Other People We Married Read Online Free PDF Page B

Claire said. She didn’t have shoes on, and placed her palms over the tops of her feet, as though that would protect them from the ills of the outside world.
    “I’m sure Sebastian will be fine.” Vivian sat on the next step down, and tucked her legs up against her chest. The sun warmed the parts of their hair.
    “I meant my husband.”
    “Oh. Him, too.” Vivian smiled. It was like being girlfriends, sitting this way. They could have braided each other’s hair and sold lemonade, or smoked furtive cigarettes.
    “It’s just that, no matter how hard he tries, he’s never going to love Sebastian enough. It’s physical. I mean, I know that sounds bad, but how can he expect to feel what I feel?” Claire stared across the street at nothing in particular. Her jaw hung heavily, pulling her mouth slightly open.
    “And how do you feel?” Vivian asked, following Claire’s stare to the opposite sidewalk.
    “I don’t know,” Claire said. She wasn’t sure if this counted as one of their sessions, or if they were just having a conversation. “Like a rock. Or maybe like something at the bottom of the ocean.” She stuck out her tongue and made a noise. “MaybeI should start going back to yoga.” Claire picked up a twig and started poking her big toe.
    “Do you want to know about Rosemary?” Vivian said, finally.
    Claire inhaled. “Yes,” she said, finally turning her face toward Vivian.
    “Well,” Vivian said, and started. She told Claire how Rosemary had understood that it was her time, and that it would be easier on the family if she went away. Claire recognized the kind of story Vivian was telling her. It was the same kind of story she used to whisper toward her own belly button, when Sebastian was still inside. It was a fairy tale, full of hope. Vivian was telling her something she wanted to believe.
    “So she’s dead,” Claire said, cutting Vivian off.
    “Well, yes, I think so.” Vivian looked startled. She wanted to keep talking.
    Claire bent her knees and stood up, brushing off her jeans. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” Then she turned around and went back inside. Vivian heard the locks click intoplace.

A Map of Modern
Palm Springs
    T he Palm Springs airport was more outside than inside, all sun-soaked breezeways and squinting white people in golf shirts. I waited for my sister at the door to her gate, stretching my pasty calves into a patch of direct light, the first light of any kind my legs had seen all winter. It was February, and I’d only barely remembered to shave in preparation for the trip. Of course, Abigail would have noticed that first, my prickly legs. She wouldn’t even have said anything—just given a long, slow look.
    I rarely flew, but the trip from New York had been easy enough. I’d had a window seat, and the women sitting next to me had chatted amiably to each other the entire way about the fitness conference they were both attending that weekend. When Abigail arrived, I’d tell her all about it—the booths!The demonstrations! The great strides in moisture-wicking fabric! But no, Abigail wouldn’t care about that. Abigail wouldn’t even think it was funny. Once she’d started meditating, Abigail’s sense of humor had vanished.
Moisture-wicked right out of her body
, I thought, and started to laugh to myself, already goofy from the heat. I cupped my hands around my eyes and waggled my feet back and forth in my sneakers, making little semicircles on the dusty concrete.
    “What are you doing? You look like a crazy person, Dumbo.” Abigail stood in front of me, blocking the sun. I looked up, my hand in salute position. My sister was coming from Los Angeles, a puddle jumper, if the desert was a puddle. She was already dressed for the weather, in loose, light layers that floated around her body like a hippie nimbus. Even her hair looked well rested, her soft blondish curls bouncing up and down from her shoulders, sprung springs.
    This was the first vacation of its kind: no