Jake woke up when his brother entered the apartment. He heard Rachel stirring, the sofa bed creaking, and she said in a loud, crisp voice, Not again.
We desert people have eyes in the back of our heads, Eugene said.
What?
The sounds of the kitchen faucet mingled with Eugene gurgling.
Jesus, Euge, you’ve got to get your act together.
You’re packing?
Shh. Yes.
Look what you’re doing to me.
Don’t blame me for this, Rachel said, her voice low.
My limbs are falling off.
You’re drunk. You need help. I need a sculptor.
What?
I need Michelangelo.
God, you can’t even hear me, you’re so drunk.
I hear you. I am drinking because I lost my fucking job and my wife is fucking leaving me, and I have no fucking money, and I’m drowning in fucking debt. Is that all right?
Jake sat up.
Don’t talk to me like that—
I hear you all right. I hear you because my ears haven’t fallen off and my head is still attached for now—
Keep your voice down—
And you’re leaving me because you haven’t gotten what you wanted. Well let me tell you something, you think I wanted all this bullshit? Do you?
Eugene, please…
You think I wanted to live in an overpriced piece of shit apartment and bending over for an asshole boss and not have a family? You think this is what I wanted? You think I’m fucking happy with the way we live? Do you! Do you! Do you!
Jake listened. Rachel was quiet.
Eugene muttered, My arms fell off. Leave them there. I’ll get them in the morning.
He walked heavily down the hallway.
Jake heard Rachel crying.