Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(66)
“That’s exactly what happened.”
“Well, allow my exterior monologue to echo the sentiment.”
“Duly noted.”
“Now isn’t a good time.”
“I know.”
“I just had a terrible fight with Sam.”
“I know.”
“You know everything.”
“I wasn’t lying when I told the kids I’m omniscient.”
Julia rubbed her temple and turned, creating a space for Mark to enter.
“Whenever Sam would cry as a baby, we’d say, ‘I know, I know,’ and give him his pacifier. So he started calling it his ‘I-know.’ Your omniscience just reminded me of that. I haven’t thought about it for years.” And with a disbelieving shake of the head: “Was that even this life?”
“Same life, different person.”
With a voice like a window that knows it’s about to be broken, she said, “I’m a good mother, Mark.”
“You are. I know.”
“I’m a really good mother. It’s not just that I try hard. I’m good.”
The distance between them closed by a step, and Mark said, “You’re a good wife, and good mother, and good friend.”
“I try so hard.”
When Jacob brought Argus home, Julia felt betrayed—she showed fury to Jacob, and delight to the boys. And yet it was she who actually bothered to read a book on dog training and care. Most of it was intuitively obvious, but one thing that struck her was the advice that one shouldn’t say no to a dog, as it would process the no as an existential assessment—a negation of the animal’s worth. It would hear no as its name: “You are No.” Instead, you should make a little clicking sound, or say, “Uh-uh,” or clap your hands. How anyone could know this much about a dog’s mental life, or why it would be so much better to be named “Uh-uh,” was beyond Julia, but something about it seemed plausible, even significant.
Julia needed an existential assessment of goodness. She needed to be renamed, to hear: “You are Good.”
Mark put his hand on her cheek.
She took a half step back.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry. Did that feel wrong?”
“Of course it did. You know Jacob.”
“Yes.”
“And you know my kids.”
“I do.”
“And you know that I’m going through something very difficult. And you know that Sam and I had a terrible fight.”
“Yes.”
“And your response is to try to kiss me?”
“I didn’t try to kiss you.”
Could she have misinterpreted? She couldn’t have. But neither could she prove that he was trying to kiss her. Which made her feel small enough to go hide in the closet by walking under its closed door.
“OK, so what were you trying to do?”
“I wasn’t trying to do anything. You obviously needed comforting, and reaching for you felt natural.”
“Natural to you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And I don’t need comforting.”
“I thought it would be welcomed. And everyone needs comforting.”
“You thought touching my face would be welcomed?”
“I did. The way you angled your body to suggest I enter the room. How you looked at me. When you said, ‘I’m good,’ and took a step closer.”
Had she done that? She remembered the moment, but felt certain that he had stepped toward her.
“Boy, was I asking for it.”
Was it possible she’d been too hard on Jacob, simply because he’d been first to express what she knew she’d been first to feel? There was no balance to be found in cruelty—only in cheating on him, which she wasn’t going to do.
“I’m not full of shit, Julia. You think I am—”
“I do.”
“—but I’m not. I’m sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position. That’s not at all what I had in mind.”
“You’re lonely, and I look like a Band-Aid.”
“I’m not lonely, and you don’t—”
“You’re the one who needed comforting.”
“We both did. We both do.”
“You need to leave.”
“OK.”
“So why aren’t you going?”
“Because I believe you don’t want me to go.”
“How could I prove it?”
“You could push me.”
“I’m not going to push you, Mark.”
“Why do you think you just used my name?”
“Because it’s yours.”
“What were you emphasizing? You didn’t use my name when telling me to go. Only when telling me what you weren’t going to do.”
“Jesus. Just go, Mark.”
“OK,” he said, and turned for the door.
She didn’t know what the emergency was, only that the trauma center of her brain was consuming everything. At the margin, still safe, remained the strange joy of finding and removing ticks in Connecticut. But the trauma smelled the pleasure, and attacked it. At the end of every night, she sat in a dry bathtub and checked herself, because if she didn’t, no one would.