Flesh and blood by Michael Cunningham

Author:Michael Cunningham [Michael Cunningham]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Roman
ISBN: 9780312426682
Published: 2007-04-17T07:44:58+00:00

Her mother called early one morning the following September. “Hi, honey,” she said in a cheerfully haggard voice, and Susan knew immediately that something had happened.

“Mom. What's up?”

“Well, I have something to tell you.”

“What? Mom, what's happened?”

“Sweetheart, I've asked your father to leave. He's staying at the Garden City Hotel, for now.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“We've separated. I don't know exactly what will happen. I'm sorry to be telling you over the telephone, but I thought I should let you know.”

“What happened?”

“This has been brewing for a long time, honey,” her mother said. “You must have known your father and I have always had, well, a little trouble.”

“But why now?” Susan said. “Something must have happened.”

Her mother paused. The line hummed faintly with static. “You know what it really is, honey?” her mother said. “It's that I'm finally coming into my own. I haven't turned into a women's libber or anything like that, believe me. I'm not going to start burning my bras. But. I'm not sure how to say this. I guess I've known for a long time that I need my own life. Your father and I raised you kids, we hung in there, and now that you're all on your own we need to be on our own, too. Does that make any sense?”

Susan had stiffened. All she could think of was that she had failed. She'd been discovered. She wasn't sure what she meant. She wasn't sure what she thought.

“I don't know,” she said. “I don't know what to say.”

“This is a shock,” her mother said. “I understand.”

“I have to go.”

“Susan, it'll be all right. We're still your parents, nothing about that has changed.”

“Mother, I really have to go. I can't talk to you right now.”

“Whatever you think is best. I understand.”

“You don't understand,” Susan said. “You don't understand anything.”

“I don't blame you for being angry.”

“Thank you.”

“Your father, well. His temper. I just—”

“I have to go. I'm sorry.”

“Okay, honey. Whatever you want.”

Susan was sitting at the dining-room table when Todd came home. She hadn't called him at the office. She hadn't called anyone. She'd kept the receiver in her hand and touched the dial, intending to call her husband, her brother and sister, anyone. Then she'd taken her hand away and walked into the dining room, where she'd sat at the mahogany table that had been a housewarming gift from her parents. She'd let the phone ring as somebody called, then somebody else, and a third person. She felt nauseous and disoriented, as if she was seasick. Through the French doors she could see the back yard, the brilliant living green of the grass. When she and Todd had decided on the house, they'd remarked to each other about the yard, which was well removed from traffic and offered plenty of room for a swing set, a sandbox, a wading pool. A tree house could have been built among the limbs of the celebrated elm. It all rushed in at her, how much she was risking, how selfish she'd been.

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