She fidgets as he studies her, taking in her arms crossed over sagging breasts, the wavy pink scar above her pubic hair. She sucks in her stomach, looking down at her thighs, the hateful pucker above her left knee. He shouldn’t see her with the lights on, without romance or ceremony. When she was younger, she could barrel through this awkwardness, but Will has seen her body grow huge, has felt Harriet kicking. The alien invasion, he’d say, laughing. The creature.
Gust and Susanna must be getting Harriet ready for bed now. When Frida has her, they do bath time and a book and a cuddle and turn down the lights and say good night to Harriet’s whole world. Good night, walls; good night, window; good night, curtains. Good night, chair. Good night, Lamby. Good night, blankie. Good night, jammies. Good night to Harriet’s eyes and nose and mouth. Good night to each toy in her crib until it’s finally time for Good night, Harriet and a talk about galaxies.
Will’s erection presses against Frida’s stomach. She needs to know how Harriet has been sleeping. Frida hooks a finger into Will’s belt loop but can’t bring herself to touch his supposedly huge penis, not even over his jeans. If anyone found out she came here.
“I am a terrible person,” she whispers. She picks up his shirt and covers her torso. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, Frida, shhhhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” He pulls her to his chest. The hairs are rough against her cheek.
“I molested you,” she says, her voice muffled. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” She didn’t know it was possible for a grown woman to molest a grown man, but she’s done it. What gave her the right to come here and undress?
“Frida, don’t be so hard on yourself.”
She makes him turn around while she gathers her clothes. When Gust decided to move out, she called his closest friends, hoping that someone might talk sense into him. Will was the only one who actually listened while she sobbed and ranted. By his pauses, she could tell that he knew about Susanna, had perhaps known for some time. He said he didn’t approve of Gust leaving. He told Frida she was still young and beautiful. The sweetest lie.
She pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Her shirt is on inside out. She returns to the kitchen to fetch her purse. It’s 8:17. “Promise you won’t tell.”
“Frida, don’t freak out. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, I did. You were trying to be nice to me. I didn’t have to take it there. I swear I’m not some vulture.” She wants to stay here. She could take the couch, the closet. If she could see one kind face each day.
At the door, Will kisses her cheek, then cups her chin in his hand. “I kinda liked seeing you naked.”
“You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”
“I mean it,” he says. “Come back sometime, and maybe I’ll show you mine.” Laughing, he leans Frida against the door and kisses her.
* * *
The porcelain is cold against her tailbone. There are gray splotches on the top perimeter of the tub along the caulking, shadows from the mold that she scrubbed off a few days ago. Frida removes her glasses, rests flat on her back with her knees bent, hands clasped to her chest, nails digging into her palms. The family of yellers two doors down are outside smoking weed and clinking beer bottles. Loud white Americans taking up space. She never claimed her space. Gust used to tell her to stop apologizing, stop it with the Midwestern gosh-golly. But maybe some people weren’t meant to claim their space. She claimed it for two and a half hours and lost her baby.
She lifts her nightgown, thinking of the way Will looked at her when they said goodbye. She and Gust used to tease him, would make him demonstrate that look over dinner. How he reeled them in. The fuck-me glance. She could never give Gust that look without laughing. With them, it was always Gust’s hand on the back of her neck, Gust steering. She misses being a wife, being half of something. Mother and child isn’t the same, though she remembers thinking, when Harriet was born, that she’d never be alone again.
She almost followed Will back inside. When was the last time anyone besides Gust kissed her properly?
She needs to return to her room, let them observe her. She’s already been gone too long. But she wants a minute or two more. A minute to herself. Jump through the hoops, Renee said.
Frida runs her hands over her breasts and stomach. She pulls down her underwear and closes her eyes and rubs, making herself come again and again until she’s dizzy and limp. Until her mind is empty.