Monogamy

by Sue Miller

“I’m talking to—or maybe I’m talking about—all of us. Just, it’s an old tired story, that’s all, the damaged person who can’t be held responsible for the damage he causes.”

“Well, he was just there. You know, I think he had such a terrible growing up himself that he was just grateful in the aftermath of that. Just glad. A glad person. But also he understood, he understood how some things are just . . . insolubly painful. You can’t make them better, you can’t make them turn out differently. And what he was good at, in the face of that, was offering a kind of . . . joyous sympathy. Or is it empathy? Anyway, he was just there, steady and warm. He made people happy, without even trying.”

“Oh no, she is, very kind. But her kindness . . . it takes a different form. My mother . . . she wants to solve your problems. Or she wants you to solve your problems. She can’t . . . sit with you. In your misery. It’s too hard for her.” She changed her voice, made it brusque. “‘Let’s. Make. This. Better!’” She slapped her hand on the sheet covering her thighs with each word.