The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(65)
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Dorothy woke late, in an empty bed, in a quiet apartment. She walked to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, half expecting Louise to have taken over and be in the throes of making breakfast—something elegant like eggs benedict with Dungeness crab—or at least tossing out near-expired food while reorganizing their pantry.
Instead the place seemed vacant, though as Dorothy looked out the windows the whirling clouds of typhoon season lent the space an air of uncertainty, as though they were on a ship at sea, far from their destination, darkness on the horizon.
She looked around, walking through her own home as if she were wandering through a minefield. Then she noticed Louise’s coat and purse were gone. Dorothy relaxed. She felt oddly victorious, as though the absence of Louis’s mother was worthy of celebration, until Dorothy walked down the hall and peeked into Annabel’s room. Her bed was neatly made, her desk smartly organized, but Annabel was nowhere to be seen.
Dorothy’s heart raced. “Baby-bel?” she called out, a note of pretend hope in her voice when what she was really feeling was the seismic trembling of a mother’s volcanic anger bubbling to the surface. How dare she take my daughter without asking me? She didn’t even let Annabel say goodbye. She had no right…
The front door opened.
Dorothy stalked into the living room and saw Louis hanging up his coat, smiling.
“Where’s my daughter?”
“Hey, calm down, what’s the matter…”
“Where is she!?”
“She’s with my mom. Jesus. We were letting you sleep in, so we all went to the Fat Hen for breakfast. Afterward she said she’d take Annabel shopping for a new raincoat, then go to the Woodland Park Zoo, and maybe get lunch at Pike Place Market. My mom thought she would give us the rest of the morning and the afternoon alone, before she heads back to Spokane. Why are you so worked up?” Louis held up a drink with a fat straw. “Look, I even brought you a bubble tea. Lychee, your favorite.”
Dorothy felt confused, but calmer, almost fatigued from her anger. She thanked him for the tea, had a polite sip, then set it on the kitchen counter. She was relieved, comforted, yet also still worried. She didn’t trust Louise with her daughter, especially alone. Dorothy felt paranoid, worried that somehow Louis’s passive-aggressive mother was sowing seeds of discord the same way Louis had, even though he always said he was joking or that Dorothy was too uptight to understand. She stared out the window at the Space Needle, which peeked above the nearest buildings. Then she felt disoriented. She leaned on the counter as though the world were slowly swirling, not just the subtle movement of the building in the wind, but something akin to vertigo.
She felt his arms around her, holding her. She leaned back into him. He smelled good, which became an inside joke between Dorothy and Graham, that pheromones were the only reason Dorothy stayed in this relationship. That she’d given up on love and instead settled for physical affection, which she tried to convince herself was an acceptable surrogate. She drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she felt a firm hand on her waist as her robe was untied. She heard pounding rain somewhere above.
“Seeing how we have a few hours all to ourselves…”
Another hand brushed her hair aside; she felt his warm breath, his lips on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and inhaled and for a moment, she felt flush with emotion, blood rushing through her body; she wanted to get lost in the deep forest of those feelings. “Are you sure we have time? What if…”
“Stop,” he said softly.
He pressed his body against hers.
Slowly, the room began to spin and she felt an ache in her chest.
“Sam, why did you do it?” Dorothy whispered. “I never meant to…”
A moment of awkward silence fell between them.
Dorothy froze, unsure of what she just said.
She opened her eyes and realized where she was, who she was with, and she recoiled from his touch. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait.” Louis stared at her. “What did you just say?”
She struggled to remember as other images flashed through her mind, all the times petty jealousy had reared its head in their relationship. From a bearded barista who once asked for her number to the time she considered a male therapist and Louis had flatly forbidden it. “I said… I’m sorry?” Her words came out as a question.
“No.” Louis’s blithe hopefulness had turned to anger. “You said Sam.”
“I must be tired. Still dreaming,” Dorothy said. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Who the fuck is Sam?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Dorothy said, shaking her head.
“Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t. What was it that you didn’t mean to do with Sam?”
Louis gripped the front of her robe. His face was inches from hers, she could smell his breath. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
Without thinking, Dorothy snatched his elbow, swept his front leg, and tripped him to the wooden floor. As he crashed, he grabbed the closest thing to him—her—and she fell on top of him. He grunted angrily and rolled her over to her back, pinning her down with his arm, pressing her shoulders to the floor. He was cursing, threatening, yelling at her as spittle formed in the corners of his mouth. When he leaned forward, she grabbed a handful of his sleeve, threw one leg over the back of his neck as her other leg cinched down across her ankle. She clenched her jaw and squeezed until she saw his eyes, filled with anger and confusion, roll back and his body go limp.