Heinz,’” she mimicked.
“Here goes the mouth.”
“Oh, come on, Victor. Does everything have to be such a big deal?”
“You’re the one who made it into a big deal. Why did you have to lie about it?”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“You said that nothing was different.”
“Oh God, Victor. Let’s just drop it!”
“Sure. Whenever you want to drop something, it just gets dropped.”
“You really want to fight about the tomato sauce?”
“It’s just your attitude, Donna. It’s the same old thing. What’s important to Victor is of no consequence. It’stoo trivial to discuss. Every day it’s the same damn thing.”
“You’re swearing,” she reminded him.
“Oh, I forgot. Only you’re allowed to swear.”
“Jesus Christ, Victor,” she burst out, “you make me so mad! ‘Every day it’s the same damn thing!’” she said, going over his words.
“If that’s what you say.”
“That’s what
you
said! Word for word you said, ‘Every day it’s the same damn thing.’”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Well, you did. Then I told you you were swearing.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot. I’m not allowed to swear. Just you.”
“Nobody said that.” She was crying.
“Get a Kleenex, Donna.”
“No.”
“Fine. Don’t get a Kleenex.”
Silence.
“Aren’t you going to finish your supper?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, fine. I make shepherd’s pie especially for you—”
“Don’t do things especially for me, Donna. It’s not worth the price I have to pay.”
“I like doing things especially for you,” she found herself pleading.
“Maybe. But somehow they never come out the way I like them, do they?”
Just enough truth. She felt the sharp tug at her cheek.
Later, with the apologies still fresh in the air, his following hers (“I’m sorry, too,” with such world-weary resignation), his arm around her shoulders, lying side by side in bed, her eyes almost closed to sleep, he spoke. “I don’t understandhow you could run out of something like tomato paste. Didn’t you go shopping the other day?”
“I forgot to get some.” She moved away from him and flopped onto her left side like a giant whale.
“How could you forget? Didn’t you make a list?”
“No, I never make lists. Please let me get some sleep.”
“No wonder you never have anything! No wonder you’re so disorganized! Eureka, I have found it! How can you not make a list?”
“I’ll make a list,” Donna said. “Now please, let me get some sleep.”
“How could you not make a list?” he repeated. Even with her back turned and her eyes closed, she knew he was shaking his head.
At three A.M. her water broke and the bed was instantly soaking wet. Victor leaped frantically from the bed. “Jesus Christ, what did you do?”
Donna simply smiled at him, her smile a mixture of excitement and perverse satisfaction. Serves him right, she thought, and then immediately felt guilty.
In the end, she had to have a Caesarian section. The doctor had prepared them for that possibility a month before, telling them that the baby was in a breech position and while there was still a good possibility that it would turn itself around, they should be prepared for surgery if it became necessary.
Donna spent twenty-six hours in labor before the doctor decided it was necessary. She and Victor had more than enough time to get her breathing down to perfection, with Victor breathing along beside her the whole time, telling her jokes, encouraging her, wetting her lips with the spongehe had remembered to bring (part of their prenatal instructions), rubbing her back almost constantly.
Donna coped quite well, the excitement she was feeling being sufficient at first to take her mind off the pain. After fifteen hours in labor, no food and no sleep, she began to feel less excitement, more pain. “I’m getting a little tired of this,” she announced to Victor. He kissed her forehead and continued to rub her back.
At the
“Here goes the mouth.”
“Oh, come on, Victor. Does everything have to be such a big deal?”
“You’re the one who made it into a big deal. Why did you have to lie about it?”
“I wasn’t lying.”
“You said that nothing was different.”
“Oh God, Victor. Let’s just drop it!”
“Sure. Whenever you want to drop something, it just gets dropped.”
“You really want to fight about the tomato sauce?”
“It’s just your attitude, Donna. It’s the same old thing. What’s important to Victor is of no consequence. It’stoo trivial to discuss. Every day it’s the same damn thing.”
“You’re swearing,” she reminded him.
“Oh, I forgot. Only you’re allowed to swear.”
“Jesus Christ, Victor,” she burst out, “you make me so mad! ‘Every day it’s the same damn thing!’” she said, going over his words.
“If that’s what you say.”
“That’s what
you
said! Word for word you said, ‘Every day it’s the same damn thing.’”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Well, you did. Then I told you you were swearing.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot. I’m not allowed to swear. Just you.”
“Nobody said that.” She was crying.
“Get a Kleenex, Donna.”
“No.”
“Fine. Don’t get a Kleenex.”
Silence.
“Aren’t you going to finish your supper?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, fine. I make shepherd’s pie especially for you—”
“Don’t do things especially for me, Donna. It’s not worth the price I have to pay.”
“I like doing things especially for you,” she found herself pleading.
“Maybe. But somehow they never come out the way I like them, do they?”
Just enough truth. She felt the sharp tug at her cheek.
Later, with the apologies still fresh in the air, his following hers (“I’m sorry, too,” with such world-weary resignation), his arm around her shoulders, lying side by side in bed, her eyes almost closed to sleep, he spoke. “I don’t understandhow you could run out of something like tomato paste. Didn’t you go shopping the other day?”
“I forgot to get some.” She moved away from him and flopped onto her left side like a giant whale.
“How could you forget? Didn’t you make a list?”
“No, I never make lists. Please let me get some sleep.”
“No wonder you never have anything! No wonder you’re so disorganized! Eureka, I have found it! How can you not make a list?”
“I’ll make a list,” Donna said. “Now please, let me get some sleep.”
“How could you not make a list?” he repeated. Even with her back turned and her eyes closed, she knew he was shaking his head.
At three A.M. her water broke and the bed was instantly soaking wet. Victor leaped frantically from the bed. “Jesus Christ, what did you do?”
Donna simply smiled at him, her smile a mixture of excitement and perverse satisfaction. Serves him right, she thought, and then immediately felt guilty.
In the end, she had to have a Caesarian section. The doctor had prepared them for that possibility a month before, telling them that the baby was in a breech position and while there was still a good possibility that it would turn itself around, they should be prepared for surgery if it became necessary.
Donna spent twenty-six hours in labor before the doctor decided it was necessary. She and Victor had more than enough time to get her breathing down to perfection, with Victor breathing along beside her the whole time, telling her jokes, encouraging her, wetting her lips with the spongehe had remembered to bring (part of their prenatal instructions), rubbing her back almost constantly.
Donna coped quite well, the excitement she was feeling being sufficient at first to take her mind off the pain. After fifteen hours in labor, no food and no sleep, she began to feel less excitement, more pain. “I’m getting a little tired of this,” she announced to Victor. He kissed her forehead and continued to rub her back.
At the
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