Wild Things by Karin Kallmaker Read Free Book Online Page A

I couldn't stay in the house with my long-choked anger, not with Meg and a baby and Michael who spent all his time either indifferent or angry. I needed space. The baby could have my room.
    Looking for an apartment was my act of revolution. Millions of children finally step away from their parents and live to tell. Meg and Michael had both done it. Well, Michael was a man and that made a difference to my parents. Meg hadn't even looked back, but she was younger and, somehow, accommodating Meg became important for everyone around her. My parents had always tried not to upset Meg rather than the other way around, she being of a delicate, ultrafeminine constitution. I was made of sturdier stuff. My father might hit me, but I would survive.
    Renee had nothing to do with my feelings of being closed in and trapped. I told myself this lie, knowing it was a lie, over and over. But the way my body felt after thinking about her — I couldn't understand it and I didn't want it. Nor did it help to think of Eric. I was having trouble thinking at all. My life had been so orderly until I had seen her again. And now everything seemed to be happening all at once: Eric, Meg, Renee and feelings that just wouldn't go away.
    Lincoln Park was a nice, collegiate area, and I found myself writing a check for first month's rent and security deposit for an apartment on Menominee, just a few blocks from the El. Close transit was important because I didn't want to buy a car. Cabs would still be affordable for me after dark. The apartment was in an older building and would get bright morning sun. The hardwood floors creaked pleasantly, and the lake breeze would pass through its three rooms: large living room, tiny kitchen and bedroom a little larger than I was used to. It suited me perfectly, and I could move in right away.
    My next stop was a furniture store where I purchased a bedroom set, a big computer desk, living room furniture, and two large rugs, all for delivery the following Tuesday. I indulged my love of soft blues and purples in everything I picked out. Cookware and other essentials I could acquire by catalog when I felt the need for them. In less than three hours I had completely changed my life, and I had enough time left to buy a bouquet of tiger lilies to take to Liz's party.
     
    * * * * *
    As I approached the house where I had grown up, I braced myself for the inevitable. It was childish, but helpful, to imagine I was Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine, Countess of Poitou, Queen of France, Queen of England, who would not for even one moment have allowed anyone to question her choices.
    I waited to make my announcement until the din ner dishes were done, my father had finished his after-dinner whiskey, and we were all settled in the kitchen.
    My parents were shocked into silence, but Michael said heartily, "Good for you!" I sent him a grateful smile, and for a moment he looked like the old Michael.
    "Now wait just a second," my father said, his already florid face reddening. "I absolutely forbid it. What will people think?"
    "They'll think I'm thirty-four, with a good job of my own, and am capable of standing on my own two feet."
    My mother, one hand pressed to her heart as always during crisis, said, 'It's because of Eric, isn't it?"
    "No, it has nothing to do with Eric."
    "But he'll visit you, won't he," she persisted suspiciously.
    "Of course he will."
    "A good Catholic boy would visit you under your father's eye," my father pronounced. "You'll turn out just like Meg."
    "Leave Meg out of it," I said, my voice rising. I would not argue about whether her marriage to a Jew was tantamount to living in sin. "I am not Meg. I will make my own mistakes. But I am moving out. On Tuesday."
    My mother's breath caught and for a moment she looked sad.
    "It's okay, Mom, I'll come by all the time. For Sunday Mass, too." I patted her hand.
    She slid it out from under mine. "If you're doing anything shameful, don't bother."
    Michael, hugging his bad right