The Hunger Moon (29 page)

A
T FIRST WHEN SHE STOPPED EATING
, she kept it to herself. If she was planning to eat with Owen that night, she skipped breakfast and lunch. She couldn’t keep that up for long, though, almost fainting one day in class after she rose from a psychology lecture. So she bought herself some high protein diet drinks to sip from cans three times a day. Owen discovered them in her cupboard and held one out in front of her, dangling it from its plastic six-pack holder as if it were a dead animal.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’re dieting.”

“Well, I am,” June said.

“But June, you don’t need to.”

“I think that’s my business, don’t you?”

“This stuff isn’t even food.” Owen read her the list of chemical ingredients on the label, pronouncing them all correctly because he was a science major.

“Owen, excuse me, but whose body are we talking about here?”

He set his mouth in a superior, judging way, and put the can back in the cupboard. They returned to their homework without speaking.

It was worth it, though, to see her jeans gap around her waist, and to run her fingers over the shelf of bone her clavicle made. She
loved how her bones were rising out of her like another June.

She couldn’t tell Owen that the reason she had gained weight in the first place was because almost every time he left her, she paced her apartment nervously, her heart pounding, which set her off on an eating spell. The gauntness that had overtaken her following Mrs. MacGregor’s death had puffed into extra pounds as soon as she began dating him. One day after vomiting a food binge, June was alarmed to see blood. She decided that she had to stop throwing up. Hence, she needed to diet, to balance the times when she lost control. So far, it was working. Since she had been dieting, she had binged once, but overall she had lost eleven pounds.

June didn’t know why being with Owen would have this effect on her. There was nothing to fault him with. He was a completely nice guy. He told her how much he liked her; he bought her little surprise presents; he asked her about her day and listened when she told him. He worked hard and was putting himself through school. He earned good grades and was probably on his way to becoming a big success in life.

The problem was, he didn’t excite her. She had enjoyed his company on their first date, and then the second, and by the third time they went out together, she knew she should be more receptive when he slipped his arm around her shoulders. When she did kiss him good night, she had to think of something else to distract herself from the loose, fleshy feel of his lips. She wished they could just be friends; June really wanted a friend. But Owen was clearly hoping they would get serious. Not that he was pushing her; he was too nice for that. She began sleeping with him, feeling that he somehow deserved it. This turn of events made him ecstatic. June pretended to enjoy it, too.

O
N A
S
ATURDAY MORNING IN EARLY
M
ARCH
when Owen was at work, June swept out the apartment, carried the garbage to the Dumpster, and scrubbed the bathroom. An apartment as small as hers took even less time to clean than Mrs. M’s. June still missed Mrs. M., and Renata, too—for Renata seemed to have
forgotten all about her, never once calling her to baby-sit. It had wounded her to lose her job, though she knew that things had changed now that Bryan was around. But she wished she could see Charlie and Renata. Maybe she would call Renata, ask if she could drop by for a visit.

After she finished cleaning, she took a shower and changed from sweats into jeans. She hated all her clothes; they hung like sacks on her, now that she was down to a hundred and seven pounds. She needed to buy new ones, but she had no money to go shopping with. The last of her savings from baby-sitting had dwindled to a hundred dollars, and she was going to need that for groceries. There was no cash coming in after that, none at all, and she hadn’t had the energy to look for a new job. She hated to call her father for money, but it was time.

Of course she reached Melanie instead.

“June, what a surprise. Your father’s just gone out to meet some clients. Do you want him to call you later?”

“Yeah, that would be good.” June faltered. Was she supposed to try to have a conversation with Melanie out of politeness? Her father’s wife—June had never been able to say
stepmother
—had never shown much interest in her.

“How are you doing?” June asked.

“Just fine, June, and you? How’s school?”

“School’s okay.” Neither her father nor Melanie knew the first thing about her life. There was no point in going into any detail. “Are you feeling all right?” June asked. “You know, with the pregnancy and all?”

“Very well, thank you, June.”

Was that all she was going to say? Didn’t June count at all to be included? Couldn’t Melanie just tell her something about it?

“Dad said you’re having a boy.”

“That’s right, a little boy.”

June was getting angry. She remembered the surprised look her father had when she had used the words
my brother
. She could picture it magnified a hundred times on Melanie’s face in Chicago
as she held the phone with manicured nails in their lakefront condominium.

“I hope I get to spend some time with him after he’s born,” June said. “You know, since he’s my half-brother and all.”

The silence on the line was stabbing. She had said it only to irritate Melanie, but as soon as the words were out they seemed true. She wanted to know that baby.

“Why June, what a lovely notion,” Melanie said, smoothly recovering.

J
UNE DIDN’T EXPECT
O
WEN
until three. When he let himself in sometime before that, she was bent over the toilet bowl, vomiting up the last of the pound cake he had baked and left wrapped on the counter. He found her there, her hands gripping the freshly cleaned porcelain, her face an ugly twist of embarrassment.

His smile evaporated as he stared, then crouched by her in concern.

“June? You sick?”

She started to say yes, then began shaking her head no, faster and faster, until she stopped and sat back against the cold wall, her face buried in her sleeve.

“You’re not pregnant?”

That made her laugh, a little smothered sound.

He tried to hug her but she stayed bent over, rejecting his touch. He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “It’s food, isn’t it? You’re getting rid of food?”

No
, she wanted to say,
I mean yes
, but what she really meant was that the food wasn’t the point at all.

“Okay,” he said, patting her stiff shoulder. “Okay.” Not
It’s okay
, or
You’re okay
, because those words would not be true, June thought, just
Okay
. It was what he had to offer, all she would let him give.

R
ENATA WAS PERFECTLY POLITE TO
B
RYAN
when he came by to pick up Charlie for a trip to the playground on Sunday, the day after her birthday. She declined the invitation to accompany them. She was also cordial on Wednesday when he came to baby-sit, and noticed that he had adopted her tone of distant civility. By the week’s end, the civility was dissolving into simple distance. The tension grew more pronounced between them in the week that followed. Bryan showed up, stayed with Charlie while she worked, then went home. They talked only when necessary, and then in clipped, cool tones. On the weekend, Bryan didn’t mention taking Charlie on Sunday, and the day came and went without his call.

The next Wednesday he was twenty minutes late, and she was sure he was doing it to spite her. She fumed in silence, trying not to upset Charlie as he sat in her lap, fingering her black tie. The phone rang. She answered it in cold anger.

“Is Bryan there?” It was a woman’s voice—a girl’s voice, really—high and perky.

“No, he’s not,” Renata said with emphasis.

“Would you ask him to call Cindy? He left his portfolio here,
and I just wanted him to know so he wouldn’t think he lost it.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Renata was just finished scrawling “Call Cindy” on a note when Bryan showed up, breathless and apologetic.

“Forget it,” she said icily, handing him Charlie and heading toward the door. “You had a call,” she said, pointing to the note on the table.

F
INALLY ON
F
RIDAY SHE BROKE THE SILENCE
after work as he was getting ready to leave.

“Look, Bryan, I don’t think we can keep going on like this.”

“Like what?” he asked.

“You know exactly like what. This not-talking business.”

“This is your silence, if you recall. You’re calling the shots here, isn’t that right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This whole arrangement. I revolve my life around yours, jump when you say ‘Jump’, say ‘please’ and ‘ma’am.’ Mr. Step ’n’ Fetch It.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I never asked you to do anything for me. It would probably make my life a whole lot easier if you wouldn’t.”

“Fine.”

“What?”

“I said, fine. You tell me when I get to take Charlie for visits, and I’ll come by and pick him up. If you want to do fifty-fifty custody, that’s fine with me.”

“What are you
talking
about?” Renata’s heart was racing.

“I’m talking about what you’re talking about. Ending our arrangement, starting tomorrow. I certainly have other things to do with my evenings than hang out in your apartment. But don’t think I’m going to give up spending time with Charlie.”

“Bryan, you are not sharing custody!”

“Then we’ll work out some kind of visitation schedule. Something legal. I’ll pay you child support, and we’ll get a lawyer to
write it all down. You’ll have rights and I’ll have rights.”

Renata sat down, her pulse thudding in her ears.
Think, think
,

she said to herself.
Say the right thing
.

“Get out,” was what she finally thought of.

R
ENATA WAS UP UNTIL THREE
, drinking beer and pacing. The word
custody
kept torturing her. Charlie was hers. She was the one who would say when and if Bryan could see him. This wasn’t for lawyers to decide. It wasn’t their business. She was his mother.

She began to see that it was impossible to stay in the same town as Bryan. And that he had lied to her—he had no intention of going back to Los Angeles if she asked him to. As unfair as it was, she was the one who had to leave. Renata walked from her kitchen to her bedroom, her bedroom to her living room. She didn’t want to give up her apartment. It was her home. She had a good job. She didn’t want to start all over somewhere else. Then the word,
custody
.

Renata woke at eight, with a hangover and the sour taste of beer on her breath. Charlie was screaming at the top of his lungs, and she was still in her work clothes from last night, stretched out on top of the bed. She let the baby scream a minute more while she lay there, looking at the blank ceiling.

By ten she was showered and dressed, Charlie was bathed and dressed, and she had two bags packed. Charlie was gay as he faced the full-length mirror at Renata’s feet, patting his hands on the glass, saying
Hoo, hoo, hoo
, his mouth pursed in a small circle to kiss his reflection and then lean back to examine the mark he had made. Renata was trying to put on some makeup, but she couldn’t get it right.

At ten-fifteen, the intercom buzzed. It was June. Renata had forgotten June’s call, and the visit they had arranged for this morning. She looked at her watch. Oh, well, let her come up. It would be a chance to say good-bye.

When June appeared, Renata was shocked; her skin was white and papery, and she must have lost more than ten pounds since Renata saw her last.

“My God, June, are you starving yourself? You’re a skeleton!”

“I’ve had the flu,” June said, averting her eyes. She took in the two duffel bags, and the tote bag stuffed with diapers and baby food.

“You’re going away?” she said.

“For a few days,” Renata lied.

“You don’t have to work tonight?”

“Nope, day off. June, you’ve really got to build yourself back up. Are you eating now?”

“Of course I’m eating,” June said, bending down. “Come see me, Charlie. Look how big you are.” Charlie still couldn’t crawl, but he made creeping motions on the floor toward the toy June was holding in front of him. She picked him up and kissed his cheek. “I’ve missed you, buddy.” Charlie stuck the cracker he was dragging around in her mouth, and June pretended to nibble it.

“See, even Charlie thinks you should eat.”

“Now you sound like my mother.”

“Well, listen to her.”

“Where are you going?” June asked.

“Oh, maybe the Cape,” Renata said. In fact, she was heading to Maine, flirting with the idea of Canada.

“The Cape’s nice. We used to go there when I was a kid. It’ll still be cold there, though.”

“Where won’t it be cold in this goddamn climate?” Renata asked. She smiled sourly. “Sorry. But I’m sick of this winter.”