Such a Fun Age(14)

Alix knew that this probably wouldn’t have been so daunting if it wouldn’t be the longest conversation she’d ever had with Emira. She took a deep breath and said, “Is this my fault for sending her there?”

“Oh honey, no,” Jodi said.

“I would have called her too!” Tamra said.

“It’s your fault you moved to Philadelphia,” Rachel said. “I’m sorry, but again, this would never happen in New York City. When I pick Hudson up from anywhere they literally don’t trust that he’s my kid. But when Arnetta goes, they’re like, ‘Here ya go! He’s allergic to nuts, bye!’”

“Pru?” Jodi called. “I’m gonna count to three, young lady. One, two . . . Thank you, ma’am.”

Alix sat back and her sweaty top clung to her shoulder blades. In front of her, in her sleep, Catherine’s bootied feet ran somewhere in her dreams. Tamra said, “Go call her,” and Alix said, “I know.”

“Alix?” Jodi beckoned. “I love you. And you’re beautiful, you always are. But I’m being a good friend right now and asking how much weight you’ve gained.”

Alix looked down toward her neon orange shorts. A mushy pudge made up of baby weight, a gym membership she’d never gotten, and sugar-based smoothies consumed in the sun poked out over her waistband and underneath the damp tank top. Alix sighed. “I’m afraid to check.”

“Oh, God,” Tamra said. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“Okay . . . sweetie?” Jodi said. “You need to get your s-h-i-t together because you are not this person. You are so good at confrontation, and you breast-feed in front of audiences, and you are going to write a very successful book. You need to hang up the phone, beg your sitter to stay, tell Peter to watch his mouth, and get a Fitbit or something, okay?”

“Yeah, she’s right, A,” Rachel added. “’Cause when your book comes out your photo is gonna be everywhere and book covers add like seventeen pounds, I am not kidding.”

“Consider this an intervention,” Tamra agreed, “but a very kind and very supportive one.”

“Do they have juice there?” Rachel asked. “Should I send you a cleanse?”

“I think they have juice, Rach.” Jodi laughed. “It’s not like she’s in Montana.”



* * *



—

    Emira didn’t answer her phone, so Alix took a shower and tried her again. This time she answered, and Alix delivered all the things her friends had suggested, mentally checking off each point. But as she said the words “It’s completely your call,” Emira replied, “Wait . . . am I late?”

Alix heard Zara’s voice in the background say, “Who is calling you so early?” Alix looked at her watch. It was 9:14 a.m. Emira, Alix realized, was half asleep.

“No, you’re not late!” Alix assured her. “The party’s still at noon, or eleven forty-five, if you can come early . . . but you don’t have to, but I’d love for you to come. We’d love for you to come. But it’s up to you.”

“No, I’ll be there,” Emira said. “I’m coming, don’t worry.”

“No, Emira, I wasn’t checking up on you. I mean . . . I’m checking on you,” Alix struggled. “But just to see how you are. But okay. I’ll see you at noon? Or eleven forty-five?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Zara’s voice, now more awake, said, “Would you get a bagel if I ordered one?”

Alix said, “See you soon!” and Emira hung up the phone.

I called. Alix texted Tamra. It seemed like she didn’t want to talk about it.

Tamra responded, That’s her choice. Is she coming?


Yes.



Okay, be cool, Tamra texted back. Drink lots of water. No pasta. But you’re allowed to eat cake because your baby is three.

Alix looked to Briar, who was playing with two combs on the floor in her bedroom. “Bri,” she said. “Happy birthday, lovey,” to which Briar very seriously responded, “Is it happy birfday pretend?”

If the decision had been Briar’s, the theme of her party would have been glasses because the toddler savagely wanted glasses, and to touch everyone else’s glasses, and to see how she looked in all of the glasses. But Briar also loved airplanes and pointing at them and the sounds they made, and Alix felt that this, out of all of Briar’s other interests (smelling tea bags, other people’s belly buttons, touching the soft skin on Mama’s earlobe), should be openly encouraged.

Alix pushed the furniture in the living room back against the walls and then evenly spread out white balloons that covered the towering ceilings. Hanging at the bottom of each twenty-foot string was a blue paper airplane with curved edges and wheels. Next she set up a snack table with a cloud-covered paper tapestry; by the door, she hung up soft aviator goggles meant for toddlers to take and wear. There were mini cupcakes dyed the color of the sky, and party favors were lined up in bright blue bags with tiny white propellers that could spin. Alix took close-up photos of the propellers and the cupcakes to post on her Instagram (so close-up that they could have been taken anywhere, particularly Manhattan). Peter brought a few of the balloons outside and taped them around the jagged hole in the window. When Alix peeked her head outside, he said, “Is this dumb?” She shook her head and felt a warm and sad affection for him. She knew he hadn’t meant what he said on the news. “No,” she said. “It’s not dumb.”