I looked at Christopher’s diary. Was I really going to give up going out on a date because of this? Maybe I was a little crazy. “Never more serious. It’s important.” I said.
“Well, what is it? Maybe I can help.”
“No,” I said, suffocating a laugh. “But thanks for offering. I’ll call you,” I added, and hung up before she could say another word.
And then I turned the page.
“See what you can do about her,” Momma told me after she and Daddy had spoken to Cathy, assuring her that neither would love her any less just because there would be new children in our family. “She can pout better than I can. She’ll make pure mush out of the man she marries.”
Of course, I was happy Momma came to me for help with Cathy, but I noticed something I hadn’t noticed until now during the days that followed. Momma seemed to have less tolerance for Cathy. She was criticizing her more and more at the dinner table and afterward. Cathy’s sulking over the twins that were coming was no longer cute or understandable.
“Your sister is just selfish,” Momma muttered to me one day. “You should know that it’s not easy for a woman when she’s pregnant. Look at my figure. Look at how difficult it’s getting for me to move around. I feel . . . like a truck. I don’t know why I even bother with my makeup or my hair. Your father says I’m as beautiful as ever, but I know he’s just trying to please me. You’re the only one who knows the truth and is not afraid to say it, Christopher. You will be a wonderful doctor, because you will always say what’s true and not what someone wants to hear. Go on. Tell me.”
I shrugged. She was right. I didn’t like telling lies or distorting facts. What was true was true, and pretending it wasn’t wouldn’t change it. People who lived like that were weak and foolish. Putting off reality just made it more difficult to face it. I know this attitude doesn’t go over well with my classmates, but there’s none whose opinion really matters that much to me.
“You can’t look the way you looked before you were pregnant, Momma. Of course, you don’t have the same figure, but your complexion is rosy. You look healthier than ever,” I told her. “It’s characteristic of pregnant women who take care of themselves, take their prenatal vitamins, and do whatever their doctors tell them to do. Women were made to be pregnant.”
She looked at me and half-smiled. “I hope you won’t always couch your compliments in some medical observation. Any girlfriend you have won’t think that’s very romantic, Christopher, but thank you anyway,” she said. Then she thought about it for a moment and shook her head. “I think I’d rather hear your father tell me I’m no different. Little lies are okay if they make you happier.” She walked away, smiling.
I went to see Cathy, who was pouting as usual. She was being destructive, too. She had practically torn apart one of the dolls Momma had bought for her and ripped most of the clothing. The gifts Daddy had been buying her to make her happy were piled up in a corner as if they had been discarded.
I sat across from her and stared at her.
“What?” she asked. She could never stand my staring at her with a sour expression on my face.
“You don’t want anyone to treat you like a baby, but you go and act like one.”
“I don’t care. Momma is mean to me, meaner than ever. Maybe those twins are making her meaner. I wish they’d fall out and go away.”
“All right,” I said, sighing and sitting on her bed. “Let me try to explain things. When a woman first gets pregnant, a married woman, she’s usually very happy about it.”
“So?”
“As time goes by and the baby grows and she gains weight, she gets depressed. You remember what that means.”
“So?”
“She needs to be comforted and loved even more than before she became pregnant, Cathy. Someday you’ll be in the same condition.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not going to get pregnant. I don’t want to care for a real baby and change diapers full of poop and wipe drool.”
I laughed. “Sure you will, but”—I narrowed my eyes—“if you really love Momma, you will stop making her feel even worse. You’ll do more to help her. Daddy is upset with you, too,” I added, because I knew that would have more effect.
“He is not.”
“You know he tells me things he doesn’t tell you.”
She looked down. “Momma loves you more, and now, with new children, she’ll love me even less,” she said. “There won’t be enough love to share, and I don’t want to share.”
“A parent doesn’t love one of his or her children more than the others.”
She looked at me strangely. I must admit that it was the first time she had ever looked at me like this. It was disturbing, because it was the look of someone who believed I was either lying to myself or completely fooled. I didn’t think she was capable of seeing through my words. Of course, our mother loved me better and always would. She depended on me more. But I wasn’t going to admit that to Cathy. She would be even more miserable and say hurtful things to our mother.
How intensely she could glare back at me, though. No one else could make me look away.
“Just think about what I said and see if you can be nicer,” I told her, and left.
She was right to give me that look, of course. Maybe Daddy loved her as much as or a little more than he loved me, but he respected me more and always would.