Him:

Fiona got herself an internship at a bank. She tells me all about it over dinner at a little Italian restaurant near her flat. Everything is small here. For such a big city, every interior space feels half-scale. Her flat, where the bed barely fits in the bedroom; this restaurant, where the neighbor's table is only two inches from ours. I feel like I can't even turn around without hitting something or someone. It's so different than Dublin. Even with all the buildings, there is also space and green. Trees everywhere.

I ask her why she's interning in finance, of all things, when she'd come to New York to work in publishing. That was always her dream in college, but Dublin had no future for her on that path. It was why she left, and now she's not even doing it. Dublin's lousy with banks, if that's what she wanted to do.

She shrugs and waves her hand in the air. "There's no money in that field. If I'm going to work this hard in this city, then I might as well earn a decent salary, right?"

I push my pasta around my plate with my fork. "Yeah, I can see that. Must be bloody expensive to live here, yeah?"

"You have no idea. It's murder now while I'm doing this internship, but hopefully I'll get a decent placement when I'm through and then it'll get better. So what do you want to do now that you're here?"

I look up at her in surprise. "I came for my music."

She lifts one eyebrow, but I can't really read her reaction, not like I used to. "You're still doing that, then?"

"'Course. I made a demo. I'll play it for you later if you like."

She smiles, but it's not entirely enthusiastic. "Sure. Sounds great." I remember Dusana's earnest face as she told me that if I played my songs for Fiona, there's no way I'd fail to win her back. Right now I'm thinking Dusana was as naïve as I've been.

"You sound American now, you know?"

"Please," she huffs. "I still have a terrible accent."

"It's not terrible. It's Irish. And I don't mean your accent. I meant the words. You use American words now."

"Do I?" She laughs a little. "Maybe."

It's funny, I have no idea what to say to her anymore. There was a time when we couldn't stop talking to each other. The words just fell out of us. We'd stay up till dawn just talking. And now I'm stuck in a conversation I can't find my way forward in. I suppose I can't really be surprised. It's been six months and we're different now. It will take time for these new versions of ourselves to find their way together. If they do. I'm still not convinced.

"Tell me more about your internship," I say, just to say something. It was the right thing, though. Fiona starts talking and her enthusiasm takes over. The finance thing might feel odd to me, but clearly it doesn't feel odd to her. She has plenty to say, so I let her say it. I sit back and let her words fill the space between us so I don't have to struggle to speak or even think too much. For now, that's all right.

*0*0*

Her:

"University?" I'm trying so hard to keep the judgment out of my voice, but it's hard.

Marek shoots me a look, sharp and hostile. It only lasts a second before he looks back down at his book. He shrugs. The movement is careless, like he's not bothered, but I can tell from the set of his jaw that he is. "I need to finish my degree if I want to teach. And I'll need to finish my dissertation."

"Marek…" I trail off, unable to speak. He wants to go back to University and finish his degree. He might as well be telling me he wants to fly to the moon. We have Ivanka. It takes all the money my mother and I can earn cleaning houses to keep the rent paid on our tiny flat, and that's with three other boarders helping. And he wants to spend all day at school. It's like we aren't even speaking the same language.

Marek drops his book to his lap with an exasperated sigh. "What, Dusana? You think I can't do it?"

I laugh in spite of myself. I don't know why I do it. It's not funny. But laughing is my only response to his ludicrous suggestion. When all he does is scowl at me with his angry eyes, I stop. "How are we going to pay for University, Marek?" I ask him seriously. "We barely make ends meet as it is."

"Well, we'll have to find a way because I can't work without my degree," he snaps.

And I am so angry. Because I work. I work and work and work. And I have no degree. I had to leave University after my first year because of Ivanka.

"I manage to work all the time without my degree," I spit into the tense silence.

"That's different."

"How? Because I am a woman? A mother?"

Marek rubs his eyes and looks tired. "I was much further into my studies than you were, Dusana. I'd already started on my doctorate! If I throw all that away, I'd be wasting my whole life! My future."

"And my life was okay to waste? I should just clean houses forever so that you can go back to school?"

"I'm not the one who got pregnant."

I snap back as if he hit me. It feels like he did. It feels like he punched me right in my chest and now I can't breathe. I always feared he felt that way, underneath it all. Whenever we fight, it always feels right there, just under the surface of his anger. He blames me. He feels trapped by me and Ivanka. We are his ruin. That's what he thinks, anyway.

When I can finally speak again, my voice is barely a whisper. "I remember there were two of us there. And only one of us was an eighteen-year old virgin, Marek."

He looks at me and there is so much in his eyes. He is nothing but resentment. Like there was never any part of him that loved me. "Don't pretend you were so innocent, Dusana. You're a smart girl. You always were."

"But only good enough for cleaning houses and supporting you, it seems. You listen to me, Marek." My voice gets stronger as my anger comes back. "It doesn't matter how she happened, but now we have this child. We will always have her, you and I. And whatever plans we had for ourselves have to change for that. Mine did a long time ago. When are you going to start changing yours?"

"I'm not ready to give up everything yet."

"Do you think I was? But I am her mother. And you are her father."

He shoves himself up off the bed and throws his book down. "You think I can ever forget that? I can't."

I look at him in confusion. "Do you want to? Do you want to forget us?"

He looks back over his shoulder at me, like a stranger. But he says nothing. He just reaches for his coat.

"I'm going to the pub for a drink."

I don't argue, I just let him go.

*0*0*

Hours later, after everyone else has gone to bed, he comes home, smelling of cheap whisky. I'm still awake, but I roll onto my side, away from the door and close my eyes tight. I don't want to talk to him any more tonight.

The alcohol sends him to sleep in just a few minutes. When his heavy breathing fills the room, I roll over and sit up. He's on his back, one arm thrown over his head.

He's still so handsome. The same high cheekbones and dark hair I remember from the first day I met him on campus at University. His eyes, set so deep under his eyebrows, were different then. When he smiled, it changed his eyes. He is full of mysteries now and he seemed so then, only then, I imagined it was just all of the things he knew that made him seem so. His mind was always at work, learning and thinking. He knew so much about everything. Much more than me.

Now he keeps it all inside. He never invites me into his head. Now I know I'm not welcome there. I never will be. His resentment has built a wall around him that I will never be able to climb.

I've started to cry as I sit watching him sleep. Soon I'll be noisy, so I leave our bed and go sit in the corner of the couch, out in the tiny living room. Reza is out for the night, probably off with Billy, but Andrej and Švec are sleeping in their room. And of course, my mother and Ivanka, too.

I ball my fist up against my mouth and smother the ugly sounds I want to make. I pull the old knitted blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it tight around me, hoping it will hold me tight together as I try to fall apart.

My mother finds me there, crying in the dark. What is it about mothers? We can feel it in our bones when our children hurt. She settles her weight in beside me and wraps her arm across my back. She brushes the hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear. Finally, I don't feel so scared and alone.

"Tell me what's happened, Dusanka," she whispers, calling me the little girl name she always uses for me when I am low. "It's Marek, yes?"

I tell her about Marek wanting to go back to school and the ugly fight we had about it. As much as she doesn't like him, she holds her tongue and just listens as I talk. "I don't know what to do anymore, Máma. I don't know how to fix this between us."

"You can't fix what he broke," she says.

"It wasn't all him. I made mistakes, too. But why does he resent me so much, Máma? Not everything is my fault."

She is silent for a minute, just rubbing my arm. "He is afraid of you, you know."

I scoff and then I have to sniff loudly, because of my stuffy nose. "Because I am so scary. I'm a tired, overworked mother."

"You are strong. So much stronger than him, and he knows it. There is this fire in you. It scares him. He doesn't know how to be a man next to all this strength in you."

"He did once. He loved me once."

"You were young then. Almost a girl. Your fire was not so big then. Dusana, there is this life in you. Even now, in Dublin, working yourself to the bone and being Ivanka's mother, it hasn't gone out. It will never go out. Why do you think you couldn't resist the Irish boy's music?"

"I just wanted to be a part of something outside of my life. Just for a minute."

"See?" she says. "That's your fire. Marek doesn't have it, so he wants to spend his life in a library reading about everyone else's."

I sigh and fall onto her shoulder. My fire feels low tonight, and all I want is my mother. "I'm not so sure this big fire is a good thing if it scares away my husband."

"Not all men are scared of a woman with fire."

"The one I need is, and that's all that counts."

She snorts. "You don't need Marek. You've done just fine these months without him, Dusanka."

I start to cry again. Letting go is so hard when all you've done for as long as you can remember is fight to hold on. "But Ivanka… he's her father."

"And he'll still be her father even if he is not your husband."

"He'll go back to Prague. That's what he wants anyway. He doesn't like Dublin."

"So let him go."

"Ivanka—" I protest again.

"Will see her father whenever he visits. Many children have grown up with far less. She will have you and me. And Reza, God help her. And Andrej and Švec. She will be a little girl surrounded by people who love her. She will be fine."

The tears won't stop now. I feel wrung out inside, nothing but water, washing away everything, putting out that fire that burns so bright. I am so tired, but letting go brings a relief, too. I hurt everywhere, but I know that after I sleep, I will wake up and finally start building my life again. I have been waiting for so long. It will be good to know there is nothing to wait for anymore. It doesn't feel that way now, but I know in time it will. And that's enough.