Magnetism Read online

  This evening we’re going out to eat and I take a shower and get changed before we meet Mom and Dad, as arranged. The lodge steakhouse was only good for one meal, and that was last night. I’m hoping we might have something better tonight. We saw the restaurant when we drove through the town trying to find the motel. It’s only a short walk away. There’s country-and-western music playing and the five of us slide into a booth, Kimberly gets sandwiched between Chip and me. The room is square and the walls are woodclad except for one, which is entirely taken up with a mural. Mom and Dad have their backs to the painting, and neither Chip nor Kimberly appears to notice it, but I am mesmerised. The picture depicts Joseph Smith, in bed in his nightshirt, in earnest discussion with the Angel Moroni, who is looming over him. Not only is the content disconcerting, so is the shocking lack of artistry; it’s like a terrible cartoon. Angel Moroni resembles Superman.

  For a moment I don’t realise that Dad is trying to make conversation with Kimberly. Then I hear Chip say, ‘Go on, tell Grampy what you like best about school.’

  ‘I’m not a dwarf,’ Dad says.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with dwarves,’ Chip says, picking up the menu to show it to Kimberly. He lifts it so that it’s a big plastic wall between them and us.

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ Mom says from beyond the barrier.

  ‘I don’t like school,’ Kimberly says.

  Mom says, ‘You can call me Grandma, Kimmy, I don’t mind.’

  ‘Don’t call her Kimmy,’ I say.

  ‘Have you taken any steps with the adoption?’ This is Dad.

  Chip says, ‘Kimberly has a mother already,’

  ‘We’re not adopting,’ I say. Dad is not referring to Kimberly but to a conversation Mom and I had last week, one we had before Chip called me Joanne in his sleep. I had said to her that maybe we’d look into adoption or something, that I wanted Chip and I to bring up a child together, our child. Mom must have told Dad. I think what I wanted was something that would tie Chip to me more than marriage. Something that he couldn’t escape, even if he wanted to – that was the thing with having a child together.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Dad says. ‘But an adopted child would become just like your own in time.’ He pushes his glasses up his nose. They’re always sliding down, and I’ve noticed that he only pushes them up when he’s about to make a point.

  ‘She’s happy being a stepmother,’ Mom says. ‘And that’s fine. You’re happy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Very happy. Ecstatic.’

  I am really hoping that all this crap is going over Chip’s head. This whole family vacation thing was a dumb idea. Why did I think we could pull it off? The more we pretend to be a family, the more we aren’t.

  Dad twists on the seat to get his wallet out and pulls out a business card. He slides it face down across the table to me. ‘Hang on to this,’ he says. The card feels slimy, which, when I turn it over, is apt. He’s passed me Uncle Jack’s business card. ‘You might need it,’ he says.

  Finally, the food comes and we can eat and drink and forget this discussion. Chip doesn’t ask anything of me on the way back along the road and up to our room. Kimberly is sleepy and he tucks her into the too-tight rollaway bed. They forgo the nightly phone call and I’m grateful. Now he looks at me with a disappointed expression, but still says nothing, and I feel like I’m lying, even though I’ve not said anything untrue to him.

  1983

  The Egg

  ‘You know motherhood is not all it’s cracked up to be.’

  This is Mom trying to be helpful. We are in a bridal shop, sitting on red velvet upholstered chairs watching models demonstrate the dresses. It’s much easier than trying them on. We’ve been doing this for years, in various shops across the city, because it’s a good way to get a free glass of champagne and spend time away from real life, like going to a movie. This time, though, it’s for real. The same week that I’ve been told I am unlikely ever to conceive a child, I am choosing my wedding outfit.

  Mom has taken the news about my infertility well. However, Chip, the man I am to marry, has yet to be told.

  ‘Maybe you don’t have to tell him,’ Mom says. ‘What a person doesn’t know can’t hurt them. But I think you should. I’m going on record one hundred per cent to say that you should tell him … Being tall helps,’ is the next thing she says, straight away, as if to erase her earlier statement.

  ‘Chip isn’t very tall.’

  ‘Everything looks better on women who are tall.’ She is looking doubtfully at a girl significantly younger than me, and who looks, up there on the little platform, more than a foot taller. ‘Is the first wife going to be there?’

  ‘No, but there’s no ill feeling. Joanne’s okay with it.’

  ‘Um,’ she says. ‘The kid?’

  ‘Maybe the kid. Not sure.’

  ‘At least he’s had one already.’

  Can’t she be sympathetic? Does she ever think about what the things she says might sound like to those of us who have to listen? ‘I’d have liked a child,’ I finally say. ‘I really would.’

  ‘Would you, honey? Of course.’ She waves the model away and finally turns to look at me. ‘Have they said definitely?’

  She knows this but I tell her again anyway that yes, pretty much they have.

  ‘What about freezing an egg or something?’

  ‘It’s not like going to the freezer and getting one out.’

  ‘What is it, the kid? A girl?’ she says.

  She knows this too. I nod.

  ‘She should be there. You can bond with her. Make her a bridesmaid. No, don’t. Child bridesmaids always look so … I don’t know – so desperate.’ She turns to look at the new girl who has just come in, wearing some shapeless short shift-type dress. The only thing that makes it a wedding dress is that it’s white. ‘Now that would suit you.’ She points.

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Well, they could fix it up. At least we’re not buying at the wrong time. The dress will fit. Actually, you might want to talk to Dr Dan. There’s a gorgeous you in there wanting to come out. I just know it.’ Mom has been on Dr Dan’s diet plan that includes injections of some shit, and, ingestion, I’m sure, of ordinary street-quality speed. She’s lost twenty pounds in a month and perhaps a bit of her memory. She pats her stomach to remind me that now she’s the skinnier one of the two of us.

  What I want to say is that I am this person, now, in front of her, not someone else waiting to come out and surprise us. God forbid I be a clone of her, or even an extension of her, but I don’t say that. I say, ‘I think Dr Dan is sleazy. He’s scumbag-level sleazy,’ and she just shrugs.

  In bed that night I try to decide how Chip, lying beside me now, will feel about my news. Will he ask lots of questions? Will he believe me when I tell him, truthfully, that this is not a result of a past botched abortion?

  He shuts himself down to go to sleep. He does this thing every night and he does it now. Right before he goes to sleep Chip punches the pillow lightly, and sighs and turns over to face the wall. He always sleeps soundly and wakes easily when the alarm goes off, whereas I always fight sleep and then, if I do sleep, I have to be dragged to wakefulness in the morning.

  I make myself take deep, slow breaths. I count the flow in and the release out. Without obvious movement, I tense and relax my thighs, my stomach and my arms. I go over what the doctor said, again. It’s not as if I wasn’t some way prepared for the news. At some level, for a long time I’d known something was wrong.

  I guess I’d found it difficult, but not impossible, to imagine our wedding that is shortly to take place. With courage, I’ve chosen a wedding dress, have committed a date to St Luke’s Episcopalian church downtown, and have booked time off work for our honeymoon. I’ve sent out invitations and accepted presents at my bridal shower. The marriage is all done except for the transaction.

  But my obsessive longing for a baby is like a physical ache that alcohol and analgesics c
annot alleviate.

  ‘Absent is a strong word,’ the doctor had said to me more than two years ago, about my fallopian tubes. ‘Demolished describes our findings a bit better.’

  ‘Demolished?’ I’d asked, thinking in what world is that word milder than absent. ‘Did any dye get through?’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ll be aware of this new technique called in vitro fertilisation and I think it holds lots of possibilities. It’s the treatment we should go for, when you’re ready, of course.’ He went on to explain that ‘ready’ meant a stable relationship and strong desire to undergo procedures designed to challenge it.

  With Chip I had met the prerequisite requirement, and so I’d booked my appointment with confident optimism, but the most recent consult with my new OB-GYN man, to talk over all the tests they’d done, had informed me that over the last couple of years the unexplained depletion in my eggs, even with hormone treatment, meant harvesting sufficient numbers for IVF was a long shot. That was how he explained it, after questioning the veracity of the previous guy’s investigations. ‘Long shot. Was always going to be a hell of a long shot. You have to think whether or not it’s worth trying at all. On balance, I’d advise against.’

  Now, in bed, Chip asleep beside me, I am bereft, and feel as if what the doctor really meant was that my entire life has been a long shot. A risk. Enormous gaping gaps are everywhere ready for me to slip through. I see holes in everything now, waiting to swallow me, because, really, if I can’t have a child, if my body has failed me like this, can I do anything right? I might as well admit it: my whole life has been a mistake.

  I realise how easy it would be to turn into one of those women who tries to kidnap an infant. I confess I have thought about what kind of security they have in place in maternity wards and whether or not I could pretend to be an aunt and get hold of someone else’s baby that way.

  I want to be a parent. Shouldn’t anyone who wants to be a parent and who is responsible and could give a child a good life be allowed the opportunity to do this? But I don’t think I’ll ever be allowed to adopt. It’s sad, but I’m not even likely to be a proper step-parent either. I don’t know his daughter Kimberly at all, because the truth is there is ill feeling. Joanne doesn’t want her daughter to spend any time with him when I’m around.

  A mother is never alone. Joanne will not be alone, even without Chip. He told me the reason they broke up was because he was ‘moving on’ and she didn’t want to. Chip deals with things in a very straightforward way and this practical streak was the first thing in him that I admired. He likened his relationship to Joanne to a car that wouldn’t start and had to be left behind. I remember a conversation I had with Mom, about him. ‘You can just take what Chip says at face value,’ I told her. ‘No pussy-footing around. No guesswork. He’s plain and straightforward.’

  ‘So that’s interesting, is it?’ she said.

  The truth is I know he’ll understand about me not being able to have a child. He’ll be okay. It’s just me that’s the problem. I can’t deliver the news because I don’t want it to be true. If I say it, it’s real.

  We have decided that we will leave it up to Kimberly whether or not she wants to be a bridesmaid, but here in the darkness I decide that I don’t want one. Mom is right. It’s a terrible idea.

  Next morning, as I make strong coffee, I decide that I must tell him, now, before I’ve had the news such a long time that it’s stale and he has reason to be annoyed that I didn’t tell him earlier.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I say.

  This doesn’t get the response it gets in books and films. He doesn’t even look up.

  ‘I’ve been to the doctor.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ Now he looks at his watch.

  I should just tell him. But, though I don’t want him to be upset, I do want him to care, so I decide I won’t tell him now. I’ll wait for a more appropriate time when we can discuss it properly, rather than rush out the door for work. That would be better.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Do you think I should go on a diet?’

  Finally he looks at me. His gaze runs up and down my body. ‘Maybe,’ he says.

  The low-cut princess line in ivory satin looked very elegant on the model. Heavy material, lots of drape. It is there on the hanger staring at me now, waiting. There is a three-way mirror in this room and I don’t want my tentative illusion of beauty wiped out prematurely so I shut my eyes when I get down to my bra and panties.

  The sales assistant doesn’t say anything as she helps me hoist the dress over my head and down over my body. As she begins to fasten all the countless buttons at the back I take my first peek and it’s not too bad. As instructed, I am wearing skyscraper heels, so that helps the overall effect. Unfortunately, Chip, at five foot seven, will now look like a midget next to me. I know I should say something today, while the hem can still be taken up to allow me to wear flatter heels, but I don’t. With a wedding it’s every man for himself. Chip can invest in a pair of lifts if he wants to.

  The dress is to be boxed. Pale pink tissue paper crinkles luxuriously as the assistant places my wedding dress carefully inside. She smooths the tissue between folds of fabric, and lays it over the top before putting the lid on. ‘It’s going to be fabulous. You’ll look great.’

  I wish I had her optimism. ‘Thanks – and for all your help.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ she says. It’s true. It’s easy to see that she enjoys working in this hopeful place. She’s got a huge smile and very optimistic manner. Then I notice that she’s not wearing a wedding band. She only ever sees the before.

  The rehearsal is a simple walk-through, but daunting because of the echo in the otherwise empty building. Pastor David is charming; he is not being sarcastic when he says not to worry about the fact that Chip and I have never been there before. He’s clearly proud of the building, which is impressive, and, presumably he’s also pleased with the donation that Dad is making.

  When he air-kisses me hello Chip’s dad smells the tiniest bit of drink, or perhaps cheap aftershave, and his mother looks very anxious. She greets Mom by saying, ‘So, here we are losing our babies.’

  I’m waiting for Mom to remind her that her son has already been married and divorced, but she doesn’t. I’m amazed, and relieved, when Mom says, perfectly, ‘I know.’

  In front of the others, Pastor David has a brief interview with Chip and me and I discover that Chip’s first name is actually Joseph. Mom, behinds us, claps when Pastor David suggests that it would be appropriate to use Chip’s proper name for the service, and now that he knows he has an alternative name I reckon Dad will always call him Joe.

  I think the rehearsal meal goes just fine. Chip and his mom talk about Kimberly. Mom talks about Mah Jongg, which she’s learning to play. Dad is quiet, as usual. I drink a lot and so does Chip’s dad.

  On the morning of the wedding I put on the dress and become the bride. Then Mom leaves me to go down to the church first, with the best man, Truck, who will walk her up the aisle and to her seat. Dad and I watch from the front door as she gamely climbs up into the pickup. The plan is that she’ll check the flowers, fuss Pastor David and then hide out in the vestry until everyone arrives. We’ll meet her there, near the side entrance, and she’ll help me put on the veil.

  Once she’s gone with Truck, Dad pours us both a shot of bourbon in the den. He holds my hand and tells me that he’s always tried to be a good father.

  ‘And you are, Dad.’

  ‘I hope so. I know it’s not always been perfect. Your Mom can be a bit crazy, but I don’t blame her. She had a tough time of it before we met and I blame me, really. We were young when we decided to get married. We weren’t well suited. It was a long time ago — ’

  ‘Not now, Dad, please. Not today.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Then we both down our drinks before going out to the limousine, which stinks of cigarette smoke. As we settle back, I wish I hadn’t so rudely cut across whatever Dad wanted to say. He and I
never really talk, and it would be good if we did, so when we are stopped at the first set of traffic lights I decide to confide in him. I blurt out, ‘You know, Dad, what you said about being married … well, I can’t have kids and I think I haven’t told Chip.’

  There’s a moment when he doesn’t reply. I wonder if he hasn’t heard me, so I’m just about to repeat it when he says, ‘You think you haven’t? Did you tell him or not? You can’t go into this without full disclosure. It’s not fair.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘Call him. Call him now.’

  ‘I haven’t got my cell.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he swears. I see the driver’s eyes check us out in the rear-view mirror. ‘Did your mother think this kind of stunt was a good idea?’ he says, rubbing his bony knuckles.

  ‘Don’t, Dad, please,’ I say. ‘Mom told me to tell him. Really, she did; it’s my fault. And it’s all too late. But he’s got one kid already. He probably doesn’t want another one, not really, so it doesn’t matter if I can’t have kids. I could always try to get an egg and freeze it. Maybe — ’

  ‘Maybe doesn’t count,’ he says. ‘You should have told him.’ He says something else about Chip, then neither of us says anything more on the ride to the church.

  As planned, when we get there Mom is waiting in the vestry. I quickly tell her that Dad thinks I should have told Chip my news, but that I haven’t, that I knew I should have but there hadn’t been the right time.

  ‘You should have told him,’ she says.

  Dad is shaking his head. ‘What a mess. What a crock of shit.’ Then we all at the same time notice that Truck is with us, and he’s looking very worried.

  Dad takes charge. ‘You,’ he says, ‘take a hike.’

  When he’s gone, Dad tells us both to sit down. At this, Mom glares at him. I don’t think she will obey, but she does. Then Pastor David appears at the door. I wonder if maybe Truck sent him. Dad tells him to come in, that we’ve got a moral dilemma brewing, maybe we are in need of some spiritual advice here, but what he actually says is, ‘maybe we need a spiritual device here.’