How to Be a Grown-up (28 page)

I kept my head down as I tried to comfort Maya, salvage the popcorn, and retrieve the ice pop, my blown-out hair forming a curtain between me and Asher’s wife.

The spotlights started swinging in figure eights. An announcer welcomed us. A woman in suede pants made a speech about underserved children. The adults clapped. The kids threatened mutiny.

Finally, with the thunder of hooves and the lighting of hoops, the show started.
“u rdy?”
Sage asked.

“4 wt?”
I texted back.

Suddenly a woman in Lisa Loeb glasses was crouching at my knees. “Hi, I’m Sarah Glassman from the
Times
,” she shouted. “We were supposed to talk before the show!”

“Oh, right, of course.”

“How has mother . . . influenced your fline erk?”

“What?” I shouted.

“How has motherhood . . . uence . . . design work?”

“Um,” I said, “should we do this at the dinner after? This seems counterproductive!”

Using my knees as leverage, she lifted herself to kind of take my ear in her mouth. “I can’t stay. I have to file my copy by eight. What about your life is aspirational?”

“Aspirational?”

“How is your aspirational life the genesis for JeuneBug?” She’d had sausage.

“I’m raising my kids to be citizens of a very sophisticated city!”

“What exactly are you doing for them that’s sophisticated?”

Asher leaned over the kids’ heads. “This is very annoying,” he huffed, and I could sense that James was starting to get equally put out by our guest, but I didn’t know how to answer these questions. What had I been thinking? There was no way to talk about a lifestyle site for kids without coming off as an asshole.

“Okay!” I said. “Let’s go out to the lobby.” I started to get up.

“I want to go with you!” Maya shouted.

“Maya, you’re going to stay with Wynn and Suki and watch the show.”

“No!”

“Lady, we can’t see!”

“Fine, come with me.” I started to try to shimmy past Asher, holding Maya’s hand, head down, hair still veiling my face.

The little hand darted out so fast I didn’t register. “Aah!” I bolted upright. Fly had dropped a handful of blue slushie down my pants.

“Oh,” his mother said again. “Sorry.”

“Lady, move!” I tried to get past her and Asher as fast as possible, tugging Maya. I was losing my balance.

“Oh wait, Ashie, this is the woman I told you about, from Kathryn’s.”

He looked at me harder, his glare twisting my ankle. “You’re the fucking mole?”

“We, uh, we, uh—” and I fell right into the ring.

Chapter Sixteen

If I had ever dreamed that the answer to my problem was running away to join the circus, my performance in the Big Top put a swift end to that. The clown car that nearly ran me over made Maya cry. The swelling ankle that forced us to leave enraged Wynn. Sage foolheartedly demanding that my fall be omitted from the story annoyed the reporter. And that I apparently needed to work on the distinction between being “accessible” and “retarded” was very “concerning” to Sage. Sour faces all around.

Except one.

Later that night, after dropping Suki at her mother’s house, James surprised me by slipping in our back door as if it were high school and we couldn’t wake my parents. He brought absinthe to ease my pain, taking a long swig from the bottle before passing it over. Then, wordlessly, he lifted me onto the kitchen counter, spread my legs, and sunk to his knees between them. He didn’t come any farther into the apartment, didn’t come at all, just told me to be a good little patient and get myself to bed.

Trying to remember the last time I’d pulled the duvet over limp thighs, I fell asleep. Asher who?

Here is a Parenting Truth: your kids don’t care what your night was like. Food poisoning, insomnia, burst pipe, sick sibling—doesn’t matter. The next morning, at 6:43 a.m., Maya resumed her bedtime mission with the subtlety of a radio blaring on after the electricity’s restored. “Whereth my chocolate clown?” she demanded, marching into my room.

“Good morning to you too.” I blinked awake. Jesus. Absinthe. Evil. “How’s my girl?”

“My chocolate clown, Mommy. I can’t find it anywhere, and you thaid I could have it today. Help.
Pleathe
. Pleathe, I thaid!”

“Your chocolate clown, let’s see . . .” As I swung a throbbing foot to the floor, the pain bookended in my skull.

“From my gift bag! From the circuth!”

“Next to the cookie jar. But that’s a special treat. You can have a little bit of it tonight if you eat a good dinner and do listening and cooperating.”

“It’th not there! Where ith it? Where?”

“Okay.” I used the headboard to get myself to my feet as Maya tugged her nightgown in distress. I put treats by the cookie jar because that’s where they went. Had I not put it there? Absinthe! Evil! “How ’bout we do a fun breakfast—”

“I don’t want a fun breakfatht! I want my chocolate clown!”

“Do you know how Dad’s getting to the karate thing today?” Wynn appeared at the door, a crust of drool at the side of his mouth. “In the bus with me or taking the train?”

“Um.” Walking was excruciating. “Babe, I don’t think he’s going.”

“He
is
,” Wynn insisted, his shoulders rounding. “He’s coming to see me in the exhibition match.”

“He’s flying in today for the Up Fronts,” I reminded him.

“What’s Up Fronts?” Maya asked.

“It’s where all the TV channels get together in a ballroom,” I stated to see if I could put a Disney spin on this, “to share their new shows and find out what commercials will run with them.” Nope. “I’m sorry, honey, there’s no good explanation. It’s a grown-up thing. Wynn, I’m sure he’ll call me when he lands and we can figure out a time this week to—”

“He landed last night,” Wynn interrupted, my ignorance counting against me.

“Right, okay. You guys aren’t leaving for the match until 3:00, right?”

Wynn twisted his fists into his pajama top. “He’s been gone all season. He hasn’t seen me spar or anything.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I reassured him. “As soon as he texts. And I go to the bathroom. Let’s get dressed.”

Wynn stepped into my path. “If he can’t go with me, then I want to go to his hotel after school.”

“After school you have your karate trip that you’ve been talking about for weeks.”

“I’ll skip it.”

“Wynn, for all we know Dad has a thing tonight.”

“He
doesn’t,
so why are you making me go to this stupid ass—”

“Hey,” I said sharply. “We don’t talk like that.”

“I want my chocolate clown!”
Maya pushed between us, sending me onto my ankle.

“Please,” I gasped. “Please be careful of Mommy’s feet.”

“I
ate
your chocolate clown,” Wynn declared with a vengeance that stunned us. Maya sucked in air for the wail to follow while he stared at me defiantly.

In the cornucopia of challenging parenting moments, this was among the ones I hated most. When your child’s gone farther than he wanted and you can’t help him return, your only option is to come down on what he just did and you both know it.

“Why would you eat her candy?” I demanded.

“Why won’t you let me see Dad?” he leveled back, the thin vein distinct at his temple.

“I
am
letting you see Dad. I just think it’s important for you to do the thing you wanted to do! Aren’t you going to see black belts from Beijing? Your whole karate class is going to be there. And Dad’s here all week. Now apologize to Maya.”

Wynn shrugged aggressively, imitating a much older kid, a kid capable of screeching out of the driveway in the family car. “No.”

“Apologize, Wynn.”

“I’m not apologizing because I’m not sorry.”

“You’re not sorry? She’s sobbing.” I went to lift her but couldn’t. Trying to embrace her while ballasting myself with a hand to the floor, I was blinded with rage.
When
he deigned to call, Blake would show our kids his hotel swimming pool, complimentary video games, and room service that probably prepared chocolate clowns to order. Meanwhile, I was the barrier. In addition to body piercing, motorcycles, and Big Gulps, I now stood between them and Daddy. “Apologize now.”

“No.”

“Apologize so I can go to the bathroom, get everyone dressed, and track down your fucking father!”

Maya whimpered. Wynn receded behind flattening eyes, a response so evocative of Blake it turned my stomach.

“Please, I just have to go to the bathroom and my ankle is really hurting. I didn’t mean to swear. That was bad. I’ll call Dad. We’ll get you guys together as soon as he can see you, I promise.” I reached out to draw Wynn to us. To start the day over as they deserved—with a mother not hook-up hung-over and publicity-hobbled.

Refusing me, he hurried from the room.

“I.” Sniff. “Want.” Sniff. “Chocolate.”

“Yes, Maya.” I let her help me up. “Waffles with chocolate sauce for everyone.”

Scoring a Percocet that could have been a Tic-Tac for the potency it’d lost in an old makeup bag, I somehow got them to school. And despite my screaming ankle and silent son, Wynn’s volcano made it intact.

Sage was waiting with her glam squad when I limped off the elevator at JeuneBug. I’d planned to set up camp in the conference room and crank out set pieces for the Fabergé nursery. Much to Ginger’s annoyance, boxes containing giant Styrofoam eggs were lining the hall, awaiting my brush and glaze. “Did I miss an e-mail?” I asked as I dug for my phone. “I have to prep for the Easter shoot tomorrow.”

“Change of plans,” Sage chirped tensely, wearing the smile I used when I needed to sell Maya on a canceled play date. “Okay, so you fell into the center ring and it’s on YouTube. It’s a setback for the face of a luxury site, sure, but not a death sentence. I managed to rustle up a full day of opportunities so let’s work extra
extra
hard, okay? We’ll stick together and ensure this story stays on track.”

Feeling as if I’d been set on fire, I excused myself to the kitchenette where I filled a bag with ice and took a second to catch my breath. In the first moment of stillness since I’d awoke, I identified a third source of pain. Between my legs.

Sad.

Just seeing James on his knees, wanting me like that, had gotten me off, despite his aggressive execution. But today—ow. His technique was to burrow. When he finally stood, I half-expected to see a scuba mask–shaped suction mark on his face.

Joining Sage in Capri, I took a seat in front of the makeup woman, propped my foot on a chair, rested one cold pack on my purple ankle, a second on my lower lap, and texted Ruth.
“SOS. Any chance you can come earlier today?”

Sage began pacing back and forth behind the makeup artist. “Okay, my fault for not being clearer with the mandate. You are a working mom. I mean, obviously, we can’t get around that. But a
chic
working mom. You live the lifestyle you’re selling. You’re someone we want to go yachting with.”

“Someone who needs an aspirin?” I asked, spotting an array of heels presented for Sage’s selection. “There is no way I can walk in those today.”

“Please?” She pointed to a pair of python Laboutins.

“I need a wheelchair as it is.”

“Oh, no, no, no. What you need . . .” She paused for dramatic effect.
A co-parent? The robot nanny from
The Jetsons?
A vacation?
“. . . is a steroid shot.”

A steroid shot! That’s what this party had been missing. Within an hour of the doctor’s arrival, it was like the night before had never happened. I wanted to rip open my blouse and point to my heart:
Here. Stick me here
.