| OCR Text |
Show Motherlunge a novel 104 going to break up with me, and it was hard to forgive him for that. Hence the breakups, see above. I believed that Eli would break up with me the way I had believed, at least six times previously in my life, that I was pregnant. More than a suspicion, it was a set of unmistakable symptoms. It was a tenderness in my breasts. It was the slight nausea when, for example, a beautiful coffee-shop girl handed Eli's coffee to him over the counter. It was the generally swollen feeling I had, as if-god help me-I were becoming even more excessive in my person, needier. It was a metallic taste in my mouth, like a poison, that made me say cruel things to him. Only in fact, I didn't say them; I rehearsed them in my mind as if in preparation for quick-cut sequence of daytime drama highlights. , It must be nice, going through life being so terrific. Go ahead and sleep with her; you obviously want to, so why prolong the buildup? You 're with me to make yourself look better by comparison. You suck at pretending you 're not bored. You're so kind you make me want to stab you with this fork. For the record, I've had sex with people with much larger penises. If you knew what I was thinking right now, you 'd appreciate my restraint, and love me more for it. A gallery agreed to have a show of Eli's photography in April, and for two months before the opening, he used a copy of the key Steig gave him to get into the art school's darkrooms at night. I used to come along some of the time. I'd sit in the murky room on a stool, agitating, not stirring, the fluid in the trays. Under the plastic tongs I |
