As the baby continued weighing down America, he acted even more oddly. Virginia's questions of, "When is the baby going be here?" and, "Is it safe for the baby if you're doing that?" were met by America absently telling Virginia she was too young to be worrying about such matters.
He snapped out of his tired and depressed state, becoming energetic for the first time in months. Losing interest in coddling his daughter, he gained an obsession with cleaning the house. Virginia was not sorry for this exchange; she was rejoicing over the lack of supervision and getting some breathing space from America.
She wasn't happy long. America's new fixation was focusing on things that didn't need cleaning. How far he was taking this was worrisome.
"What are you doing?" she asked, having rushed into a room after hearing loud scraping noises, to find America dragging a heavy writing table away from the wall.
"Cleaning."
"You never use that thing. Why do you need it cleaner than it already is?"
"There was dust underneath it. I couldn't reached under there to clear it away, the baby won't let me bend like that."
"You could have called me to do it." She thought it was an unnecessary task, but it made her nervous, seeing America unable to hold still. What would happen to the baby if America was bumping into things, or knocking things down on himself? Virginia privately believed her little brother or sister was extraordinarily stupid, if the things America was compelled to do because of it were proof of anything, but her sibling didn't need to be made stupider, by their father's actions.
America glared at the desk like he wanted to break it into pieces, not sweep away dust from beneath it. "I'm cleaning it myself, that way I know it's clean. It needs to be spotless."
"Why?"
"Because I won't have time to do it after the baby's here."
"But the baby's not going to use anything in this room. It's barely going to use anything in this house."
"You couldn't possibly understand, Virginia," America told her, in his I'm-the-parent-and-you're-the-child-even-if-I-don't-let-you-call-me-father voice, the one he used whenever he was trying to be impressive. It never lived up to the conviction. "If you have time to ask questions, you have time to help me."
"You just said you didn't want me cleaning."
"Well, bring me the broom then. You're faster than me."
"It's right behind you." If this flightiness lasted after the baby came, her poor brother or sister wouldn't survive a week under America's care.
***
America hadn't been making Virginia sleep with him in the last weeks--America had been too uncomfortable no matter how he lay or sat in bed. He kept getting up and walking around, which would have kept her from sleeping. So when he did not leave the bedroom one morning, Virginia was not sure if America had worn himself out with all the cleaning he'd been doing, or if America had sunk back into his low spirits.
She left him alone most of the day. By evening, she decided to knock on his door and at least see if he wanted anything to eat or drink. He'd been in there since the night before.
Approaching the room, she heard groaning. "Alfred?" she called, alarmed--it took a lot for America to notice he was hurt. What could possibly have happened to him? "Are you alright?"
The pained noises stopped, followed by a muffled, "Fuck!", then America tersely yelled, "What is it?" He was out of breath.
"What's wrong? Can I come in--"
"No! Don't come in here! Go to bed, leave me alone for a while. If I need you, I'll call you."
"But you're--"
"I don't need you underfoot right now!"
It must be the baby. Well, it was about time. Virginia didn't leave, but she compromised by not going into the room, and sat in the hallway, without letting America know she was still there.
All is Not As it Seems - 5a
He snapped out of his tired and depressed state, becoming energetic for the first time in months. Losing interest in coddling his daughter, he gained an obsession with cleaning the house. Virginia was not sorry for this exchange; she was rejoicing over the lack of supervision and getting some breathing space from America.
She wasn't happy long. America's new fixation was focusing on things that didn't need cleaning. How far he was taking this was worrisome.
"What are you doing?" she asked, having rushed into a room after hearing loud scraping noises, to find America dragging a heavy writing table away from the wall.
"Cleaning."
"You never use that thing. Why do you need it cleaner than it already is?"
"There was dust underneath it. I couldn't reached under there to clear it away, the baby won't let me bend like that."
"You could have called me to do it." She thought it was an unnecessary task, but it made her nervous, seeing America unable to hold still. What would happen to the baby if America was bumping into things, or knocking things down on himself? Virginia privately believed her little brother or sister was extraordinarily stupid, if the things America was compelled to do because of it were proof of anything, but her sibling didn't need to be made stupider, by their father's actions.
America glared at the desk like he wanted to break it into pieces, not sweep away dust from beneath it. "I'm cleaning it myself, that way I know it's clean. It needs to be spotless."
"Why?"
"Because I won't have time to do it after the baby's here."
"But the baby's not going to use anything in this room. It's barely going to use anything in this house."
"You couldn't possibly understand, Virginia," America told her, in his I'm-the-parent-and-you're-the-child-even-if-I-don't-let-you-call-me-father voice, the one he used whenever he was trying to be impressive. It never lived up to the conviction. "If you have time to ask questions, you have time to help me."
"You just said you didn't want me cleaning."
"Well, bring me the broom then. You're faster than me."
"It's right behind you." If this flightiness lasted after the baby came, her poor brother or sister wouldn't survive a week under America's care.
***
America hadn't been making Virginia sleep with him in the last weeks--America had been too uncomfortable no matter how he lay or sat in bed. He kept getting up and walking around, which would have kept her from sleeping. So when he did not leave the bedroom one morning, Virginia was not sure if America had worn himself out with all the cleaning he'd been doing, or if America had sunk back into his low spirits.
She left him alone most of the day. By evening, she decided to knock on his door and at least see if he wanted anything to eat or drink. He'd been in there since the night before.
Approaching the room, she heard groaning. "Alfred?" she called, alarmed--it took a lot for America to notice he was hurt. What could possibly have happened to him? "Are you alright?"
The pained noises stopped, followed by a muffled, "Fuck!", then America tersely yelled, "What is it?" He was out of breath.
"What's wrong? Can I come in--"
"No! Don't come in here! Go to bed, leave me alone for a while. If I need you, I'll call you."
"But you're--"
"I don't need you underfoot right now!"
It must be the baby. Well, it was about time. Virginia didn't leave, but she compromised by not going into the room, and sat in the hallway, without letting America know she was still there.