Jackie’s feelings about having children were thus confounded. In her early twenties she thought she wanted them, but the relationship hurdle seemed insurmountable. She could imagine cradling a baby or holding the hands of a toddler learning to walk, and feel the promise of joy; she just couldn’t imagine how to get there. When she chose developmental psychology as her concentration, Jackie told herself it was because she was fascinated by questions of nature versus nurture, but she was self-aware enough to recognize the sly hedge. Her career would place her adjacent to motherhood, where she could monitor the reality of it, knowing she could always, at some unspecified point in the future, decide to have a child outside the crapshoot of marriage.
The relationship hurdle was further complicated by the fact that she went to college in Maine, graduate school in Philadelphia, and did her postdoctoral work in Baltimore. She struggled to sustain her female friendships, let alone a committed relationship with a man. But when she took the job at Adams, Harlan appeared in her life and offered a novel path; he eschewed progression in favor of leaving well enough alone. Satisfactory, as a relationship grade, was an achievement. She became convinced she wanted what he did: dating for life. They were aligned, so why change? Just to do what others did, usually not successfully? Jackie had a friend from graduate school, Constance, who “had it all” and was stressed out of her mind, resenting the demands of her job one minute and the demands of her husband and children the next. Each day was scheduled with the precision of a NASA launch, and explosions on the launchpad were common. Constance criticized Jackie for being in a relationship without commitment. But she and Harlan didn’t lack commitment; they were committed to a circumscribed relationship. All relationships were circumscribed in one way or another, she told herself; soul melding was claptrap. The only valid question was whether each person was getting what they wanted and needed, and for a time Jackie echoed Harlan’s resounding “yes.”
After two years of the Tuesday/Friday/Saturday morning routine, however, Jackie’s relationship moxie grew. Maybe it was working with parents and children, witnessing daily how couples leveraged their love for each other to nurture the next generation, and often did so with grace. Maybe it was the radical notion that not all men were “useless bastards,” to quote her mother. Jackie had attended three weddings during those two years: those of her sister and two friends from graduate school. If other intelligent, reasonably sane people were taking the plunge, why shouldn’t she dip her toe in the water? She was happy with Harlan, warmed by the spotlight of his attention, awakened by his assurance in bed, lifted up by his respect for her work. If this much were possible, why not more? Her capacity for trust woke inside her like a small, blind, wingless creature.
During a Saturday brunch, Jackie threw out the question with all the insouciance she could muster. “How about we go away together for a few days?”
“As in a vacation? You know I don’t see the point of them. I have no need to escape my life.”
“Not escape. Variety.” She almost used the word “adventure,” but that would be abhorrent to him.
He’d been in a cheerful mood—that’s why she’d chosen the moment—but now concern clouded his features. “Aren’t you happy?”
“Very. But a jaunt could be fun.” She resumed eating to show him how much it didn’t matter.
“Wasn’t last night fun?”
They had watched Modern Family, and she’d laughed so hard she had fallen off the bed. She smiled, thinking about it. “So fun. Big fun.” He was right. Why change a winning strategy?
He grinned at her, eyes shining.
The key to happiness, she realized, was rejecting the impossible, glittering romantic quest and embracing satisfaction. To want more was foolishness, and Jackie was never foolish.
In Wolf Hall, Jackie stares out at the rain, lost in her reminiscences of her time with Harlan. She looks around the room at her colleagues and sees that her position among them is largely the result of accepting Harlan’s vision of her authentic self, the person she was destined to become. He was the authority on her, writing her definitive biography as she stood before him and absorbed the glowing smile he gave only to her, mesmerized by his calm, rich voice. She acquiesced to him, to his schedule, to his plans for her. The only reason they are no longer together is that she found—inevitably, in retrospect—that she did want more.
Now she has Miles, who is nothing like Harlan, and she isn’t at all certain this is the marriage she wants or needs. The uncertainty itself is familiar, even reassuring. It was ever thus. If she were blissful, she’d check herself into a hospital. Her doubt isn’t about bliss; it’s about having children, the next step in the progression that until now seemed beyond her grasp. Before they were married, literally days before, Miles said he was happy to consider having a child with her. She’d brought up the subject twice since, and while he hasn’t said he’s changed his mind, neither has he raced to the bathroom to flush her birth control down the toilet. Both times he was unequivocally equivocal, and she didn’t push it. While he was away on one of his frequent trips, she’d resolve to talk to him about starting a family, but once he was home, she was loath to bring it up and spoil their time together. There was never a good time to talk, or maybe never a good time to hear the word “no.”
Jackie watches rainwater spilling out of a clogged gutter and wonders whether, if she did a quick calculation, she might have averaged more time with Harlan than with Miles. She scolds herself for making the comparison and turns away from the window.
Miraculously, the faculty meeting adjourns, and Jackie shoots out the door before anyone can buttonhole her. She takes the stairs one flight down to her lab, hoping to complete a few more tasks before heading home for dinner with Miles. She lets herself in and pauses in the doorway of the shared office. Tate and Nasira seem to have just finished a conversation.
Tate smiles at Jackie. “Hey, Professor. Just getting back to coding.” She spins the swivel chair back in front of the dual monitors and puts on a pair of large headphones. She hits a key and the video session resumes.
Nasira stands to the side collecting her belongings. “Hi, Jackie.”
“Hi. Everything all right?”
“Sure. Tate was going to run through the four-year-study protocol with me on Friday, and I was seeing if we could reschedule.”
“That’s fine as long as you’re up to speed soon. Study’s filling up, thank goodness.”
“I know. We’re on for Tuesday. Such great news about the study.”
Jackie is pleased with Nasira’s enthusiasm for a project she’s only tangentially involved with and decides she owes Nasira a more congenial attitude. Jackie hasn’t been unfriendly to Nasira, only businesslike. “You heading out early for the weekend?”
“Yes, a quick trip.”
Jackie remembers Nasira is from the Midwest somewhere—Ohio or Iowa maybe. “To see your family?”
Nasira zips her bag shut and places both hands on top, hesitating. “No, my parents are overseas. I need to make headway on the NIH grant, so I’m off on a retreat of sorts.” She looks at the ceiling in thought. “A place called Greenfield, maybe?”