What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: Stories

feel she's better looking than Sally and me. What about Betsy?
    Betsy too, the boy used to say.
    AFTER dinner he turned up the furnace and helped her bathe the baby. He marveled again at the infant who had half his features and half the girl's. He powdered the tiny body. He powdered between fingers and toes.
    He emptied the bath into the sink and went upstairs to check the air. It was overcast and cold. The grass, what there was of it, looked like canvas, stiff and gray under the street light.
    Snow lay in piles beside the walk. A car went by. He heard sand under the tires. He let himself imagine what it might be like tomorrow, geese beating the air over his head, shotgun plunging against his shoulder.
    Then he locked the door and went downstairs.
    In bed they tried to read. But both of them fell asleep, she first, letting the magazine sink to the quilt.
    I T was the baby's cries that woke him up.
    The light was on out there, and the girl was standing next to the crib rocking the baby in her arms. She put the baby down, turned out the light, and came back to the bed.
    He heard the baby cry. This time the girl stayed where
    Everything Stuck to Him
    she was. The baby cried fitfully and stopped. The boy listened, then dozed. But the baby's cries woke him again. The living room light was burning. He sat up and turned on the lamp.
    I don't know what's wrong, the girl said, walking back and forth with the baby. I've changed her and fed her, but she keeps on crying. I'm so tired I'm afraid I might drop her.
    You come back to bed, the boy said. I'll hold her for a while.
    He got up and took the baby, and the girl went to lie down again.
    Just rock her for a few minutes, the girl said from the bedroom. Maybe she'll go back to sleep.
    The boy sat on the sofa and held the baby. He jiggled it in his lap until he got its eyes to close, his own eyes closing right along. He rose carefully and put the baby back in the crib.
    It was a quarter to four, which gave him forty-five minutes. He crawled into bed and dropped off. But a few minutes later the baby was crying again, and this time they both got up.
    The boy did a terrible thing. He swore.
    For God's sake, what's the matter with you? the girl said to the boy. Maybe she's sick or something. Maybe we shouldn't have given her the bath.
    The boy picked up the baby. The baby kicked its feet and smiled.
    Look, the boy said, I really don't think there's anything wrong with her.
    How do you know that? the girl said. Here, let me have her. I know I ought to give her something, but I don't know what it's supposed to be.
    The girl put the baby down again. The boy and the girl
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    looked at the baby, and the baby began to cry.
    The girl took the baby. Baby, baby, the girl said with tears in her eyes.
    Probably it's something on her stomach, the boy said.
    The girl didn't answer. She went on rocking the baby, paying no attention to the boy.
    THE boy waited. He went to the kitchen and put on water for coffee. He drew his woolen underwear on over his shorts and T-shirt, buttoned up, then got into his clothes.
    What are you doing? the girl said.
    Going hunting, the boy said.
    I don't think you should, she said. I don't want to be left alone with her like this.
    Carl's planning on me going, the boy said. We've planned it.
    I don't care about what you and Carl planned, she said. And I don't care about Carl, either. I don't even know Carl.
    You've met Carl before. You know him, the boy said. What do you mean you don't know him?
    That's not the point and you know it, the girl said.
    What is the point? the boy said. The point is we planned it.
    The girl said, I'm your wife. This is your baby. She's sick or something. Look at her. Why else is she crying?
    I know you're my wife, the boy said.
    The girl began to cry. She put the baby back in the crib. But the baby started up again. The girl dried her eyes on the sleeve of her nightgown and picked the baby up.
    Everything Stuck to Him
    THE boy laced up his boots. He put on his shirt, his sweater, his coat. The kettle whistled on the stove in the kitchen.
    You're going to have to choose, the girl said. Carl or us. I mean it.
    What do you mean? the boy said.
    You heard what I said, the girl said. If you want a family, you're going to have to choose.
    They stared at each other. Then the boy took up his hunting gear and went outside. He started the car. He went around to the car windows and, making a job of it,