The Optimist

by Sophie Kipner

  I slipped off my shoes because, if I didn’t, I’d break all my bones, and picked up Randall.

  ‘You first,’ I said. ‘Ready?’ I grabbed him and had his elbows secure themselves on top of my forearms, and started to spin. The faster I went the more free I felt as he squealed and winced at the increasing speed at which we flew around together in circles. I stopped as soon as I felt light-headed and we wobbled from side to side to steady ourselves. I took a few minutes before doing it to Mary as you couldn’t spin one kid without the other.

  Milk walked in through the front door and within minutes the two kids were on him like bees on a syrup-laden pancake and I watched them crawl all over him, pawing in plea for more spins. I noticed he was holding a backgammon set.

  ‘Hey,’ he said to me as he hugged them. ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thanks, Milk,’ I said, quite bashfully for some reason. I started patting my dress down to give my hands something to do.

  ‘Is that backgammon?’ I asked, shocked he’d have such a game.

  ‘Yeah, it’s my dad’s old set. He’s had it for ever. I thought maybe I’d teach it to Mary and Randall.’

  ‘But you don’t know how to play!’ I laughed.

  ‘I play all the time,’ he said.

  ‘Are you any good?’

  ‘I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the worst.’ He winked at me but all I could do was laugh at his confidence.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ There’s a question bursting at my seams. ‘Am I intense?’

  He snorted at first. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘I’m serious, you’re totally intense and insane.’

  ‘This isn’t comforting, Milk.’

  ‘But, you know, you’re also the most fascinating person in the world, right? Everyone else is super-boring next to you.’

  ‘You don’t need to lie to make me feel better,’ I said. ‘I can handle it. Do I scare men off because I’m so, you know, in their face?’

  ‘Breathe,’ he said, interrupting me. I was out of breath, and the more aware of it I became the harder it was to catch it. ‘You think way too much about all of this.’

  ‘Come on! I’m dying here!’

  ‘Okay,’ he started, ‘well, yeah. Most guys want simple girls and you’re like a big, giant rolling rock of complexity, bulldozing everything in its path and you’re probably just too much work for most men. It’s a compliment, believe me.’

  ‘Hmmmm . . .’ I said, because how else would I follow that. I couldn’t tell if my heart hurt or if it was happy or if I was just pre-menstrual. ‘Thanks for looking after Mary and Randall,’ I added. Before our smiles faded, my mom and Brenda came downstairs.

  ‘We shouldn’t be home late,’ Brenda told Milk. ‘Eat whatever you want in the kitchen. I’ve left you some food but if you don’t like it just make whatever you feel like. Thank you so, so much.’

  In the car, Brenda drove, Mom took the passenger seat and I sat in the back. I loved the back because you could look out the car window and imagine you’re going anywhere with anyone and just ignore the conversation up front without needing any other excuse except that you can’t hear them. It reminded me a little of when I’d drive away from Ernesto, waving my special wave.

  ‘So,’ my mom began in her sinuous way. ‘I snooped. I know, I know, I shouldn’t have, but I did.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Brenda said.

  ‘I wanted to know about Randall’s background, what with Mary and him hanging out all the time now, I just wanted to know more about his situation.’

  ‘Mom,’ Brenda replied. ‘They’re in kindergarten. It’s not like they’re dating and sneaking out of the house to get high. He’s a cute little kid.’

  ‘Ah, yes, but parents influence their kids a tremendous amount.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Brenda chimed in.

  ‘I just wanted to know, okay?’ my mom said histrionically. ‘I’m curious, sue me.’

  ‘So what did you find out?’ I asked. The wind whipped my hair around my face, arousing and punishing me at the same time.

  ‘Well I called Jenny, Victoria’s mother, who lives next to them and she told me Randall’s a foster kid. But it’s a little different because he used to be at this group home for kids who keep failing placements in the system. Poor little guy. He’s a wild one.’

  ‘I’d be a wild one, too,’ I piped in, ‘if I were thrown into homes with weird-ass strangers all the time.’ As I said it, I ­realized that Randall probably wasn’t joking the other day about where his mother was.

  ‘You were born wild, Tabby, and you had biological parents,’ Brenda said before turning back to Mom. ‘But it’s good he’s finally found a home, right? I mean, after all that shuffling and state government bullshit and stuff, it’s great he has somewhere stable now.’

  ‘Yes, darling, but that’s not entirely the point. They didn’t bring him home because they wanted a kid,’ Mom said. ‘I’ll tell you that much right now.’ She paused and lit a cigarette, tapping the ash out the window on her exhale. ‘Their place is a pigsty. Disgusting. It’s sad, really, when I think about how there are so many people abusing the foster system just because it’s an extra way to make some money. God knows what they’re doing with it.’

  ‘That’s jumping a bit, Mom,’ Brenda suggested. ‘They might be good people. Messy, but good hearted. You can’t assume that all foster parents are in it for the money.’

  ‘The dad always sounds drunk when I call the house to see if it’s okay if I take Randall out after school,’ I added.

  ‘Nothing wrong with a few drinks,’ Mom said.

  ‘We’re not talking about you,’ Brenda retorted.

  ‘Well we have to get him out of there,’ I said. ‘But it’s such a stupidly twisted system. I’ve already looked into it.’

  ‘You’ve looked into foster care?’ Brenda asked, shocked.

  ‘I just don’t feel good dropping him off,’ I said. ‘When I took him home the other night, the house was so eerie, so spooky, lonely and dark. I didn’t want to leave him there, but of course, I had to. Otherwise I’d be kidnapping him.’

  ‘At least he looks well fed,’ my mom added, characteristically switching her side of the argument halfway through. ‘This could all be a grand miscalculation of character.’

  ‘I just hope that even if they’re doing it for the money, they love him,’ I said. ‘So, if there’s one thing we actually can do, it’s shower that little sweet soul with some love. By the way, have you seen his eyelashes? They’re longer than RuPaul’s. So jealous.’

  As I looked out the window, I could see in my flickering reflection that my cheeks looked less defined. I really should be running every day. Milk was right; I never go to the gym. I knew I only needed one, just one man to work out . . . but in seeing this face in the window, some girl I don’t really recognize, I wondered if she’ll find him. I wondered if the chances were on her side. I also wondered if she should dye her hair lilac, just to change things up. I couldn’t tell if I got all soppy and self-reflective and sad because we were talking about Randall, or because one of my favorite love songs was playing on the radio and it made me feel like I was in a movie. Just a girl staring out a window after her lover died at war. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was down, especially after having such a wonderfully exhilarating and confidence-boosting experience at Whole Foods. I was starting to think too much, tired from all the effort. Maybe I was beginning to flip-flop like my mother. I was running out of time.

  We arrived at the party: a decadent mansion in the Hollywood Hills overlooking the sprawling sea of lights that is night-time Los Angeles. It was a breast cancer fundraiser, so pink was everywhere. On the rare occasions I go to parties, I always have that sickly feeling, plagued with the fear that someone will come and eject me, claiming I was never invited in the first place. Admittedly, this has never happened, but the worry is always there.

  I heard myself talking under
my breath about how I shouldn’t have eaten that whole can of broad beans before I came out because they were making me not just bloat, but steadily expand to the point that my stomach was stretched taut; I might have just blown up in one big fart. I had become obsessive recently about white beans with rosemary, dressed in oil and tossed with copious amount of salt. I couldn’t get enough but I was bearing the consequences and feared that at any moment I would regret following those beans with too many prunes. If Mary were here she’d definitely start jumping in celebration of my looking pregnant and be on the road to naming my twins.

  Trays of Prosecco were being passed around by gorgeous people in penguin suits and I thought, when locking eyes with one penguin in particular as I thanked him for the bubbly glass, that maybe tonight was just what I needed. His smile infused in me a feeling of possibility; that was usually all I needed. My sister was on her second already and I would bet my fifth can of beans in the pantry that my mom was on her third.

  It drove me crazy when I saw people not taking sips of their drink after they clinked glasses; it’s less a pet peeve and more of an actual concern that their wish won’t come true. I mean, that’s why we cheers.

  ‘So, why are we here again?’ I asked.

  My mom waved the bubbly around as she took a thespian breath, as if the party were her audience and she was ready for her performance.

  ‘Do we ever know why we are anywhere?’ She sent me one of her winks, and even though I didn’t get the answer I asked for, it was somehow okay. She was right; who cared? The point was that we were all there, having Prosecco like we were on a mini-holiday. The three of us, alcoholic ducks in a row, all scanning the room from the sidelines. Before long, my mom was dancing with a man twenty years her junior and her laugh sustained the energy of the crowd as it has never failed to do.

  ‘Come on, girls!’ she yelled from across the room. ‘Grab someone and get dancing!’

  ‘I’m so hungry,’ Brenda said as she started to wander away in search of sustenance. Once she starts, she keeps going. ‘I need food.’

  I kept trying to make eyes with someone attractive, well, let’s be honest, with anyone at that party but no one was paying any attention so I started to look for Brenda near the buffet table. I couldn’t find her but I did find the shrimp skewers and bowls of risotto and started to scoop up as much as I could while juggling my champagne glass under my armpit. I wasn’t even hungry. I looked up and behind the bar was a huge mirror. I couldn’t quite believe my sight. Looking ahead at the life behind me, I saw myself stuffing and stacking plates of food with booze under my arm, alone, while the room partied on behind me. I was so bloated from the beans, and the prunes were going to make me wish I’d invested in Depends. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I was still stuffing. I was so full but I was feeling sad about my plummeting love life so I just kept stuffing. I tried to understand why I wasn’t able to hold on to the success of The Breast Man this time, but I think even for an optimist, little wins lose their staying power when there are enough big fails.

  Then I saw it: three girls I went to Malibu High School with were walking towards the buffet table, towards me, and it set me into panic mode but I couldn’t put anything down because I was holding too much. No free hands. I was frozen and so to empty a plate, I shoved down a few of the pastries by bending over and grabbing them with my mouth. I was chewing and chewing furiously with my head down to avoid their recognition and it was working until Felicia Adams literally bumped into me, sending her cocktail all over my outfit.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she yelped, ‘I’m so sorr— wait, Tabitha . . . Gray? From Malibu?’

  ‘Tanker Tabby,’ Juniper Wilson added, eyeing me up and down. She thought she was so clever because they both started with the letter T. And then there was Alexa Brimstone, the width of my anklebone, in a stunning skin-tight dress, the kind I thought were designed only for mannequins (until now). I was still chewing; I couldn’t stop. There was too much in my mouth. I almost couldn’t swallow and that in itself made my eyes flutter. I was dying again. Surely, I was dying.

  All three of them were staring at me, mouths agape, as I attempted to swallow the rest of my food. I assumed high school was the same for everyone, until I realized it wasn’t. I never had enemies or bullies. I had lots of friends! That time when Felicia and Rebecca told me that I should sing the National Anthem in front of the entire Malibu High School at assembly because my voice was so amazing was just a mistake; they didn’t mean to embarrass me! Come to think of it, maybe they weren’t so nice. Goddammit, I’ve always been too optimistic.

  ‘How have you all been?’ I eventually said, my gulp louder than I’d hoped.

  ‘You look exactly the same!’ Alexa burst out.

  ‘I’ve been great,’ Felicia answered, throwing out her hand. ‘Just got engaged!’

  ‘Congrats!’ I said with forced enthusiasm. It was a standard diamond ring. Everything you’re told to want by De Beers except originality. I managed to set the rest of my plates down and grabbed another passing Prosecco.

  The server looked at me and handed me a napkin with a wink. He could tell I was being faced with my past and it was not a good look.

  ‘I’m married,’ Juniper said, patting her belly. ‘I’ve got a little one on the way. Already getting those stretch marks that will never go away.’ She smiled ever so smugly.

  ‘I had two kids already and I’m the thinnest I’ve ever been!’ Alexa chimed in, making you want to punch her. ‘It’s like being a mom helped me to lose weight. Crazy, right? Donnie always says I’m the sexiest I’ve ever been.’

  Donnie and Alexa met each other in college, at the University of Southern California. It was the typical fraternity/sorority setup, with bulging muscles, thigh gaps, anorexia and beer pong to thank for their everlasting love. They were everything I wanted to avoid in college, although now, being a face-stuffing, Prosecco-downing single and soon-to-be-unemployed nanny in front of them, I considered possibly having made the wrong choice. I knew about Donnie and their kids from her pictures on Facebook during one of my late-night prowls.

  ‘What about you, TT?’ Juniper asked me. ‘All I can remember in high school was you getting detention for indecent conduct or something.’ She let out a few high-pitched laughs as she reminisced on my unfortunate time in school.

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Felicia said, the light in her brain illuminating her bulb-like bobble head, intermittently giggling. ‘You were so weird!’ she exclaimed, patronizingly hitting the top of my shoulder. ‘Like making up stories and following people around with that big smile on your face like a creep!’

  ‘You know I can hear you, right?’

  ‘Sorry,’ they said in unison behind glasses and poorly upheld personas.

  ‘Hey,’ Felicia chuckled, ridiculing. ‘What was that thing you’d always say? “I have a big crush on life?” Was that it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, feeling like I was seventeen again. ‘It’s a good thing to have, you know.’

  I guess these girls weren’t so nice to me in school. I must have blocked it out. The blind spot, the Achilles heel of optimism. I wasn’t the outcast, but when I tried to remember it I couldn’t recall much other than not understanding why they were calling me weird. I just remembered being happy. I remembered smiling.

  I wanted to say something better, to come back with some witty phrase to shut them up and defend my name, my memory. I wanted to be Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin Round Table, but I was frozen, paralyzed, hypnotized by their deprecating humor. I wanted to expel confidence but that kind of humor was lost on me and, unusually, I had nothing to say. I knew when they left I’d think of the best line but in that moment, I had nothing. I kept forgetting to breathe and then all of a sudden I would have to take in a huge breath to accommodate the fact that I had not been breathing; each time it would freak me out. The more I breathed, the more panicked I would get.

  They scooted off before I realized I’d been left so I turned around to m
y right and saw a guy wearing a sweet suit.

  ‘I like your bow tie,’ I told him. He looked at me and smiled, holding his tray of Prosecco flutes.

  ‘God, I hate these people,’ he said, smiling at me.

  ‘Oh, they’re not so bad.’

  Every party I go to, albeit rare, I inevitably end up hanging out with the crew working it, as they are undeniably more interesting than anyone else at the party. I looked out over the heads in the room, through to the back and out the window where the night met the moon and everything else had a place to disappear.

  ‘I went to school with some of those girls over there,’ I explained, pointing as indiscreetly as possible as he followed my finger to the three of them. ‘They used to sit in the back of the classroom and throw things at my head. Usually Tic Tacs or something. Anything small so the teacher couldn’t see.’

  ‘Girls are mean,’ he said.

  ‘And then I’d turn around and ask them to stop, and the teacher would throw me out of the classroom for interrupting,’ I told him. ‘This happened most days. There’s a huge part of American History I missed out on because of them.’

  ‘Well, shit,’ he said. ‘Now that’s what I call a real setback.’ He laughed slowly and deeply, and its weight lulled me for a moment as I tried to regain my confidence in the middle of that uneven crowd. The man with the tray was named Gerald, but, ‘People call me Gerry,’ he told me. He was probably, if I were to guess, in his middle twenties. Really cute, looked like he was from Japan but I learned he was from El Salvador.

  ‘Gerald’s a funny name,’ I said.

  ‘It’s kind of old, right?’ he admitted.

  ‘Ha, yeah.’

  Guests walked by and I watched them pick up from his tray without even making eye contact with him. It really upset me so I started to bully them with my eyes but they were not looking at me either.

  This one girl came up and said, ‘Can I give this to you?’ in the whiniest voice you could imagine while she set her glass down on his clean platter before giving him a chance to respond. He smiled as she turned her back on us, moving her hair off and around her shoulder.