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his pants dropped around his ankles.
    Afterward, he’s ready to go. “I can’t stay long,” he always says. “The guys are waiting for me. You okay? Need anything? Need some money?”
    I pull my pants back on and button my shirt. I fear I’m no longer pretty enough to hold his attention.
    He takes a roll of bills from his pocket, peels off a twenty, and places it on the table. “Gotta go, kid,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything. Maybe a movie this week?”
    Your father is a tornado of energy. He’s got a million projects in the works. He’s always on his way somewhere to promote himself, or meet with somebody to talk about a new opportunity. He flies to L.A. to take some meetings. A guy from Warner Bros. wants him to make a record in English. There’s talk about a movie. He does an interview and a photo shoot for Rolling Stone .
    Does he think of you as a ticking time bomb, an expiration date on his freedom? Does he think of you at all? Does he imagine he’ll escape us, somehow, find a way to outsmart us, trick us into never needing him?

Seventeen
    I n late September we rent folding chairs and set them up outside. The forecast has called for rain, but so far there’s no sign of it. In the garden, a weeping cherry tree sits in the center of the small lawn I’ve planted. Flower beds along the fence are full of goldenrod and mums. There’s a delicate rose or two in final bloom.
    Alan has come early to help me set up for the baby shower. He’s brought a dozen frosted cupcakes, and we’ve already eaten half. Miki, a waitress friend who’s started her own catering company, drops by with tea sandwiches of cucumber, cream cheese, and dark bread. We set out a colorful bowl of fruit on the butcher-block counter.
    My mother arrives with my sister, Lynn, up from Miami for the weekend. Her dark hair is curling in the New York humidity. She’s a dead ringer for my dad, who’s dropped them off and gone home. They’ve brought more food and a shopping bag full of decorations. My sister tells me what she’s been up to as we go through the contents. She’s working for a travel magazine now. She gets to go to honeymoon destinations and stay in beautiful hotels. The only weird thing about it, she says, is having her dinner alone in a dining room full of newlyweds.
    Alan follows me out to the garden with a roll of streamers. We wrap the fence in pink and yellow. The cats sit in the grass and watch, waiting to make the colorful strips of paper their toy.
    I think of Jules, far away. She won’t be coming to the shower. She’s gotten the lead in the big movie and is already shooting in London. She’s called to say she’s homesick. She misses her dog and her bed. They’ve cut her hair off, short as a boy’s, and she hates it. “You can’t imagine the drama.” She laughs. She does that, laughs after describing things that upset her, as if to emphasize the absurdity.
    â€œI’m sure it will get better.”
    â€œI don’t know. It’s very political and everyone knows everyone. I’m the only outsider.”
    Still, I’m jealous.
    My mother’s sister, Aunt Lou, arrives, carrying a big box wrapped in a pink bow. My cousin Rachel is right behind her; she’s a year older than my sister and looks more like my mother than we do. Sofia and Nina from work follow, wearing flowery summer dresses. Other friends arrive.
    â€œWhat an adorable apartment,” they say. “Look at you! How are you feeling?”
    â€œI can no longer see my feet,” I tell them happily.
    Everyone smiles and holds their open hands against my high round belly, to feel you roll and kick. They ask about your name and stand in the nursery, admiring the murals. We envision your tiny person in the crib against the far wall. I’m already proud to be your mother.
    They ask about Gabriel, too. He’s