Gone Girl(168)

I deleted my story.

Boney picked up on the first ring.

“Pancake House? Twenty minutes?” she said.

“No.”

I informed Rhonda Boney that I was going to be a father and so could no longer assist in any investigation—that I was, in fact, planning to retract any statement I’d made concerning my misplaced belief that my wife had framed me, and I was also ready to admit my role in the credit cards.

A long pause on the line. “Hunh,” she said. “Hunh.”

I could picture Boney running her hand through her slack hair, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“You take care of yourself, okay, Nick?” she said finally. “Take good care of the little one too.” Then she laughed. “Amy I don’t really give a fuck about.”

I went to Go’s house to tell her in person. I tried to frame it as happy news. A baby, you can’t be that upset about a baby. You can hate a situation, but you can’t hate a child.

I thought Go was going to hit me. She stood so close I could feel her breath. She jabbed me with an index finger.

“You just want an excuse to stay,” she whispered. “You two, you’re fucking addicted to each other. You are literally going to be a nuclear family, you do know that? You will explode. You will fucking detonate. You really think you can possibly do this for, what, the next eighteen years? You don’t think she’ll kill you?”

“Not as long as I am the man she married. I wasn’t for a while, but I can be.”

“You don’t think you’ll kill her? You want to turn into Dad?”

“Don’t you see, Go? This is my guarantee not to turn into Dad. I’ll have to be the best husband and father in the world.”

Go burst into tears then—the first time I’d seen her cry since she was a child. She sat down on the floor, straight down, as if her legs gave out. I sat down beside her and leaned my head against hers. She finally swallowed her last sob and looked at me. “Remember when I said, Nick, I said I’d still love you if? I’d love you no matter what came after the if?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I still love you. But this breaks my heart.” She let out an awful sob, a child’s sob. “Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way.”

“It’s a strange twist,” I said, trying to turn it light.

“She won’t try to keep us apart, will she?”

“No,” I said. “Remember, she’s pretending to be someone better too.”

Yes, I am finally a match for Amy. The other morning I woke up next to her, and I studied the back of her skull. I tried to read her thoughts. For once I didn’t feel like I was staring into the sun. I’m rising to my wife’s level of madness. Because I can feel her changing me again: I was a callow boy, and then a man, good and bad. Now at last I’m the hero. I am the one to root for in the never-ending war story of our marriage. It’s a story I can live with. Hell, at this point, I can’t imagine my story without Amy. She is my forever antagonist.

We are one long frightening climax.





AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE

TEN MONTHS, TWO WEEKS, SIX DAYS AFTER THE RETURN


I was told love should be unconditional. That’s the rule, everyone says so. But if love has no boundaries, no limits, no conditions, why should anyone try to do the right thing ever? If I know I am loved no matter what, where is the challenge? I am supposed to love Nick despite all his shortcomings. And Nick is supposed to love me despite my quirks. But clearly, neither of us does. It makes me think that everyone is very wrong, that love should have many conditions. Love should require both partners to be their very best at all times. Unconditional love is an undisciplined love, and as we all have seen, undisciplined love is disastrous.

You can read more about my thoughts on love in Amazing. Out soon!

But first: motherhood. The due date is tomorrow. Tomorrow happens to be our anniversary. Year six. Iron. I thought about giving Nick a nice pair of handcuffs, but he may not find that funny yet. It’s so strange to think: A year ago today, I was undoing my husband. Now I am almost done reassembling him.

Nick has spent all his free time these past months slathering my belly with cocoa butter and running out for pickles and rubbing my feet, and all the things good fathers-to-be are supposed to do. Doting on me. He is learning to love me unconditionally, under all my conditions. I think we are finally on our way to happiness. I have finally figured it out.

We are on the eve of becoming the world’s best, brightest nuclear family.

We just need to sustain it. Nick doesn’t have it down perfect. This morning he was stroking my hair and asking what else he could do for me, and I said: “My gosh, Nick, why are you so wonderful to me?”