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Of course, Lydia misunderstood Louisa. At that time, at his daughter's birthday party, James still didn't believe that except for Marilyn, he would sleep with other women in his life. If someone told him this idea, he would find it ridiculous; at that time, James would also think it was ridiculous. It seemed ridiculous that Lydia would no longer be in their lives. But now, both of these ridiculous things have become reality.
When Louisa closed the apartment door and returned to the bedroom, James was already buttoning his shirt. "You want to leave?" she said. She remained hopeful that Marilyn's visit was just a coincidence. However, this was self-deception, she knew.
James tucked in his shirt and tightened his belt. "I have to go," he said, and they both knew it was true. "It's best to go now." He wasn't sure what would happen when he got home. sad? anger? Throw a pan on his head? He didn't know and didn't know what to say to Marilyn. "Goodbye," he said to Louisa, and she kissed him on the cheek, and this "goodbye" was the only thing he was sure of.
When he walked in just after noon, he found no crying, no anger—only silence. Nath and Hannah sat side by side on the living room sofa, watching James warily as he passed by, as if they were watching a doomed man walking toward the gallows. James felt the same way as he climbed the stairs to his daughter's room. Marilyn sat in front of Lydia's desk, eerily calm. She didn't speak for a long moment, and he forced himself to remain standing, trying not to keep his hands from shaking, until she finally spoke.
"how long it has been?"
Nath and Hannah squatted on the top step outside the house, holding their breath in unison and eavesdropping on what was going on inside.
"Since... the funeral."
"Funeral." Marilyn was still staring at the carpet and pursed her lips. "She was very young. How old was she? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"
"Marilyn, stop talking."
Marilyn didn't stop. "She looks sweet. Pretty docile—a nice change, I think. I don't know why I'm surprised. I guess you've been thinking about a change for a while. She'll make a nice little wife."
James was surprised to find himself blushing. "No one said..."
"It's just that I haven't said it yet. But I know what she wants. Marriage. A husband. I know her kind of person." Marilyn paused, thinking of her younger self, her mother proudly whispering: Many excellent Harvard men . "My mother has spent her whole life trying to turn me into her type of person."
Hearing Marilyn mention her mother, James froze, as if his whole body was covered in ice. "Oh, yes, your poor mother. Later, you left and married me." He laughed dryly, "How disappointing."
"I'm disappointed." Marilyn raised her head suddenly, "I thought you were different from others." What she meant was: I thought you were better than other men. I thought you wanted to be better than them. However, James was still thinking about Marilyn's mother, and he would be mistaken.
"You're tired of being different, aren't you?" he said. "I'm so different. Your mother could tell right away. You think that's a good thing, to be different. But look at you, look at you Himself." He grabbed Marilyn's honey-colored hair. After staying at home for a month, her skin, which was already very pale, became even whiter. Her sky-blue eyes had always been James' favorite, eyes that first appeared on his wife's face and then passed on to his children. James poured out words he had never said before, or even hinted at, to Marilyn: "You haven't been in a room where everyone else looks different from you, and no one has ever laughed in front of you. You, you have never been treated as a foreigner." He felt like he was about to vomit, and he suddenly raised the back of his hand to cover his mouth, "Being different - you have no idea what it feels like."
In that moment, James looked much younger, lonely and vulnerable, as if he had reverted to the shy boy she had met all those years ago, and whom Marilyn wanted to hold in her arms as much as punch him with her fists. She bit her lip in ambivalence. "When I was a sophomore, in the laboratory, some boys sneaked over and tried to lift up my skirt." She finally said, "One time, they came early and peed in my beaker. I went to tell the professor, and the professor hugged me. And hugged me and said—" the memory choked her voice, "'Don't worry, honey. Life is too short and you're so beautiful.' You know what? I don't care, I know what I want, I'm going to be a doctor ." She glanced at James, as if he had just refuted her, "Then - I woke up and no longer was unconventional. I just did what other girls were doing. I got married, and I gave up everything." Rich The bitterness stuck to her tongue, "Do what others are doing. You have always told Lidya this, make friends and adapt to the environment. But, I don't want her to be like others." The corners of her eyes flickered, "I want her to excel."
On the stairs, Hannah held her breath, not daring to move—including her fingers. Maybe if she held on, her parents would stop fighting and she could keep the world at peace and make sure everything was safe.
"Okay, now you can marry her." Marilyn said, "She looks like a serious person, and you know what that means." She raised her left hand, the wedding ring shining, "Like this Girls, what you want is the whole package: a little house with a fence, two or three children." She let out an abrupt, sharp, terrifying sneer. On the landing, Hannah leaned her face into Nath's arm. "I guess she would be happy to give up her studies for this. I just hope she doesn't regret it."
Hearing the word—regret—James felt angry, and he seemed to smell the smell of melting wires: "Like you?"
There was a sudden silence. Although Hannah's face was still pressed against Nath's shoulder, she could still imagine what her mother looked like now: her face was stiff and her eyes were deep red. If she cried, Hannah thought, there would be no tears, only blood.
"Get out," Marilyn said at last, "get out of this house."
James felt in his pocket for the keys and found that they were still in his hand, and he didn't even have time to put them down. He seemed to have always known that he would not stay.
"Let's pretend," he said, "that you never met me and she was never born. None of this ever happened." And then he was gone.
Hannah and Nath on the landing had no time to escape. Before they could stand up, James rushed out into the corridor. Seeing the two children, he paused briefly. Apparently, they all heard it. In the past two months, whenever he saw Nath or Hannah, it was as if he saw a part of Lydia—Nas' tilted head, Hannah's long hair half-covering her face—whenever , he would suddenly leave the room. He didn't really know why he did it. Now, under both of their gazes, he sidled forward, not daring to meet their eyes. Hannah pressed against the wall to make way for her father, but Nath looked directly at him without saying a word. James could not understand his son's current expression and left angrily. Outside there was the wail of a car backing out of the driveway, then the sound of acceleration and the farewell honking; they heard it all. Silence covered the whole house like dust.
At this moment, Ness suddenly jumped up. Don't go, Hannah wanted to say, but she knew Nath wouldn't listen to her. Nath pushed Hannah aside. His mother's car keys were hanging in the kitchen. He took them off and headed to the garage.
"Wait a minute," Hannah yelled. She wasn't sure whether Nath was going after James or trying to run away from home too, but she knew his plan was terrible. "Nas, wait, don't go."
Nath didn't stop. He backed the car out of the garage, scratched the lilacs beside the door, and walked away.
Marilyn upstairs had no idea. She closed Lydia's door, and the whole room felt like a heavy blanket, making it hard for her to breathe. Her fingers traced Lydia's books and the neatly arranged folders, each labeled with category and date in marker. Everything in the house was now covered in a rough layer of dust: the row of blank diaries, the science exhibition ribbons on the wall, the Einstein postcards, the jackets of the folders, the spines of each book. Marilyn thought that if the room was cleared bit by bit, after taking off the posters and photos, countless small holes would appear in the wallpaper, which would become very ugly. And the carpet, which had become pitted with furniture and would never regain its original shape, like it had after her mother's house had been emptied.
She thought of her mother. During those years, she lived alone in an empty house. Except for the new sheets in the bedroom, nothing else changed because her daughter would never come back and her husband had disappeared long ago. , now sleeping in another woman’s bed. You once loved so deeply and had so many expectations, but in the end you had nothing. Your children no longer want you, your husband no longer wants you, and in the end you are left alone with an empty room.