his pants dropped around his ankles.
Afterward, heâs ready to go. âI canât stay long,â he always says. âThe guys are waiting for me. You okay? Need anything? Need some money?â
I pull my pants back on and button my shirt. I fear Iâm 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. âGotta go, kid,â he says. âLet me know if you need anything. Maybe a movie this week?â
Your father is a tornado of energy. Heâs got a million projects in the works. Heâs 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. Thereâs 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 heâll 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 thereâs no sign of it. In the garden, a weeping cherry tree sits in the center of the small lawn Iâve planted. Flower beds along the fence are full of goldenrod and mums. Thereâs a delicate rose or two in final bloom.
Alan has come early to help me set up for the baby shower. Heâs brought a dozen frosted cupcakes, and weâve already eaten half. Miki, a waitress friend whoâs 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. Sheâs a dead ringer for my dad, whoâs dropped them off and gone home. Theyâve brought more food and a shopping bag full of decorations. My sister tells me what sheâs been up to as we go through the contents. Sheâs 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 wonât be coming to the shower. Sheâs gotten the lead in the big movie and is already shooting in London. Sheâs called to say sheâs homesick. She misses her dog and her bed. Theyâve cut her hair off, short as a boyâs, and she hates it. âYou canât imagine the drama.â She laughs. She does that, laughs after describing things that upset her, as if to emphasize the absurdity.
âIâm sure it will get better.â
âI donât know. Itâs very political and everyone knows everyone. Iâm the only outsider.â
Still, Iâm jealous.
My motherâs sister, Aunt Lou, arrives, carrying a big box wrapped in a pink bow. My cousin Rachel is right behind her; sheâs 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.
âWhat an adorable apartment,â they say. âLook at you! How are you feeling?â
âI can no longer see my feet,â 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. Iâm already proud to be your mother.
They ask about Gabriel, too. Heâs
Joseph Lance Tonlet, Louis Stevens