“And Julia?”
Julia is obsessed with bugs. She skins her knees; she collects moths in a jar. She flips through old copies of National Geographic sitting upside down on the sofa, so her hair hangs down to the floor and her feet kick absentmindedly near the headrests. Rosa is scandalized; her meager efforts not to show it only serve to accentuate the purse of her lips, the small disparaging shake of her head. “Julia is like a wild animal,” says Sofia. Julia still burrows into Sofia and Saul’s bed some nights, though she is always gone by the time they wake up. “She’s amazing,” says Sofia, though she is torn, as she always is, between the world in which Julia needs Sofia and the world in which Sofia needs herself. This is something Sofia has never been able to navigate smoothly, so she oscillates: coming home after Julia is asleep every night for a week and then taking her to Coney Island for the day, snapping at Julia about something small and then buying her the stuffed animal, the ice cream for dinner. Sofia marvels at Julia, but she is scared constantly: that she will lose herself in the love she feels, or that Julia will not reciprocate it and Sofia will have thrown her love into a void. She knows in her heart of hearts that working has not made her a worse parent; still, there are only so many unwritten expectations one can defy before questioning one’s own instincts.
“How’s Robbie?”
Robbie is sensitive. He is creative and full of love, but he is unstable in a way Antonia has never been unstable. He has not inherited Antonia’s even keel; he has her self-awareness, her expanding and generous consciousness for everything around her, but he has Paolo’s misery when things don’t go smoothly. The smallest setback can derail him. She feels like the heart of her family, the only thing holding it together.
“Tonia?”
“He’s fine,” says Antonia.
Silence descends. Antonia and Sofia chew their sandwiches. Antonia can feel herself shrinking under Sofia’s gaze, even as inside of her, cells divide, and she grows.
“How long before you have to be back for Robbie?” asks Sofia, and if Antonia wasn’t otherwise distracted this question would send her into fury: Julia and Robbie go to the same school; they get home at the same time. Sofia has abdicated the realm of normal motherhood, of responsibility, of knowing what’s in the fridge, where the lost shoe is, which comb won’t yank the hair out as it brushes.
“I’m pregnant,” is what Antonia says in response.
Now Sofia puts down her sandwich. “Tonia, congratulations,” she says. She is warm and expansive. She wants Antonia to be happy.
Antonia begins to cry. She holds her napkin to her face and shakes, as quietly as she can.
“Tonia,” says Sofia, quietly now, urgently, “what is it.”
Antonia stops crying by sheer force of will. She holds her brimming eyes as still as possible and opens her sandwich to tear a piece of pastrami into thin strips. She watches the pink juice well up.
“Tonia,” says Sofia.
“Do you remember how this went, last time?” asks Antonia.
“I remember,” says Sofia.
“I’m worried I’ll disappear this time,” says Antonia.
“You won’t,” says Sofia.
“I’ve been worried for months,” says Antonia.
“Worried,” repeats Sofia.
“I’ve been worried, I guess, that I’ve made all the wrong choices.”
“What choices?”
“I should have gone to university.” Antonia dips pastrami in mustard.
“You still could,” says Sofia.
“I’m worried—I’m worried I shouldn’t have married—so young. I’m worried there were other options, and I didn’t even consider them. And now I can’t. Consider them.”
“Of course you can,” says Sofia, and then, “What kind of options?” She is unnerved. Antonia, the metronome of Sofia’s world, seems to be rocking faster and faster.
“My mamma never wanted me to marry into the Family,” says Antonia. “And she’s so—she just does things at exactly her own speed now, have you noticed that?”
“Yes,” says Sofia. And then, quietly, “I really admire her.”
“I don’t, usually!” says Antonia, stomping her foot on the floor so hard the plates jump in their trays on the table. She looks around; lowers her voice. “I don’t. I think I would be lonely. There are things to do in the world, and I want to do them.” Antonia pauses. She can feel her heart racing. She can feel her mouth moving, faster than her thoughts. “But I don’t know if I thought this life through. You know since Saul was promoted Paolo won’t be, for years now? Change happens slowly. And I’m happy. I’m fortunate. I’m fortunate. But we’ve been in that apartment for a long time.” Antonia chews on her straw. “Even Frankie works, you know.”