Such a Fun Age(15)
Upstairs, Alix put on a loose-fitting denim jumpsuit and straightened her hair. Peter was singing “Baby Beluga” to Briar and Catherine, who lay on the bed as he secured his belt and buttoned his shirt. Between Way down yonder and Where the dolphins play, he stuck his head into the bathroom. “She’s still coming to help out, right?”
Alix looked at him through the mirror as she applied mascara to her bottom lashes. “She said she was.”
Emira arrived at eleven forty-five.
She had her own key, and when the door closed downstairs, both Peter and Alix looked at each other above their children’s heads. Briar was finally in her birthday outfit, a hunter-green jumpsuit that made her resemble a Top Gun cast extra, and Catherine was cuddled in a cloud costume. Alix handed Peter a gold winged pin and said, “Give us a minute,” before she bolted down two sets of stairs. There was Emira hanging her backpack on the wall, in dark jeans, a loose braid down her back, and chunky black eyeliner.
In her first week of babysitting for the Chamberlains, Emira took Briar to a painting class. She’d been wearing an oversized knit cardigan, the kind that paint would never come out of, and Alix offered her one of her many white LetHer Speak polos. “I actually have tons of these and you’re the same size as my old interns,” she’d said. “Well, they might be a bit big on you, but you’re welcome to wear one anytime.” This became Emira’s uniform. Three times a week, Alix came downstairs to find Emira slipping a white polo over her head. She hung it up on the coatrack just before she left. And suddenly, as Alix walked through blue ribbons hanging from the balloons above, the tenderness of this tradition made her throat start to close. She made it to the bottom step as Emira said, “Hey,” and pulled her braid out of the back of her collar.
“Hey. Hi.” Alix stood in front of Emira and held both her elbows. “Can I . . . can I give you a hug?”
This promptly felt like an ignorant response. Alix didn’t want this to be their first hug, but she had offered and she had to commit. In her arms, Emira smelled like body butters, burnt hair, nail polish, and cheap perfume.
“First of all”—Alix backed away—“you do not have to be here today.”
“Oh no. I’m here. It’s cool.” Emira turned to her backpack and took a ChapStick out of the front pocket.
Alix crossed her ankles and arms as she stood. “I’m not going to even pretend to know what you’re feeling right now or how you felt last night because I never truly will, but I just want to extend my support in whatever way you need it. If that’s a lawyer or . . . a civil action suit . . . or . . .”
Emira smiled. “A what?”
“Emira,” Alix said. She realized her shoulders were up by her ears, and she tried to bring them down into her back. “You could sue that entire store. Seeking legal action is completely within your right.”
“Oh no.” Emira pressed her lips together and sealed the lid of her balm. “I’m not tryna get into all that.”
Alix nodded. “And I completely respect that. We just want you to know how sorry we are and—”
Another voice from outside said, “Alix?”
Behind Emira, the door slid open two inches. Emira reached for the knob and revealed two little boys and their mother: a family from Briar’s swim class.
“Ohmygod, hi,” the woman said. “I know, I know. We’re so early. Hi! I’m sure you’re not even done setting up. But we can help and we won’t be any trouble. You look so cute!”
Alix ushered them in with his and how are yous. The boys rushed the snack table and one of them took off his shoes. As the woman began to remove their jackets, Alix whispered to Emira, “Let’s talk about this later.”
“It’s okay,” Emira said. “It’s honestly fine.” As she said this, Emira dug into a paper bag that she’d set beneath her backpack. She pulled out a small bowl with an orange ribbon around the rim, holding a bright yellow goldfish inside.
“Oh, wait. Emira.” Alix put her hand to her heart. “Is that from you?”
“Yeah.” Emira placed the bowl on the mantel next to a little paper airplane that read Presents Land Here! As she turned the bowl so that the ribbon faced forward, Alix remembered. Yes. Emira had asked if she could get Briar a fish for her birthday. She’d asked both Alix and Peter days ago. Alix hadn’t considered it would be a real one, because she hadn’t really been listening, but here it was, gold and wiggling. Emira had curled the ribbon around the tiny bowl, but it had bent and flattened in transit and now hung bitterly around the rim.
Two minutes into their earliness, the first guest’s three-year-old threw up in the space next to the toilet seat, and he began to cry in an embarrassed whimper. By the time it was cleaned up and apologies had ceased, a group of Peter’s co-workers from WNFT had arrived. Alix turned on some music, went to the door, and said, “Hi, I think we met once before, I’m Alix.” (When she met people for the first time, Alix overpronounced her name—ahh-lix—with a strong emphasis on the second syllable.)
Peter never seemed like he was eight years older than Alix—his waist was trim and his light haircut was boyish—but when she found herself in a room of his peers, Alix suddenly felt as if she were attending a gathering of her parents’ friends and counting down till she could retreat to her room and watch music videos. Peter’s female co-workers arrived in floral fit-and-flare dresses, wedges, and pumps. Even the one black woman there arrived with her hair teased, bobbed, and highlighted. These ladies wore massive statement necklaces with costume-ish gems and beads. The men looked like grown-up Ken dolls in khakis and golf shirts.