“I never made you feel that way.”
“You came to kindergarten with me for the first month.”
“You asked me to.”
“I was five,” Eve said. “You should have told me no.”
“You were scared.”
“I was five.”
“I didn’t send Lincoln until he was seven, and I’m so glad. He was so much more prepared.”
Lincoln had been prepared for kindergarten. He could already read and do some addition and subtraction. He’d ended up skipping the first grade.
“Oh my God”—Eve slammed her fork on the table—“can’t you even hear yourself?”
“Don’t talk about Jesus, Mommy,” Ben whispered.
“Come on, boys,” Lincoln said, “let’s go outside. Let’s play soccer.”
“You’re a very bad soccer player,” Jake said.
“I know,” Lincoln said. “You can teach me.”
The kitchen windows were open. Even after Lincoln took his nephews outside, they could still hear his sister and mother shouting.
“Food touches!” Lincoln heard his mother say. “The world touches!”
After about twenty minutes, Eve leaned out the back door and told the boys to come say good-bye to Grandma. Eve looked frustrated and angry, and she’d been crying.
“We’re going to Wendy’s,” she said to Lincoln. “Do you want to come?”
“No, I’m full.”
“I’m not sorry about anything I said,” she said. “It was all true. You are rotting here.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I’m ripening.”
Eve slammed the back door closed.
WHEN LINCOLN GOT to work on Monday, Greg took him aside to talk about the millennium project.
“It seems like they’re working, right?” Greg asked, looking over at the Y2K kids’ corner. “I mean, they’re putting in a shit-ton of hours.”
Lincoln decided not to tell Greg that his International Strike Force stayed pretty late some nights, playing Doom. (Right in front of Lincoln. You’d think they’d at least ask him to play.)
“They’re so quiet,” Greg said. Lincoln nodded. “Sometimes, I look over at them, and their screens are full of code, and I think about the time I had my appendix out and woke up on the operating table …I mean, they could be doing anything in there.”
“I think they’re just writing code,” Lincoln said.
“Fucking millennium,” Greg said.
From: Jennifer Scribner-Snyder
To: Beth Fremont
Sent: Wed, 11/10/1999 10:13 AM
Subject: Positive.
Well, I took the test last night, and I’ve felt like I was going to throw up ever since …Not because I have morning sickness, I think it’s too early for that.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Oh my God. CONGRATULATIONS!!!
Congratulations, congratulations! OH MY GOD!!!
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I don’t feel like being congratulated right now. I told you, I feel like throwing up. I think I might have made a huge mistake. As soon as I saw that blue line, I remembered how much I don’t want to have kids, the baby shaking, etc….
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Are we talking about actual baby shaking or figurative baby shaking?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Potential. Don’t I seem like the type?
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Don’t be stupid. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be wonderful. Does Mitch know?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> I told him last night. He was ecstatic. Seriously, he was so happy that he almost started crying. He couldn’t stop hugging me. It was creepy.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> That doesn’t sound creepy. That sounds nice.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Says the woman who isn’t incubating a parasitic organism.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> You make it sound like you have a tapeworm.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Wait until it starts kicking.
parents?
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Mitch called his parents. They were also creepy-excited. I’m not telling my mother, ever.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> She might notice when you start to show.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> She’ll just tell me that I look fat.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> I’m so happy for you. I’m creepy-happy. I’m totally throwing you a baby shower.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> That sounds terrible.
<<Beth to Jennifer>> Terribly awesome. I’ll be like a shower expert by the time you have a baby. I have to go to three bridal showers for my sister in the next six weeks, and I’m hosting one.
<<Jennifer to Beth>> Three showers? Isn’t that excessive?