Showing 2 posts tagged Union Square
An excerpt from the short story, “Union Square,” forthcoming in Gris-Gris
Jack had always called her a Manhattan girl, but she was never sure exactly what that entailed. She knew, though, he meant it derisively. She thought of that as she walked up and down the aisle of mothering books and had the urge to call him. He wouldn’t answer, she knew. There was little to say between them. Their marriage had ended with very few words. You’re so young, her mother would say. You’ll bounce back. Elizabeth pressed her hand on the right side of her belly. There was movement. She knew she could bounce back, that she probably would. No part of her wanted to be a single mother.
She found the book, opened it. Already, she felt alienated: the introduction was littered with words like “spouse” and “partner” and “traveling companion.” All of those things were gone, and it was her fault. She knew that now. Jack had been afraid, and he tried, he did, to tell her. She just couldn’t hear him then. The pages of the book felt coarse and new, and she bent the spine, creased it, to make it look worn. She turned the book over and read the back cover: “where life is no longer neatly divided,” it said; that was motherhood, nothing she could control. Elizabeth felt flushed and closed her eyes. In all the uncertainty, she knew one thing: she didn’t want to be a mother without Jack. A sense of hysteria filled her, and her head again grew light. After eight months, Elizabeth could still feel Jack, bittersweet, on her tongue.
