Read Online Jihadi by Yusuf Toropov - Free Book Online

have maternal feelings for Child. She fought them, was all. Why? Because she could not stand losing an argument. Guess what? This one she was losing. Whether she knew it or not. No baby.
    He had never promised this. Ever. But she pretended he had. Witness the minivan he was driving at this very moment. Becky had planned all the discussion points ahead of time, come into battle armed with fifteen different printouts from fifteen different consumer sites. Air bags, via Consumer Reports . Fuel economy, via Auto World . Retention of value, via some incomprehensible actuarial thing she had tracked down, printed out, and highlighted with two green, perfectly executed horizontal stripes. And an annotation, in her loose, unruly scrawl near ‘toddler seat restraint’:
    Relevant to whatever we eventually do decide to pursue with our family.
    What was that supposed to mean? What the hell did they even need a minivan for? Whatever there was to ‘pursue with our family’, here they were, already pursuing it. They had groceries delivered to thehouse. She avoided any and all Ryan Firestone gatherings. Guess what? There were two people in this family. Two. The Siena seated eight.
    What was this green monstrosity he was driving if not a daily message from her to him: ‘I want a baby in a car seat to buckle into this vehicle’?
    Guess what. No.
    If anyone knew about him, she did. So she knew this. Going in . If he felt in his gut that he was not suited to win at something, then it just didn’t make any sense for him to commit to it. How many dozens of times had he told her: Not A Dad, Okay? The subject was closed.
    Thelonius punched it, and made the light.
    Leave aside his short fuse and his tiny attention span and his impatience with people not knowing how he operated. Leave all that aside. Assume him to be a perfectly well-intentioned father, with something resembling the toolbox necessary to do that job. There was still the Plum to be considered. The kid had a thirteen percent chance of inheriting The Condition. But she couldn’t be told that. On Dad’s orders.
    xxxviii. The Condition
    Clive brought two turkey subs, unsliced. He had to drive across town. Pizza joint had closed early. I made him fetch a knife (grey-handled, serrated, comfortable in my hand) and used it to divide mine in a civilized manner. Ordered him to eat his out of my presence. Sad Clive. Once he was gone, I wolfed mine down. Inserting the White Album CD, a necessary distraction and our guide. Cue it to track one. Just in case. Feel a migraine coming. I may lose that sandwich.
    Thelonius felt a tightness in his chest.
    Well. Nothing to be done about that.
    If she was unhappy, it was her own damn fault.
    xxxix. If she was unhappy
    A veiled reference to his infidelity during that damnable trip. Good gravy. Barely made it to the commode in time. Can’t seem to keep food down now. My head a basketball left too long in the rain. Just a terrific peeling and throbbing. Time to bring out the heavy artillery. I shall press play and put track one on repeat.
    Right-turn here. Some sound. Sorry, civilians.
    Thelonius drummed the dashboard with the fingers of his right hand and merged onto West Essex, occupying a lane and a half for a few exhilarating seconds.
    Of course he was capable of compromise. Of course he was. Hadn’t he agreed to stay here, where she had this creepy goddamn we-mustn’t-abandon-Tara thing going via Dead Mother, instead of moving to Langley, as he’d wanted to? Of course he could compromise. What about her ? Could she compromise? Not in regard to the whole baby thing, apparently. Guess what? That changed today. Right now.
    The second problem, of course, was Dick Unferth.
    Thelonius hit the gas.
    A stop sign hurtled past. Thelonius heard the ascending howl of an auto horn from what felt like three o’clock, but couldn’t have been, could it? Just in case, his right foot stomped the brake, and his left hand eased the steering wheel sufficiently