Larger Than Life (Novella) Read Online Free

said, uncomfortable.
    “I’m just wondering,” my mother said. “Why don’t you wear any makeup?”
    I had seen my mother without her “face” only once—the day after Isaac left. It was
     terrifying—the pale palette of her cheeks, the red gash of her mouth, the streaks
     of mascara.
    “Is it because you think you’re so pretty you don’t need it?” she mused. “Or is it
     some kind of statement?”
    I blinked at her. I didn’t wear makeup because usually I rolled out of bed ten minutes
     before class, after having stayed up studying till 4:00 A.M . I didn’t wear makeup because I’d been trained my whole life to focus on my brains
     and not my looks. But maybe that had been a trap laid by my mother.
    “It doesn’t matter how I look to my research subjects,” I said. At Harvard, I would
     be working with monkeys. I was pretty sure I’d be the best-looking one in the lab
     no matter how grungy I got.
    My mother didn’t say anything. She just raised her brows, sniffed, and took another
     sip of champagne.
    Her criticism boiled at the back of my throat, bitter and hot, and I threw my verbal
     punch blindly: “Maybe I
should
start wearing some makeup. Maybe I should have tried harder to attract some guy who
     could get me knocked up,” I said. “Just like you.”
    My mother stared at me for a long moment. Then she got up, carried the bottle tothe kitchen sink, and spilled the remainder down the drain. “You know,” she said,
     her back to me, “this wasn’t as good as I’d hoped.”
    We both knew she was not talking about the wine.

    After making a nest for the elephant with one blanket and wrapping her in another,
     I fall into a deep, exhausted sleep. I dream that Anya comes looking for me, to warn
     me that Grant has found out about the calf and is on a rampage. He is going to tell
     me that I’ve crossed a line, that I can no longer do my work here. Childishly, I close
     the door and lock it, thinking that if he cannot get in to deliver the bad news, it
     won’t be real.
    In my dream, I hear Grant’s footsteps, heavy on the porch.
    I hear him bang at the door.
Alice
, he says,
don’t be ridiculous
.
    It is something my mother would say.
    My eyes fly open, and I am suddenly awake. It is still pitch dark out, the moon high.
     And I realize that Grant is not the source of the steady thump against my door.
    I open it to find the calf on the threshold, getting ready to smack the wood with
     her trunk again.
    “You can’t come inside,” I say out loud. “I’m already in enough trouble.”
    The calf rumbles.
    “I know you’re hungry. But I can’t do anything else until it’s morning.” I lead the
     baby elephant back to her nest of blankets. “Sleep tight,” I say.
    I close the door softly and have not even pulled back the covers on my bed before
     I hear her pounding again.
    It gets cold in the bush when the sun goes down. It’s about 40 degrees Fahrenheit
     right now. That’s why I’ve given the calf blankets. It’s also why I’m sleeping with
     my door closed. But now I prop it open with one of my kitchen chairs. “Is that better?”
     I ask. “I’m right here. You can see me.”
    She tries to walk inside, but the rope keeps her from getting very far.
    “Go to sleep,” I mutter.
    I lie back down, shivering. For a few moments, it’s quiet. But then the calf startsto rumble again. Louder.
    I stare up at the ceiling, count to ten, and throw back the quilt. I untie the rope
     and lead her inside.
    Insert your own joke here, about the elephant in the room. She may be less than three
     feet tall, but she does manage to knock over a lamp and a side table and to crush
     a magazine rack beneath her foot as she follows me inside. I rearrange her blankets
     beside my bed and let her root around in them. She tosses one into the air like a
     pizza crust as I lie down again; it lands over her head and she squeals.
    I pull the blanket off her, and she stares at me with what could only be