Lauren Groff - Fates and Furies

If he’d had flaws then, she couldn’t see them; and perhaps it was true, perhaps she had found the only faultless person in the world. Even if she had dreamt of him, she couldn’t have come up with him. Innocent, charming, funny, loyal. Rich. Lancelot Satterwhite; Lotto. They had been married that morning. She was grateful to the sand that eked its way into the naughty bits and stung; she couldn’t trust pleasure in its pure form.

But their first married consummation was over so fast. He laughed into her ear; she into his throat. It didn’t matter. Their separate selves had elided. She was no longer alone. She was crushed with gratitude. He helped her up and they bowed to gather their clothing and the ocean over the dune applauded. All weekend she rang with joy.

One weekend should have been enough. She was given so much more than she deserved. But she was greedy.

Brilliant May sun on the drive back from their stolen honeymoon. Lotto, who would always be labile as a preteen, drove and, hearing a sweet song, burst into tears. She did the only thing she could think of and put her head in his lap and disinterred Little Lotto to make Big Lotto stop. A semi, in passing, honked its approval.

Back in Poughkeepsie, in front of her apartment, she said, “I want to know everything about you. I want to meet your mother and aunt and sister immediately. Let’s fly to Florida after graduation. I want to eat your life.” She laughed, a little, at her own earnestness. Oh, to have a mother, a family! She’d been alone for so long. She’d let herself daydream of a kind mother-in-law who took her away for spa days, who had in-jokes, who sent small presents with notes saying, “Saw this, thought of you.”

But there was something wrong. After a moment, Lotto put her knuckles to his mouth and said, “M. My love. We’ll have the rest of our lives for that.”

A vein of cold shot through her. What was this? Hesitation? Perhaps he was already ashamed of her. Before her rose the Cranach diptych, Adam and Eve with the long thighs, tiny heads, huge feet cold at the knuckles. It’s true that even in Eden there were snakes.

“I have to write my sociology final,” he said apologetically. “I have six hours till it’s due, but I’ll bring us dinner tonight after I hand it in. I love you beyond love.”

“Me, too,” she said, closing the car door and trying to stifle the panic.

She came into her apartment, which had contracted, filled as it was with her small and gray previous life. She took a hot bath and climbed under her down comforter for a nap. She was deep in a dream when her phone rang. It had to be bad. Nothing but badness would be calling so insistently.

She braced herself. “Yes,” she said.

“Well. Hello,” said a soft, sweet voice. “Come to find out you’re my daughter and I don’t even know you from Cain.”

It took Mathilde a moment, and then she said, “Mrs. Satterwhite. It’s so lovely to finally speak with you.”

But the voice didn’t stop. “I must confess that I did what any doting mother would do and I made inquiries as to who you are and where you’re from. My inquiries ended up in some strange places. You are lovely, just as I was told. I’ve seen your photographs, those bra catalog ones particularly, even though your bosoms seem rather smallish and I wonder at the person who hired you to show them off. To speak honestly, if I may, I didn’t love the spread in the teenybopper’s magazine where you looked like a half-drowned rat terrier, bless your heart. Funny that people would pay you to look like that in public. But some of your photos are very fine. You’re a pretty girl. Good match for my Lancelot, at least in looks.”

“Thank you,” Mathilde said, wary.

“But you’re not a churchgoing girl and, frankly, that gives me pause. A heathen in the family,” she said. “Not sure I like it. Much worse is what I come to find out about your uncle, the people he’s mixed up with. Shady beyond all measure. You only really know about a person when you know about their kin. I must say I do not like what I have come to find out. Add this to my fear of the kind of person who seduces such a kindhearted boy as mine and marries him in such a short courtship. Only a very dangerous or a very calculating person could do such a thing. All these things put together make me believe that you and I would have a hard time seeing eye to eye. Not in this lifetime, at least.”

“Well,” Mathilde said. “Seems that ours will be your standard mother-in-law, daughter-in-law relationship, Antoinette.” They both laughed.

“You may call me Mrs. Satterwhite,” Lotto’s mother said.

“I may. Probably won’t,” Mathilde said. “How’s Mother sound to you?”

“You’re a tough little cookie, aren’t you,” said Antoinette. “Well, my Lancelot is so tenderhearted that the woman he marries has got to be a little hard. I am, however, afraid that someone won’t be you.”

“Already is,” Mathilde said. “How can I help you? What do you want?”

“The question, my girl, is what you want. I assume you know that Lancelot comes from money. Oh, of course you know! That’s why you married him. Going together for two weeks, no way you actually love the dear boy, lovable as he may be. Knowing my son as I do, he hasn’t told you yet how you aren’t going to see a penny of my money while I’ve got breath to breathe and he’s married to you. We discussed it all yesterday morning after you did the deed and he called me up to gloat. Impetuous, both of you. Acting like the children you still are. And now you’re penniless. I do wonder how you feel at this moment. I’m so sorry that all your plans are coming to naught.”

Despite herself, Mathilde caught her breath.

Antoinette continued: “Of course, that means you’d do far better for yourself to get it all annulled. Take a hundred thousand dollars and call it a day.”

“Ha!” Mathilde said.

“Darling, you name your price, I don’t mind. Not the time to be cheap, I suppose. Say the word and it’ll be done. Just ask what you require to start up your life after graduation and you’ll have it all wired this afternoon and you can sign some papers and just walk away. Leave my poor child in peace, let him sow his wild oats, eventually find himself some good, sweet girl and come home to Florida to me.”

“Interesting,” Mathilde said. “You’re possessive for a woman who couldn’t bother to visit her son for a whole year.”

“Well, darling, you grow a baby in your belly for near on a year, you see your husband and yourself in his face, of course you’ll be possessive. He’s my blood. I made him. You’ll see someday.”

“I won’t,” Mathilde said.

“Five hundred? No? Would a million do?” said Antoinette. “All you have to do is abandon ship. Take your money and run. You could do what you like with a million dollars. Travel, see foreign cultures. Open up your own business. Run your hustle on richer men. The world is your oyster, Mathilde Yoder. Consider this that first grain of sand to make your pearl.”

“You sure have the gift of the mixed metaphor,” Mathilde said. “I admire it, in a way.”

“I take it from your comment that we have come to an accord. Excellent choice. You’re not stupid. I shall call my attorney and some boy will bring the papers by in a few hours.”

“Oh, wow,” Mathilde said softly. “It is going to be so, so wonderful.”

“Yes, darling. Sensible of you to take the deal. Good chunk of change, it is.”

“No,” Mathilde said. “I meant that it will be so wonderful to think up all the ways to keep your son far away from you. It’ll be our little game. You’ll see. All the holidays, all the birthdays, all the times when you’re sick, something urgent will come up and your son will have to stay with me. He’ll be with me, not you. He will choose me , not you . Muvva — Lotto calls you Muvva, so I will, too — until you apologize, until you force yourself to be nice, you won’t lay your eyes on him again.”