Neighborly(27)

“She means they had an affair.” Yolanda’s voice is cold. She then turns toward Raquel in a very deliberate manner, engaging her in a low voice. I feel a little frozen out, but I’m thinking I shouldn’t take it personally. It’s really directed at Tennyson, and Tennyson must think so, too, because she has the sort of bewildered and hurt expression that I’d associate with a much younger woman. A teenager, really, whose friends have just pulled a disappearing act.

“It obviously worked out,” Andie says. “I mean, you’re the happiest family in the AV.” It’s such a suck-up move, but she looks like she means it.

“We’re pretty happy,” Tennyson allows. “But I think Kat, Doug, and Sadie could give us a run for our money. I couldn’t get over how cute you all were at the block party.”

“Thanks. I worry sometimes how I come off, since I’m not really a big group person.” I sound pathetic, even to my own ears: Don’t judge me, please! I’m great once you get to know me! I come with a ninety-day warranty!

“I’m more one-on-one, too,” Tennyson says. Andie looks dubious. “No, really, I am! You think I’m all fun and games? I’ve got layers, people. Seriously, I’m a Bermuda onion.” We all laugh.

Gina returns with some drinks, and Raquel leaps up to grab the rest. When we each have a glass in front of us, Gina lifts hers. “To girls’ night out, with all that it implies!” Everyone drinks.

I learn that while we’re not supposed to talk about kids directly, we can laugh at the ridiculous competition for “the best” preschools and the series of tests that two-year-olds are subjected to while their anxious mothers wait outside, like the kids’ whole lives hang in the balance.

“It’s American Ninja Warrior, toddler edition!” Tennyson says.

“I’ll e-mail you my research,” Gina says to me in a low voice, as a sidebar. “Get Sadie on the list now!” I have the sense that Gina is wound a lot more tightly than the others but that no one minds that, including her. I’m touched by her offer.

We all talk about the reality TV shows we’re watching when we should be reading books with heft; we admit we don’t want to join a book club, unless it’s for the wine; we trade harmless and amusing anecdotes about our husbands; the women compete for who’s the worst driver (Tennyson wins) and who has the messiest car (Andie); we make faux confessions about biting our toenails, Brazilian waxes gone wrong, and late-night binge eating.

I realize: I’m actually having fun!

June arrives at our table, drink in hand, full of apologies that are immediately dismissed but in the best way. She doesn’t need to be forgiven. We’re all friends here, and we make allowances for one another.

Everyone starts reminiscing about stupid things they did in college, stupid boys they did in college. I’m laughing, though I still know to keep mum about my own exploits.

“I didn’t go to college,” Raquel says, “so I had to fuck things up in other ways.” She drains her glass. It’s her second Silk Purse. She’s slurring, just a little bit. While cursing still seems wrong from someone who appears as innocent as she does, I remind myself about East Oakland, crack, the BART train. She’s lived, maybe as much as I have.

“My problem is,” Tennyson says, and everyone perks up just a little, since Tennyson seems least likely to have problems, “Vic and I have plenty of sex, but he still wants more.”

We all look a little disappointed. Her confession is sort of like when you’re asked at a job interview about any weaknesses and you say you’re too detail-oriented. It’s really a strength. I mean, we could have guessed Tennyson and Vic were hot for each other all the time. There’s no need to flaunt it in front of us mortals.

“When he wants sex and I don’t,” Tennyson continues, “he gets all desperate and pushy. Sometimes he sulks. It’s like, I’ve got enough kids.”

Raquel laughs loudly. “Yes, you, of all people, have enough kids!”

“Do you have an issue with the size of my family?” Tennyson demands.

We all fall silent. You just don’t expect anyone to turn on Raquel.

“You make all these comments,” Tennyson says. “What is it, Raquel? You think we should have a one-child policy like China?”

“I don’t think China has that policy anymore,” June says in a charmingly inept attempt at deflection.

“You want the truth?” Raquel says. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I think it was kind of messed up that your last child was a mistake.”

Oh. My. God. Did she actually say that? I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anything as ugly as calling someone else’s child a mistake.

No one moves; Andie freezes with her drink halfway to her mouth.

Then Tennyson laughs. “I think it’s messed up, too!” We all join in, relieved. Fight averted.

I’ve never witnessed or been a part of friendships that can handle that degree of honesty. These women aren’t just drinking buddies. There’s a genuine depth to their connection. Part of me wants what they have. Another part is frightened by it.

“Sex is one of our favorite topics on girls’ night,” June says. “Whatever you do or don’t do, there’s no judgment.”

“For example,” Gina tells me, “I’m asexual. I just have no desire. Never have. But it’s still fun to listen to my friends talk about it.” She must see the expression on my face because she adds, “Oliver’s fine. We’ve worked out an arrangement.”