you’re leaving,’ she said dully, when she could push her parched lips into words again.
‘I’d like to,’ he said softly. He reached for her hand again, but she moved so she was facing forward, away from him, her ankles crossed primly, hands folded in her lap, as though she were waiting to be served at a particularly stuffy tea party.
‘But we were supposed to get married,’ she whispered.
‘And we will, of course we will. I’m not saying that at all. But I’d be a fool to turn this down. You can see that, can’t you?’ His voice was pleading, but she turned away.
‘When are you going?’
‘I haven’t said I am, as of yet. But I could start at the beginning of the third term, just after Easter.’
‘Your contract here goes through the end of the year, doesn’t it? You’re just going to break your contract?’
‘Rose, don’t be like that. Please hear me out. I want you to come with me.’
Rose turned her head towards him and barked a short, harsh laugh. ‘To England? You want me to come to England with you? You have got to be kidding, Jonathan. I have a job. I have a life here. I’m not like you. I don’t get to go globe-hopping every time I get a whim.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?’ he asked, recoiling from the bite. Our Rose, whose tongue more poisons than the adder’s tooth! He rubbed his hands quickly on his knees and stood up, rumpling his hair impatiently. ‘It could be good for us – for both of us. For me, yes, but for you, too. You haven’t got a job past next year, right?’
‘Is this supposed to make me feel better?’ Rose had been told this spring, in no uncertain terms, that her adjunct contract wouldn’t be renewed after this year. No hard feelings, nothing personal, but they hadn’t any tenure-track positions open, and it was so important to keep the department adjuncts fresh, to keep the curriculum vital, you know. Yes, Rose had thought sourly, and because you can keep milling through those brand-new PhDs and never have to give them a penny more than you think you can get away with. The thought of having to find a new job paralysed her, the thought of being without a job paralysed her, and she was highly tempted to stick her fingers in her ears and sing until the entire thing blew over.
‘I don’t know about better. But I’d hoped you’d be at least a little happy for me.’
She looked up at him, his eyes sad and wounded, and she crumbled a little. ‘I am. I’m sorry. But it’s so big . . . It’s such a huge change from what we were planning.’
‘We always knew we’d have to consider it, love. My position here is only temporary, you know that.’
‘But I thought maybe . . .’ Rose didn’t want to say what she had thought. She’d just assumed that he would give up this fancy academic jet-setting and find something nearby, something where she wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Where she wouldn’t have to change at all. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
‘Oh, Rose, I’m sorry, too. Let’s not talk about it any more. Let’s just enjoy being together for a bit.’
He came over to her and put his arms around her and kissed her, and that did only a little to soothe the ache inside where her heart had been bruised. So that was it. He wouldn’t stay, and she wouldn’t – couldn’t – go. It was ridiculous to even think about it.
His hands were in her hair, slowly pulling the pins out and letting it fall down her back the way he liked it, stroking the tresses the way she liked it, the gentle pull against her scalp so soothing. She wasn’t paying attention. Bean and Cordy were sitting on her shoulders, whispering in her ears like a cartoon devil and angel. Or two devils, really. ‘You could go if you wanted to, Rosie,’ our youngest sister said. ‘Just pick up and go. It’s not so hard. I do it all the time.’
‘What are you afraid of?’ Bean mocked. ‘Don’t want to leave your glamorous life behind?’
Okay, so it wasn’t a glamorous life. But it was important. She was important. We needed her. Didn’t we?
Bean and Cordy didn’t answer. Bean was adjusting her horns, and Cordy was chasing her own forked tail. You need me, Rose thought fiercely. They turned away.
‘Hush,’ Jonathan said, as though he could hear the busy spinning of Rose’s thoughts, and he kissed her, and we fell off her shoulders as though we’d been physically brushed aside.
ACT II
Setting : Interior, the Golden Dragon, a small Chinese restaurant a few towns over, famed more for its convenience than its cuisine. Also the site of an infamous embarrassment for Bean, aged eight, in which she devoured a sweet and sour pork entrée all by herself and then regurgitated the entire thing tidily into the mouth of a fake dragon hidden behind a plant, certain it would never be found there. Characters : Rose, Jonathan, our father, our mother.
They sat around the table, the four of them, sharing dishes and companionable chatter. Tea steamed in tiny cups, and Rose was fumbling with her chopsticks, envying Jonathan’s easy grace with the infernal things.
‘We have something to tell you,’ our father said, clearing his throat.
Rose looked up quickly, warily. This was the sort of announcement that had preceded the game-changing births of both Bean and Cordy. Whatever the news was, it wasn’t bound to be good.
Our father cleared his throat again, but it was our mother who spoke, leaping in, tearing off the conversational Band-Aid. ‘I have breast cancer,’ she said.
The ice in Rose’s throat grew solid, and she grabbed for her still-scalding cup of tea, taking a long swallow, letting the liquid burn away the freeze inside her, leaving a bubble on her tongue she would feel every time she spoke for the next few days. There was silence. The few other diners in the restaurant kept eating, oblivious.
‘Mom,’ Rose finally said. ‘Are you sure?’
Our mother nodded. ‘It’s early, you see. But I found a lump – what was it, a month ago?’ She looked at our father for confirmation, the quiet ease of cooperative conversation they had developed years ago. He nodded.
‘A month ago?’ Rose’s voice cracked. She set down her teacup, hand shaking. ‘Why didn’t you call me? I could have . . .’ She trailed off, unsure of what she could have done. But she could have done something. She could have taken care of this. She took care of everything. How had she missed this? A month, they’d been going to doctors and having quiet conversations between themselves, and she hadn’t seen it at all?
‘We’ve been to the oncologist, and it’s malignant. It doesn’t look like it’s spread, but it’s quite large. So they’re going to do a round of chemotherapy before surgery. Shrink it down a bit. And then . . .’ Our mother’s voice caught and trembled for a moment, as though the meaning behind the clinical words had only just become clear to her, and she swallowed and took a breath. ‘And then a mastectomy. You know, just get the whole problem dealt with.’ She said this as though it were something she had woken up and decided to do on a relative lark. Like going on a cruise, say, or taking up tennis.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Jonathan said. He reached across the table and put his hand over our mother’s, squeezed. He was so elegant
