Cutting Teeth: A Novel

by Julia Fierro

  Other mommies—strangers Tiffany didn’t even know—made her feel like this every day. On the playground, at the playgroup, even in her own music class, the scrutiny of women who looked her up and down, trying to figure out exactly what it was that made Tiffany just a bit off. She’d become accustomed to it.

  But not from Leigh.

  She would have to compose herself, Tiffany thought. There was too much at stake with Leigh to lose her. Leigh was crucial to Harper’s acceptance at St. Ann’s School, which was an absolute necessity. Everyone knew an elite private school was the golden ticket, the first and most important step.

  Tiffany knew she’d been too messy this whole beach weekend. With Rip in the kitchen. The things she’d let herself say to Leigh. She’d have to decompress next week, reboot: a massage, an aromatherapy session, maybe she’d see her therapist twice. Just until they got through the stress of the upcoming interview at St. Ann’s. She couldn’t afford to fuck up now.

  * * *

  Is anyone else freaking out over this Webbot thing? What are you doing to prepare?

  Posted 9/4/2010 7:36pm

  (7 replies)

  * * *

  —Hi Webbot mommy! Tomorrow night, when all is calm, come on here & say ‘sorry.’ Ok? 7:38pm

  —There will be no Internet tomorrow 7:41pm

  —LOL 7:43pm

  —The Internet will be wiped out??? 7:44pm

  —the EARTH will be wiped out 7:45pm

  —can’t wait until she’s proven wrong 7:51pm

  —Our collective anxiety is overwhelming me 7:53pm

  fear the worst

  Nicole

  Wyatt was jumping on Nicole’s parents’ king-size bed. Each time he jumped (look at me, Mommy!), her mother’s army of dust-covered Madame Alexander dolls quivered on the dresser. Nicole felt the dolls’ fixed eyes watching her. Be careful, they said, Josh knows.

  She was waiting for Josh to finish in the bathroom. He had called her upstairs, and she knew what was coming. The knives. He knew. Part of her was relieved, almost looking forward to the release her confession would bring. That she was having an episode. That she had hid the knives and hoarded Go Bag supplies and obsessed over paranoid online rumors of the Apocalypse. That she was fucking up.

  She rapped on the bathroom door. Knock wood.

  “Josh? You said you wanted me?”

  “Yeah, hold on. Five more minutes.”

  “All right,” she said. “Everyone’s downstairs. We don’t want to be rude.”

  No response from Josh though she was certain she heard the soft click of his fingers against the screen of his phone. She knew he played the Texas Hold ’Em app all that time he spent sitting on the toilet, his pants around his ankles. Hiding.

  When he finally left the bathroom, a cloud of baby-powder-scented air freshener trailed him.

  He was dressed in shorts and a tee shirt.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Josh answered. “It’s not black tie, is it?”

  She was wearing Spanx.

  She stood behind him as he scanned himself from head to toe with an appraising look. He could still look in the mirror without looking away, she thought. Without wondering, as she did, where the person she’d once been had run off to. The light-footed, slim-waisted beauty.

  “I put the knives back,” he said, without looking at her.

  “Okay. Thanks. Sorry. I won’t touch them again.”

  He smoothed his hair, tousling it with his fingers.

  She had always disliked his neatness. Even in baggy shorts and two-day stubble, he looked prearranged. He’d been able to mask it in college, in the haze of marijuana and the din of jam bands. It wasn’t until years after they were married that she realized it wasn’t just a surface polish but a rigidity fused to his core. Lately, his outward perfection, which led her mommy friends to ooh and aah about Nicole’s incredible luck in finding such a catch, was a reminder that she was the flawed one. Inside and out.

  “Josh?” she asked.

  She knew he wouldn’t be any help when he answered her with a long sigh and, “What is it now, Nic?”

  In a voice she felt certain was calm, she asked, “Did you get a chance to read any of those links I sent you yesterday? You know, about the Web bot thing?”

  “Work was busy.”

  “Could you just google it? It would only take a second to look at that one site,” she said. “The one that explains everything.

  He turned to look at her. His eyebrows lifted in pity.

  “Do we have to call Dr. Greenbaum, Nicole?”

  Wyatt held up her iPhone, the little muscles in his forearms twitching as the birds flew across the screen.

  “Look, Daddy. I made it to the next level!”

  “Wyatt,” Nicole snapped, “that’s enough Angry Birds. Give Mommy back her phone.”

  Wyatt handed her phone over with a slow roll of his eyes. When did he learn to do that? she thought.

  A sizzling sound came from the beach, then a pop and a boom, and Nicole jumped back, bumping the dresser. Marie Antoinette landed on the carpet upside down, her ruffled bloomers exposed.

  “They’re just fireworks, Mommy,” Wyatt said. “Don’t be scared.”

  The look on his face made her want to nail the windows shut, to weep, but instead she said, “Aw, you’re so good at taking care of your mommy.”

  Josh said, “You’re not watching any more of that doom-and-gloom stuff on Netflix, are you? I thought we talked about that.”

  “No, no. I’m not, I swear. I know it sounds crazy.” She gripped Josh’s arm to show him she was serious. “But these are intelligent women posting these warnings. The demographic that visits this site is supersmart. And they’re really concerned.”

  “That mommy site?” Josh said. “Nic. Please. You’ve got to get a grip.”

  He gave her an apologetic smile. Or maybe it was pity again. She had little faith in her ability to read him.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  He surprised her by pulling her into his lap. She laughed and jerked a bit. The bedsprings creaked.

  Wyatt covered his smile with a cupped hand, and said, “Dah-ad.”

  Josh hugged her to his chest, his breath warm on her neck.

  “Have you talked to Dr. Greenbaum about raising your meds?”

  Now she felt like a child, her feet dangling just above the floor, her skirt hitched too high, her fleshy white thighs flattened against his legs.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She wriggled out of his arms and stood.

  “Mom, can I play your phone?” Wyatt begged. He stretched to reach her phone on the dresser.

  “You’ve had your half hour of Angry Birds time,” she said.

  “Bu-hut,” Wyatt whined. He turned to Josh, “Dad, what’s your favorite angry bird? Mine are the yellow ones. Wait, no, the white ones. You know, that drop the egg bombs. Those are really very really cool.”

  “He needs more attention,” Josh said. He was holding her earphones, she had left them on the dresser, and he was winding the cord into a perfect spool with furious care.

  “I give him plenty of attention.”

  She yanked the headphones from Josh’s hands. His mouth parted in hurt.

  “I like my headphones this way,” she said.

  “In knots?” Josh asked.

  “Wyatt,” she said, “while Daddy finishes dressing, why don’t you go downstairs and tell everyone dinner will be ready soon.”

  Wyatt chanted, “Angry Birds! Angry Birds!” He marched in a circle around her. “Play Mommy’s phone!”

  “Okay,” she said, “no sticker on your good-listening chart today. And that means you’re one sticker further from getting your Buzz Lightyear costume for Halloween.”

  “I don’t think threats are the way to go, Nic. They just don’t work,” Josh said.

  “They’re not threats. They’re
rewards. Tiffany says they work best with defiant kids like Wyatt.”

  “He’s a perfectly normal little boy. But, of course,” Josh said, his voice warbling with sarcasm, “Tiffany’s the expert. And what does Tiffany say about these Web bots?”

  Josh smiled. Not unkindly, she thought. She pulsed with the urge to ask him again if he thought they would be okay, if terrorists wouldn’t detonate a bomb with enough force to wipe out the Eastern Seaboard, if a reactor at the Indian Point power plant wouldn’t melt down, if the entire planet wouldn’t crumble with a shattering blast from one of those electromagnetic pulses.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Josh sighed and rubbed her back in warm circles. “It’s okay.”

  “But do you think you could just take a peek at the link I sent you?” She pinched her thumb and forefinger together—a sign of the smallness of the request. “I just need you to do a little search for this Web bots thing and then you can tell me there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “You need a lot,” he mumbled. “I don’t have time to check the dozens of links and articles you send me about bird flu. Swine flu. West Nile virus. The rising fucking mercury levels!”

  He paused, staring at the carpet. “Are you getting your period?”

  She wanted to hurt him. To tell him that the garishly patterned socks he’d starting wearing to work weren’t hip, just desperate. That she knew he jerked off in the shower every morning; his bloodshot eyes the proof. She wanted to carefully choose the ripest, most potent insult and fling it in his face.

  He spoke in a quiet command, “Take a Xanax. Call your mother and cry to her. Get a grip. You don’t want make a fool of yourself in front of your friends.”

  As he walked toward her, she readied herself for his embrace, but he was no more than a breeze of aftershave, that citrusy musk he’d worn for years because, once, she’d told him it made her wet for him. They had practically bathed in it back then—when they pleased each other, when they had the time and energy and desire. When the bathroom cabinet held massage oils and flavored honey dust that he brushed across her nipples with a miniature feather duster; a silly Valentine’s party grab-bag gift they had surprised themselves by enjoying. Now the cabinet shelves were crowded with cartoon Band-Aids and hemorrhoid pads. And his aftershave smelled artificial, as if it—like them—was trying too hard.

  “Look,” she said quietly, nodding, “I’m trying. Really.” She laughed. “I have some issues, I know.”

  Josh turned to look at her. He pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked. “Your whole life is an issue.”

  The door slammed. She knew the echo reproduced, traveled through the house, found the mommies, who paused their chitchat, their cocktail-shiny eyes meeting as they exchanged a silent message. About Nicole.

  “Fuck,” she whispered.

  He was right.

  when pigs fly

  Tenzin

  The children were, as the mommies liked to say, snug as bugs in their beds when Tiffany came to invite Tenzin downstairs.

  Tenzin thought Tiffany looked like a real princess that night. In a green silk dress that trailed behind her bare feet. Tiffany had insisted Tenzin join them for the feast, and Tenzin had tried politely to decline, but Tiffany had drunk many cups of wine and would not stop saying, Please eat with us. Please. And so Tenzin had changed out of her nightclothes, a matching pink set that Leigh had passed on to her, and back into her day clothes.

  Tiffany clutched Tenzin’s hand as they walked downstairs for dinner. Twice, Tiffany almost tripped on her dress, so Tenzin picked up the hem and walked behind her.

  “Like a bride!” Tenzin said.

  “It might be the only chance I get, Tenzie,” Tiffany said.

  All the mommies and daddies were downstairs in the main room, all except for Hank’s mommy Grace, who had gone to bed early. Tenzin saw right away that the kitchen table had been made longer, draped in a white tablecloth and decorated with candles.

  So much food! A bowl of pasta salad as big as the wheel of a bicycle. Sticks of corn glistening with melted butter. Tenzin tried not to look at the plate piled with grilled meat. She had made her no-meat sacrifice to God after all, in the hope he would grant her asylum at her next immigration trial—the first step to bringing her family to America. Still, she suspected she was allowed to enjoy the smell of fat crackling with heat.

  The chairs around the table sat empty, and so Tenzin waited, telling her stomach she was sorry, but that polite is more important than hungry. She could see, from one quick sweep of the mommies’ and daddies’ faces, that they were sad. They looked as cranky as the children did when they took a too-long nap, waking with their mouths glued in a pout. Even Daddy Rip looked sad. He sat on the edge of the sofa, looking into his cup as if searching for his fortune.

  The Sun God, the Dalai Lama’s words were with her then.

  Your bad mood serves your enemy.

  And who, Tenzin wondered, were the mommies’ and daddies’ enemies tonight?

  “Tenzie’s here!” Tiffany said. With a Ta Da! in her voice, like when Chase pretended to be a magician and wore the black cape and tall hat from his costume box.

  “Hello, everybody. Good evening,” Tenzin said brightly, hoping the cheer would give them what Leigh called a boost of their spirits. And that then they could sit down and eat all that delicious food.

  “I think,” Tiffany said, too loudly for a house full of sleeping children. Tenzin could hear the drink in her voice.

  “Shhhh,” said Nicole.

  “Sor-RY,” said Tiffany, “So as I was saying … what was I saying?”

  “Something about Tenzin,” Allie said, and Tenzin could see Allie was trying to hold back her laugh.

  “Yes!” Tiffany said, poking her empty glass in the air. “That’s it. I was saying, I think Tenzin should be our guest of honor tonight.”

  “Hear, hear,” Rip said, standing and lifting his own glass.

  Every beautiful mommy and daddy was smiling at her with raised glasses. They all looked happy again. For the moment, Tenzin felt like they belonged to her. She thought of the things they did for her, and a lump rose in her throat. So much, to make her life good. Income, bonuses, gifts (whether brand-new or hand-me-down). Extra money for doing silly little things, like the time Michael had paid her, without Tiffany’s knowing, to do his laundry at the laundromat down the block.

  And there was even more to be given. There was friendship, Tenzin thought, as she stood there, surrounded by grateful, shining faces. Her friends. Yes, she could call them that. Friends are people who need each other. Surely, the mommies and daddies needed her just as she needed them.

  Some, like Rip and Leigh, had performed Tenzin big favors, like calling immigration services and acting as her translator when her alien status had been delayed. Leigh had sent presents to Tenzin’s children in India at Christmas, and even a silk scarf (in the colors of an American autumn) for Tenzin’s mother. Of course, there were times when they made mistakes, like when Tiffany forgot to pay for Tenzin’s weekly Metrocard fee, and when Leigh had wished her a Happy Chinese New Year, and there were many times when the mommies and daddies acted more like spoiled children than like all-knowing gods, but Tenzin loved them still.

  Their cups lowered and as quickly as their faces had brightened, they fell dark again.

  “Let’s eat,” Susanna said, pushing herself up from the sofa with a groan.

  “Mustn’t keep the pregnant lady hungry!” said Tiffany. Tenzin could hear she was poking fun at poor Susanna.

  Susanna’s mouth fell open, while Allie covered her mouth once again to hide a smile.

  “I’m just kidding, sweetie,” Tiffany said, laughing.

  Tenzin laughed, too. It was better this way. Better not to take the silly things Tiffany said too seriously. She felt sorry for Tiffany although she knew, from the expressions on the other mommies’ faces, especially Susanna, who Tenzin feared might cry, that Tiffany was being a bad girl. />
  Michael took a seat at the table, and Tenzin wondered if she should also. There was a big platter of grilled vegetables drizzled with oil. She thought of how she would take two pieces of bread and make a sandwich with veggies stacked in the middle. Delicious. Or as her Chase said, delish.

  But the mommies did not move toward the table. They stood, waiting.

  Waiting for what?

  Nicole fiddled with the rubber band on her wrist, snapping it. Nicole did some funny things. Tenzin had seen her throw salt over her shoulder, knock on her head when she talked about something that pleased her, and, that afternoon, she had seen Nicole flipping the light switches up and down, as if it were a private game only Nicole knew how to play. Tenzin knew there were many different ways to pray, and she had seen from the very start of the weekend that Nicole was in a pain worthy of prayer. Now she watched as Nicole hurried over to Josh and whispered in his ear. She was asking for something very important. Tenzin could tell from the mommy’s arched eyebrows. He shook his head without looking at his wife, and Nicole clung to his arm, her lips at his ear, moving fast.

  Tiffany had been watching, too, because she sashayed over to Nicole, the toes of her naked feet pointed.

  “You love to read, right, Nicole?” Tiffany asked.

  A silly question, Tenzin thought. Everyone knew Nicole loved her books very much, so much that she organized them according to subject, instead of by color like some of the other mommies, whose bookcases were rainbows.

  Nicole nodded at Tiffany. Her fingers snapped the rubber band faster now.

  “What’s that book you just read, babe?” Tiffany asked in the direction of the table, where Michael’s head was bowed over his plate. “You know. The one about the end of the world? They made a movie out of it.”

  “The Road,” Michael said with a mouthful of food.

  “That’s the one!” Tiffany cheered, and she even did a little hop in place. Like one of the dance steps Tenzin had learned in Tiff’s Riffs class. “Come on, that must be like your favorite book, Nic. The end of the world and all that stuff?”