Page 69 of Such Sharp Teeth

She can’t heal me, and I can’t heal her. No matter how badly we want to heal each other, we can heal only ourselves.

There’s wet on my cheek. I wipe it away before she sees.

“All right, this side,” she says. “Can you hold over here?”

“I never knew you were so handy,” I tell her. “We should have our own HGTV show.”

“Yeah? Assembling cribs?”

“Assembling all types of furniture. Possibilities are endless,” I say. “We’ll call it ‘Banging and Screwing’!”

She laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

“I think they’ll go for it. They love the twin thing,” I say. “Everybody loves the twin thing.”

“Are you all right?” she asks me.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“You seemed weird today. At the shower.”

“I thought you’d hate it. I was nervous.”

“It wasn’t my favorite,” she says, setting the drill down. “I don’t like surprises.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I say, going in for a hug. “You still love me?”

“Yes, but you smell terrible.” She dodges me. “What is going on?”

“Hey. I do have feelings, you know.”

“You smell incredible. Amazing. Like roses.”

I pick up another side of the crib. “All right. This baby cage isn’t going to assemble itself.”

She gets the drill, and we resume construction.

“I really am sorry about the shower,” I say. “My objections were overruled.”

“It wasn’t that bad. I just . . . I keep feeling like I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to. I don’t know how to articulate it. There’s all this pressure. So many things I’m supposed to be doing, to be reading, to be learning. It’s overwhelming. And it’s like nothing is mine anymore. Not my body. Not my mind. Not my emotions. And there’s nothing I can do about it. And—”

I snort.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just . . . I think that makes perfect sense,” I say. “Another few weeks.”

“Yeah, but then what? My whole life will be different. And I’m not going to look the same. I know that’s shallow. But it’s like I’m not allowed to grieve my body. I’m meant to be, like, ‘This is magical. I’m a mother now, so nothing about me matters anymore.’ I don’t know. Maybe that’s terrible and selfish. Maybe I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” I say. “Take it from me. An actual monster.”

She ignores me, not understanding. “Can I have the instructions?”

“I could put this together on my own if you’re tired.”

“I should at least be able to do this,” she says. “I need to do something. I’ve been meaning to paint in here. I wanted to do a mural. Was thinking something cosmic.”

“Cosmic?” I ask, passing her the instructions.