Dada

I spotted him at Tanya’s barbecue, balancing his baby in the crook of his toned forearm. In his free hand he held a beer—something crisp and low ABV—and with it he gesticulated an elaborate story about a time he was humiliated then redeemed himself with charm and wit. Tanya worried about the cheese. It had been a splurge purchase from the fancy grocery store, but it sat congealed now, the August heat so oppressive that people rubbed their drinks across their foreheads and along the backs of their necks. He disappeared from Tanya’s yard, I figured for good, but resurfaced moments later with three packages of popsicles he’d bought at the deli down the street. There were cheers. His baby stirred and I felt a pinch in my cheeks. Here we go, I thought. She’s about to lose her shit. But instead, she just babbled sweetly, dazed. He lifted her in the air like some holy idol—up she goes!—and everybody cooed.

“Who’s that dad?” a woman asked Tonya. She wore a wide-brimmed hat so large I found it slightly offensive.

“He works with Rob. Just started a couple weeks ago.” Hat woman arched her eyebrows. “Are they still hiring?”

“Do you think if I spray everyone with my hose, they’ll leave?” Tanya said to me once the woman ditched us for a refill.

I stared at the stragglers, looking sweaty and overeager. “That might get them to stay longer.”

“Great point.”

I piled all my hair on the top of my head, trying to smooth the frizz blooming at my temples. “We can pretend your water broke?”

“Very funny.” Tanya interlaced her fingers across her belly, still about two weeks from popping. The clichés were true. She glowed.

Popsicle Dad now chatted with a second dad I hadn’t noticed, a tattoo of a mountain range peeking out from beneath his shirt sleeve. They stood together in a knot, in the shade, wearing their babies like badges. Tanya played out their conversation for me, from afar.

“The thing about working out, man,” she said, contorting her voice into a guttural bro, “Is when I’m in it, like Really In It, with my weights and my squats, it’s almost like I touch God. You know? I don’t think you actually know.”

She shifted to an Australian accent for Tattoo. “Oh no mate I do. That’s me at the mirror some days. Like, crikey, I’m so attractive it’s a bit of a spiritual experience, right?”

I laughed so hard I snorted, which made her lose it too.

Tanya had wanted to be a stand-up comic. Once, at a high-stakes gig at a renowned club she’d worked for years to book, Tanya transformed into 10 invented characters, springing from PTA president to infomercial actor to crazed retiree with electric precision. Her set killed, and I still remember the luminous pride that coursed through me as I watched my best friend receive a standing ovation. She taught seventh grade social studies now, at a public school so competitive it seemed private. I had wanted to be a singer. After several regional tours and a handful of promising local shows that led nowhere, I turned the desire into a sporadic hobby. I took out more loans, went back to school, and got a job at a library.

I kicked a brown-green patch of grass on Tanya’s yard, sipping from a paper cup of wine. It was a boxed brand I hadn’t drank since college, where she and I met.

Tanya arched her back, wincing. “You good?” I asked.

Before she could answer, Rob appeared by her side with the same question.

At six foot four, Rob towered over Tanya. He broke news about climate disasters, pontificated about the need for better bike infrastructure if you got him going, and cooked elaborate curries and ratatouilles. He was fine. He was more than fine, but I’d always kept him at arm’s length, white-knuckling my grip on the petty competition between close friends and their husbands.

“Just readjusting,” Tanya assured us. “Nothing to see here.”

Rob tilted his head toward me. “How about you, Annie? How are you holding up? You know, considering.”

“Considering what?” I asked, a joke Rob registered a hair late so I added, “Holding up fine.”

“Fine, ok, we’ll take fine,” Rob said. I was grateful, for once, that he rarely asked follow- up questions. Tanya clocked this and changed the subject.

 

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