She crosses her arms over her chest and looks outside again, a pose he decides to read as contentment. He was wrong to pressure her to talk. Pregnancy brought on a chemical storm in the body, he'd read all about it. Which meant Lily was navigating herself through rolling waves invisible to him. It wasn't his place to demand her attention. And he had taken so much time for his work, for his creation, he's obliged to be patient now.
"There's lots in the fridge," he says. "I'll make us omelets."
She frowns. "You don't remember, do you?"
"Apparently not."
"We're having people over for brunch. Paige and Davis."
"I forgot. Your old co-workers."
"I thought it would be good for you to talk with people other than me for a change."
"It is," he says. "Good."
"I'm trying to help you."
"I know. But I have to do this on my own."
Once more she cocks her head at him in unexpected interest. "Do what?"
"Get rid of whatever's got me spooked up here." He taps the side of his skull. "And I think I can now."
"Why?"
"Because I know the cause of it. The more I've worked on my project, the worse the phobia got. So I'm going to pull back, and by the time the baby comes—"
"You don't need to—"
"—I'll be able to go outside."
She sucks her lips into her mouth and lets them pop wetly out. "What would you do if you could?"
"Push her in the stroller. Take her to the playground."
"Her?"
"I guess I've imagined it's a girl—not that it matters. I just don't want to be sick anymore. For her. Or him."
She sees his earnestness in this and it softens her. The arms over her chest uncross, the hands rising—briefly reaching for him— before drifting back to her sides. "How are you going to do it?"
"Remember this moment. How I feel right now."
"An illness like yours—-it's not just a matter of motivation, you know. It's not just feelings."
"You're right. It's a matter of will. Putting my mind to the things it should've been focused on for a long time."
"You have been focused," she offers. "You've been so involved in your project."
"Too involved. I'm sorry for that, too."
He has to do something. Right now. An opening has appeared, he's sure of it. This is the occasion for an emotional display, a spontaneous gift, a pleading. The kind of gesture he's always felt the most hopeless at. But the idea of Lily leaving with these questions clinging to them both has to be blunted in some way.
"I love you, Lily."
Her lips tighten into thin lines. It could be the beginning of a smile. The question of whether it's that or her readying to say an unkind thing is left unanswered when the little man in the top hat wheels into the room.
It takes a moment for Lily to assemble the details of what she's looking at.
A doll wearing a star-covered cloak with a black top hat roughly stitched to its head riding a bicycle. A plastic circle of a face rouged with cherry cheeks and a wide, oval mouth that suggests some unwholesome exertion. It's only a foot high and proceeds with the certainty of a puppy tripping on its own ears, but its movements are less comical than unsettling. Each part is store-bought but augmented by hand: the motorized knees, the ill-fitting magician's outfit. A customized mutant.
Lily takes an involuntary step back, but it decides on her as its target. Squeaking and wobbling forward, its knees jutting out from under its cloak and disappearing again with each thrust. The top hat is loosely attached to its scalp so that it slides forward and back, over and over. Now it hangs over its forehead, hiding its face, leaving its chin its only visible feature. The pubic fuzz of a black goatee.
