren until they were out of breath. She was surprised they hadn’t broken the springs. Or the baby. She was constantly conflicted, wanting to do better by the child than she had done by Sophie but also afraid that she was incapable of doing any better. She wondered if her inability to stop her reckless behavior was an attempt to dislodge and save the child from the life it would have with Nita and Mathieu.
Now that her body was feeling more run down and she had less energy, Mathieu was tiring of having to do everything around the apartment and worrying about having enough money to support them and eventually a baby. He was also getting increasingly irritated that she wasn’t in the mood for sex, complaining that with all his added work he needed a “release” when he came home. Nita tried to oblige him every few weeks, letting him mount her and do what he needed, but he could tell her heart was not into it, and it became a mechanical act for them both. This was a far cry from the life she wanted, but it was the life she had, and she had no one to blame but herself, so she swallowed the pain and an occasional pill to calm her enough to get through the days.
As she delivered their baby boy in late November, part of her couldn’t believe that she had carried him to term. She had taken so many risks with her health and his that it was a miracle to have delivered a healthy boy. When the nurse handed her the small baby wrapped in a cloth, crying and thrusting his arms and legs, she wept uncontrollably. He should not have been as perfect as he was, given all the anguish Nita had put him through during her pregnancy. She saw similar features in this new boy and Sophie. Would she be better this time? Would she be able to care for him without leaving him the way she had left Sophie? She gritted her teeth, asking herself what kind of person had another child when she’d already left the first one. She didn’t deserve this second chance, and she knew it. She could not stop the tears.
Mathieu thought her tears were of joy. He could not fathom the depths of her despair at holding her second baby. He, too, wept the first time he held the boy in his arms, but his were the pride and love of a new father, and Nita hoped he would always be the father he was in that moment. Perhaps it would be a turning point for them both. In the first days that passed with her new baby, she tried to convince herself that she would step into the mother role to which she had not been able to commit with Sophie. But then she would feel guilty for thinking that. Why should this child get more of her than she had given her firstborn? But she pushed that thought away as well. The innocent boy with the light-brown eyes and dark hair deserved the best of her. He had not asked to be brought into this world, and she could not blame her circumstances on him. The best she could do was find a way forward and trust that Sophie and Rajiv had built a happy home for themselves. One that was more stable and loving without Nita in it.
Nita named her son Vijay, meaning victory, because she sensed this child would need to persevere through much, given the life she had built around them. In India she’d fought to give her daughter an unconventional French name, but now that she could name her child anything she wanted, she had opted for a name from her home country. Mathieu found it exotic and had always despised how generic his name was in France, so it was no trouble to convince him to go with an Indian name.
The baby’s cries filled the room in the middle of the night and forced Nita and Mathieu awake. Mathieu groaned and rolled over, covering his ears. “Can you deal with him?”
Nita knew there was no point in arguing. The novelty of fatherhood had already worn off for Mathieu by the time Vijay had turned a year old. Nita rolled out of bed and made her way to the crib that occupied the space in the living room that had once served as their art studio. Dried paintbrushes had been thrown into a box in the corner, and neither of them had bothered cleaning them since Vijay had been born. The child had sucked the energy out of them, and there was none left to carry out their creative passions.
Nita picked up Vijay and held him close to her chest, swaying from side to side to coax him back to sleep.
“It’s okay, beta,” she said, using the same term of affection she had used with Sophie and her parents had used with her.
Vijay continued to wail, an impressive sound coming from his tiny mouth, his eyelids clenched tightly and showing no signs of relenting. She paced around the room, murmuring to him, but he was inconsolable. After a few minutes, she saw Mathieu standing in the doorway of their bedroom, his hair disheveled from his head being against the pillow.
“Can’t you shut him up?” he asked groggily.