by Ariella Papa
“That’s ok. How did everything go?”
“Fine, fine,” she says, breezing over it. “Just a lot. Kids. You know how it is.”
“It’s amazing we have time to do anything,” Claudia says. “Can I get you a drink, Kirsten?”
“Oh, this is for you,” Kirsten says, holding out a bottle of rosé. That’s what I should have done. I should have brought a bottle of wine instead of´ making a half-assed salad. It looks fat and sloppy on the table with everything else. I can relate. I suck in my gut. Maybe I shouldn’t be eating anything.
“How lovely,” Claudia says, studying the label. “I never drink wine this color, but it looks refreshing.”
“It is,” Kirsten says confidently. She is not having hostess-gift remorse. She turns to the table. “What have we here?”
“She rolled her own sushi,” I offer, dumbly. Kirsten nods. She doesn’t seem as impressed as I was. I wonder if she’s doing it on purpose or if she is having trouble focusing on anything but the fact that her babydaddy is having an affair.
“So here is some ceviche and homemade wasabi hummus,” Claudia says. Something about the second time through with the food descriptions makes it seem like bragging.
“I love these chickpeas,” Kirsten says picking a few up and running her thumb over them in the palm of her hand.
“And here is Ruth’s pasta salad,” Claudia says, presenting it like Vanna White. “Onto the fun stuff. I made fresh watermelon margaritas and since they were such a big hit at the restaurant, I made mojitos with a ginger twist. Who knew this drink was so popular and had so many variations.”
“Wow, I’ll take the pitcher,” Kirsten says.
“Well, help yourself,” Claudia says. She looks around nervously. “How should we do this, should we sit at the table or should we go in the living room?”
“I’ll do whatever,” Kirsten says. “Whatever’s easiest.”
“Well, maybe we could keep it contained in here,” Claudia says. I giggle a little at her choice of the word contained. She puts together a nice spread as my grandmother would say, but it’s as if she never had people at her house before.
We sit down in her fancy stiff-backed chairs. I’m ready to help myself, but Claudia makes a point of serving. Immediately I wonder what happens when I want more. She’s got the food close to her. Am I going to have to ask her each time I want another helping? I’m supposed to be relaxing with friends, and already I feel stressed. I wonder how Steve is doing at home alone with Abe. Maybe I should call.
“This was so nice of you,” Kirsten says. “Ruth, your pasta salad is delicious.”
“Now what’s in the sauce?” Claudia asks. I wonder if she knows and she is purposely trying to out me for not doing everything from scratch. “It’s so tangy.”
“Oh, a bunch of different spices. It’s an old family recipe.” This is true. My mother’s idea of a home-cooked meal was opening up the freezer for a TV dinner. She made a variation of this whenever she had to bring something to a party. And I inherited her lack of competency in the kitchen. I like to eat, not to cook.
“Well, it’s great and so is this sushi, Claudia,” Kirsten says. I can’t get a read on her mood.
“So are both your husbands watching the kids tonight?”
“Yes, Steve seemed to have things under control when I left,” I say quickly. I want to spare Kirsten the embarrassment of having to talk about David if she doesn’t want to. But then I start to think about Steve and Abe actually alone. “Maybe I should call.”
“I’m sure they’re fine,” Kirsten says. “David is with my kids. This time I reminded him a million times to be home on time. It’s time I prioritize my going out.”
“Well, Peter had a dinner meeting tonight, so it seemed like the perfect time.”
“How did you get your kids down so early?” Kirsten asks.
“Well, they are on a schedule. It’s what they know. They actually went down a little earlier than usual tonight. So hopefully, they’ll stay down. Sometimes, if one wakes up, they get the other one up. That’s a nightmare.”
“Wow, when did you start that?” I ask. This is fascinating. “The scheduling. I can’t imagine actually ever knowing when Abe is going to go down. It fluctuates so much from night to night. I never know.”
“We started scheduling them pretty soon. We started sleep training at three months.”
“When did you do that?” I ask Kirsten.
“I never really did, but around 8:00 at night, we try to wind them down. We try to get them to quiet their minds. Julissa never wants to go down. Sometimes, she’s up until ten.”
“Oh, how do you take that?” Claudia asks. “I really need my day with them to end.”
“Sometimes, I feel that way, you know, exhausted by the day, but I like to follow their rhythms.”
Nobody says anything. We all eat. And drink. Everything is really good. I’m even grateful for the potential absorbing qualities of my pasta salad. I’m not going to be ashamed of my tolerance tonight. I can’t decide which drink I prefer. I have a glass of both. These women are going to think I’m a lush for double fisting, but honestly, I really like to drink.
I ask for seconds and so does Kirsten. As expected, Claudia divvies it out.
“Oh, I have South American marinated chicken I was going to grill up, too. Should I do that? I can’t believe I forgot,” she says, jumping up a little. “I wanted to get this all out and the kids took a while to go down. “
“I’m fine for now,” I say. I’m glad to hear that there was a small amount of effort that went into all this. I feel better about the pasta salad they are only eating to be polite.
Claudia doesn’t take my word for it. She looks at Kirsten.
“Really, don’t go to any more trouble. Let’s keep it easy. If we’re hungry later, I’ll throw it on your grill.”
Claudia nods, but I bet she would no sooner let Kirsten grill for her than let me suckle her child.
“What are you laughing at?” Kirsten asks me. Shit.
“Was I laughing? Sorry,” I say. They are both looking at me. I am on my own. I should be able to focus on what is happening here instead of drifting off in my head.
“So Abe is still not sleeping any better,” Claudia asks.
“He’s had his moments, but really, every day is something new.”
“Well, you said he gave you seven hours straight one night.”
“Yeah, but that was a fluke, I think.”
“When did you say that?” Claudia asks.
“What?” I ask, wondering if I drifted off again
“I mean, did you guys see each other recently?” Claudia asks. She looks back and forth between us. I feel as though I have been caught cheating. And I’m not really sure how into the whole sordid stakeout tale Kirsten wants to get.
“We had a photo shoot,” I say, quickly.
“Oh, that’s a nice idea,” Claudia says approvingly. “I love the ones you did for me. And I wish I had gotten better photos of the twins when they were Abe’s age. I guess a lot of people must think that there isn’t much to it, just point and shoot, but you are really talented, Kirsten. You really captured something.”
“Thanks, Claudia, I’m glad you liked the pictures,” Kirsten has a way of acknowledging what people say to her that really seems genuine. It’s as though she gives things a chance to settle before she moves on. Or maybe it’s a deaf thing. When the pause is over she adds, “But I was actually taking pictures of Ruth.”
I blush. When I called Kirsten, I wanted to talk about that too. Her pictures made me feel seen. Lately, I don’t think anyone sees me. They only see Abe. But when Kirsten took those photos it was as if she was actually seeing me. It made me feel beautiful. It was so nice to be looked at. I wanted Steve to look at me that way. I wasn’t sure if he ever had.
“Why were you taking pictures of Ruth? Are you starting adult photography?”
“I got inspired by Ruth. I’ve actually been asking
some of the moms of my subjects to pose for me when I finish with their children.”
“Well, are people doing this now? Are you selling them?”
“No, it’s not a business. I’m not sure what it is yet. It feels a lot like art. I’m not sure what is going to happen. I’ve been finding a lot of beauty in motherhood, in the moms. For me, there has been a lot of solace in it lately.”
I think that Kirsten is going to cry, and I really want to know how her confrontation with David went. I am about to ask—Kirsten is really open, maybe she won’t mind—but there is a crash from the kids’ room.
“Oh, no,” Claudia says, leaping up nervously. Then she composes herself for our sake. “That doesn’t sound very good. I’ll be right back.”
When she’s gone, I turn to Kirsten. I’m not sure how to broach this topic. But I have had many alternating sips of two strongish drinks.
“You know I had a little help with my pasta salad. The late great Paul Newman lent me a hand with the dressing.”
Kirsten lets out a gunshot burst of laughter. “I was definitely suspicious of the family recipe.”
“Well, it’s Newman’s family. ”
She nods. “Thank you again for the other night, for coming with me and for indulging my photography.”
“That picture part was really nice for me. I would still love to see them. There was something about it. When you were taking those pictures, I started to feel as though it was me back in my body. It’s hard to explain, but I started to feel not exactly back to normal but like this was normal. You know?”
“That is such a great way to put it. You were extremely relaxed. You fell right into it. I can’t wait to show you what I got. Really, you’ve been the best subject. I mean, not only looks-wise, but the one that made me feel the most inspired. It’s hard to explain. But I’m enjoying this and I may want to exhibit this one day. I don’t know what the subject is. I’m not sure if it’s mothers or women or feelings or what. Maybe it’s only a bunch of pretty pictures. Who knows? I’m going to go where it leads me.”
“That’s so cool.”
‘Yeah,” she says. She looks back down at her plate. “I haven’t talked to David, I’m embarrassed to say.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“But you would have right?”
“I don’t know that I could have watched it happen. What if that was the first time they met? What if you could have stopped it?”
“Look, I can’t change fate. If that’s what happened, it doesn’t matter if it was the first or last time. It means things are done.” If? It sounds like she thinks there might be another excuse. “It doesn’t seem possible to me, Ruth. I saw it with my own eyes, I know, but God, this isn’t supposed to be me. This can’t be me. This can’t be us.”
“It seemed pretty apparent what he was doing,” I say, hesitating.
“I know, I know it did.” She looks down at the pile of uneaten pasta salad in front of her. “I really don't know how to deal with this right now.”
I can’t press this, but I also can’t understand it.
Claudia comes back in. She looks annoyed.
“How's everything?” Kirsten asks quickly, happy for an excuse to change the subject.
“She doesn't want to go to sleep. She is standing up in her crib, throwing things at her brother. I can't believe how willful this child is,” Claudia says. She is shaking. “She never does this. It’s because she knows something is going on. She could hear you and she wants to investigate.”
“Do you want us to be quieter?” I ask. Unlike Emily, apparently I fear the wrath of Claudia. There are a few big thumps from the kids’ room. “Did she fall out?”
“No,” Claudia says, with a sigh. “That’s her shaking the crib.”
“Why don’t you bring her out?" Kirsten asks. “Maybe she wants to party with the girls.”
“It's quarter of nine” Claudia says. “We're not here to entertain her.”
“I don't mind,’ Kirsten says. She looks at me. “Do you?”
“No,” I say. I guess, in truth I was hoping for an adult night. But Emily is making Claudia edgier than usual. So she might as well come out.
“I’m going to speak to her again,” Claudia says defiantly and goes back into her room.
I look at Kirsten. She shrugs.
“Really, sometimes you have to choose your battles. Sometimes you have to give in because it’s pointless to negotiate with terrorists.”
This is probably one of those rules that Claudia seemed so surprised about the other night. Maybe she should suspend the rules for now and let Emily have her way. I reach across the table and grab another hand roll. Kirsten laughs. I guess Claudia makes us both feel like children being bad.
Claudia comes back. Her conversation appears to have aged her. She is no longer trying to hide the stern line of her face.
"He started waking up, but I rubbed his back and he staid down. And Emily just stood in her crib, trying to get her leg over, threatening to come out."
"Really," Kirsten says. "Let her come out. Feed her some hummus. Maybe she wants to make sure everything is ok. You know, find out who are these people in her house. Weird voices. It can be pretty hard to process."
"Well, if I give in, she's going to think she's always going to get her way," Claudia says. She is talking to Kirsten now, mother to mother. I don't really rate. My experience is still being formed. Again, I am unseen.
"Well, she's not always going to get her way. Sadly, the world doesn't work that way," Kirsten says. She takes another sip of her drink. "It's going to be pretty clear, pretty soon, that you can't always get what you want."
I look over at Kirsten, but she doesn't look back at me. Something resonates with Claudia and she nods. I think about her sitting out on her stoop the other night. There is something Claudia wants, too.
"You're right," Claudia says. She looks at me. "You sure you don't mind? This is your night out."
I shake my head. "It's our night out. Besides, I know there is only so much I can do for your kid."
"Ok, I'll get her."
Claudia comes back with Emily. She has wide, tired eyes. I know she loves Kirsten, because Kirsten has that way with children, but I am surprised when she reaches out of her mother's hands for me. I pull her into my lap and she smiles at me.
"Hello," she says bright and clear. I laugh. I am actually going to interact with her. I've been getting smiles here and there from Abe, but this is actually going to be a talk with a little person.
"Hi, Emily. You didn't feel sleepy."
"No," she says, giggling. She has a mischievous smile. The girl is going to be trouble. I have no idea what to say to a person this size. I look at Kirsten, who offers no help. I've got to figure it out.
"How are you?" I ask. A pretty lame attempt.
"Doing good," she says, drawing it out. She points to my necklace. It's two silver squiggles that Steve gave me when we first starting dating.
"That's my necklace," I say, reaching up in case she tugs it. I haven't really given much thought to jewelry lately, but tonight I decided to put some on.
"Be gentle with Ruth's necklace, Emily," Claudia says.
"It's ok," I say. Emily is really staring into my eyes. This thing is something I look forward to with Abe.
"Wuth," Emily says.
"Yes," I say. I can't help but kiss her round, soft cheek. "I'm Ruth. You're Emily. And you're adorable."
"Yes, you're adorable."
"Thanks," I say, not sure if she's talking about me or herself.
"You should say thank you, Emily," Claudia says. She hasn't sat back down. She is waiting for Emily to do something. Emily looks at her mother and looks at me and smiles her mischievous smile. Maybe, it isn't all gravy. Emily tires of me and my necklace. She slides over onto Kirsten's lap.
It is immediately clear that Kirsten is a mother of three who works with children. She bounces Emily in a way that makes her giggle and starts talk
ing to her about all the different things on the table. And she somehow with some weird mama magic gets her to admit that she's tired and agree that it might be a good idea to go to sleep.
Claudia takes her back with a smile and gives her a big kiss. When she comes back in she is smiling. "She turned right over and fell asleep. You just never know."
"She's so cute," I say.
"Thanks, I guess she is. I'll keep her," Claudia says, smiling. "I was getting so frustrated. I don't know why. You know, you rush, rush so much. There is so much to do and you always forget that they aren't on your schedule. At all."
"Yeah it's hard when you want to do something and they won't let you. Sometimes, I really want a little space to myself. I want to sit and read, or do some work or even pee,” Kirsten says. “And you know, you can't."
I'm surprised to hear either one of them talk this way. I think they are both trying hard to make it look easy, as if their way works so well. But the fact is, sometimes it is just hard. And I'm glad they are admitting that it's the nature of the beast.
"Do you want to maybe go sit in the living room where it's a little more comfortable?” Claudia asks. By now, I think my ass is asleep from the hard wood of her chairs.
“I thought you'd never ask," Kirsten says. She consolidates the remaining snacks and dishes onto a tray and grabs that in one hand and my pasta salad in the other. She starts to walk into the living room. I don't think the transfer of finger food and colorful stainable drink was what Claudia had in mind in her perfect living room.
“Um,” she starts. But she is talking next to Kirsten's deaf ear. And Kirsten keeps on going. I freeze and wait for instruction. She looks at me and shrugs. "Whatever, right? Grab the drinks. I’ll get the glasses."
Kirsten is sitting on the floor of the living room, so I join her. Claudia sits on the couch. Kirsten starts divvying out the remainder of the snacks. I pour the drinks. It's not the job I wanted. I am petrified I am going to spill on the pristine rug.
We hang out drinking and chatting. Our talk is flowing a little more than it did the last time. It's hard to imagine we have anything in common, but we do. We all read the same neighborhood blogs and we all happen to love and love to hate Martha Stewart. Both of them are keeping up with the amount I’m drinking. And I'm glad. I'm tired of feeling like the lush. It's hitting Claudia. Hard. She slides off the couch and onto the floor. She looks liberated. Her voice is getting louder and her movements are getting a little wilder. She is gesturing wildly in a story about some Jesus freak on the subway and she bumps into my glass of watermelon margarita. Some spills onto her immaculate off white rug.