“Ugh. I can’t get over this view,” Lila says, opening the door.
“It’s pitch-black.”
Lila gets on Phoebe’s bed. She leans back on a pillow like she is going to go right to sleep, so Phoebe takes off her shoes. There is blood on the back of Lila’s heel.
“Ugh. I’m bleeding again,” Lila says.
The blood darkens her mood.
“Nat is right,” Lila says. “I never think about what I might actually like.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I just worry,” Lila says. “I don’t think about what I want, I just worry about what might happen to me and then figure out how to keep those things from happening. And when I think I know what I want, I don’t even really know, because what I want is too … weird.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like anything weird.”
“It’s not like that kind of weird,” she says. “It’s awful weird.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t say it.”
“Just say it.”
“It’s too scary.”
“I told you I wanted to die. What could be scarier than that?”
Lila nods. “Okay. Fine. The last time I got really turned on, it was by Jim. Isn’t that awful?”
“Not necessarily,” Phoebe says. She takes off Lila’s earrings. Her sash. Lila holds her hands up like a child.
“We had a bonfire at the beach last night after the reception,” Lila says. “And Jim looked so good all night, oh my God, Phoebe. He sat next to me by the fire and he cracked a beer, and I was just looking at him, transfixed, and he like, caught me staring at him. He was like, What? And I don’t know why, but we just laughed. We laughed so hard, Phoebe, I can’t even explain it.
“And then I went to bed and I had this dream. I was in this big beach house. And Jim was there. But it’s not really Jim. And I am leaving the kitchen to go meet my guidance counselor, weirdly, but Jim won’t let me out of the house. Jim just stands there, blocking my way. He’s like, No. You can’t go meet your guidance counselor. And then he puts me up against the kitchen island and flips up my skirt and he says the dirtiest things to me … but it’s like Jim’s disgustingness is what turns me on. Isn’t that awful?”
“No,” Phoebe says.
“It’s awful.”
Phoebe tells her about her own fantasies, the ones of her ex-husband being awful to her.
“But you were thinking of your husband,” she says. “I like, never think about having sex with Gary. Not even when I’m having sex with Gary. I think about Jim.”
“Well, thinking of Jim doesn’t have to mean anything,” Phoebe says.
“It feels like it means something.”
“It could mean that you want his approval. Maybe it’s symbolic. Like, you want him to stand aside, give you permission, because of Wendy?”
“Oh my God, you sound like my mother now.”
“It would make sense.”
“What if I just … want to fuck him?” Lila asks. “Sometimes I want him so much I can’t stand it.”
“Then you want him.”
“But I can’t want him!” Lila says. “I’m Gary’s Vermeer painting. And Gary is so wonderful. I know he is. He treats me so well. He’s so smart. He’s such a good dad. But sometimes I just hate him.”
“You hate him?” Phoebe asks. “Why?”
“Because that day in his office, he put his hand on my shoulder, and he was like, This will all be okay. This new treatment can work. And the way he said it made me believe him. I really believed him. I loved him for it. I really did. But then my dad died. And it wasn’t okay. It’s still not okay. I mean, how could Gary just let my father die?”
The thought of her father makes her sob, and Phoebe holds her. Her body is frail, skinnier than it seems.
“And we never talked about it. We never talk about anything. We always just pretend like everything is fine,” she says. “Like it was in the beginning. But it’s not. Because sometimes, I just can’t stand it when he touches me.”
Lila explains that this is why she’s always making sure they are busy doing amazing things.
“But then we’re at the Louvre, and I was bored. I was bored in Spain. Bored in Florence. I just kept thinking, Wow, Lila, you’re in Italy with your fiancé. Look at all those buildings. Look at those paintings. This old church. The cobblestones! And Gary was so fascinated, kept being like, Imagine the builders putting each one of these stones here by hand. But the whole time, I was honestly just like, I don’t care. I mean, how does anyone really care about stones?”
She wipes her nose.
“Anyway. That’s what being with Gary sometimes feels like.”
“It’s like trying to care about stones?”
