by Tia Williams
“My nephew lives with my sister,” said Rosie the Riveter. “He’s twenty-five. I get it, the economy’s bad. But in their case, I think she just doesn’t want to let go of her baby boy. His room still looks like a pre-teen’s. So infantilizing.”
Precious baby boy? Infantilizing? thought Jenna. I don’t want the love of my life associated with some random loser. Can’t we discuss Common Core again?
“You know, I have a great real estate agent,” said Chiquita, “for when you’re ready. Want his info?”
“No, it’s cool,” said Eric, bothered by the antsy expression on Jenna’s face. “I’ll move out as soon as I save enough.”
“Which will be very soon,” emphasized Jenna.
Eric raised an eyebrow. “It will?”
“Of course,” she said, though they’d never once discussed his living situation. “Eric has such a bright future as a filmmaker. He’s got his own Wiki and IMDB pages! He definitely won’t be in his mother’s house for too long.”
“Good for you!” said Rosie. “And if you’re looking to build your resume, we need someone to film our upcoming Parent Flash Mob. It happens every year on the last day of school, during lunch. The kids love it.”
The kids did not love it. It freaked them out, seeing their moms pop out from under cafeteria tables and shimmy with Principal James to “Living La Vida Loca.”
“Interested, Eric?” asked Chiquita. “We can’t pay, but it would be a fun little job. Great for your resume.”
Jenna bristled at them speaking to Eric like he was a cute kid with a hobby. As if he were a person for whom filming a collection of jazz-handsy elementary school moms—gratis—would be a resume-builder.
Before he could say accept or decline, Jenna said, “Guys, forgive me, but Eric’s the lead director on all our productions at StyleZine. I’m almost certain we will have a shoot that day.”
Eric was trying to think of a response when a text buzzed through from Tim. Perfect timing—anything to escape the surreal awkwardness of the conversation.
“Sorry, one second,” he said, and threw himself into a thread with Tim about their latest Zelda game, while the women carried on around him. After a couple of minutes, Jenna pulled him aside.
“Put your phone away,” she whispered.
“I can’t. Tim thinks I owe him $150 from our game last night,” said Eric, continuing to text. “Why do I do this to myself? Yo I hate playing with him.”
“You’ve been on your phone for five minutes; you haven’t spoken to anyone.”
Eric looked at Jenna. “Can I at least finish my sentence?
Damn.”
“It’s rude! You just started texting mid-conversation.”
“Everyone I know starts texting mid-conversation.”
‘Cause they’re kids, thought Jenna. And now you’re acting like one.
“Why are you being so weird?” hissed Jenna.
“Me?” he whispered back. “I don’t even recognize you right now.”
“You’re actually pouting.”
“Forgive me,” he said. “I just spent twenty minutes being dissected by middle-aged women dressed like historical pop culture icons. I’m running out of ways to pretend I’m cool in this environment.”
“I know, we’ll leave soon. But while we’re here, just try to stay engaged. For me.”
“For you? I’m dressed like a Chippendale dancer for you. I killed that whateverthefuck Core thing for you. The Banana thinks I’m adorable. If you’re dissatisfied with my performance, I’m happy to bounce. UNC plays Duke in an hour, and there are three idiots from my eighth grade class waiting for me at Tim’s house with Hennessy and Funyons.”
“Your performance?”
“Seriously, how many ways are you gonna try to convince them I’m awesome? I feel like a one-legged poodle at a dog show.”
“I’m just a proud girlfriend, that’s all!”
“You’re acting,” he whispered, “like a deranged publicist.”
“Hey Eric,” said Billie, realizing it was almost time for her to set out May’s birthday cupcakes. “Can you take a picture of us? We look hilarious, this has to go on Facebook.”
“Sure,” he said, relieved to end his conversation with Jenna. “Whose phone?”
“Here, use mine,” said Jenna, handing it to him.
Eric took it from her, and then entered the password (she’d never bothered to change it after he set it up, way back when she first got her iPhone and didn’t even know what an app was). The screen sprung to life, broadcasting a Firefox tab. It was the last thing she was looking at, before it faded to black.
Eric squinted, hoping that he wasn’t seeing what he was seeing. Forbes.com. Eric knew what it was before he opened it: “The Business of Being Brian Stein.” Without reacting, he clicked the camera icon, raised the phone and took a photo.
She had the fucking thing bookmarked.
CHAPTER 25
Brian.
She still cared. Maybe she’d been in touch with him. Maybe she missed their life, missed being with her someone her age. Someone who didn’t live with his mom, someone settled. Loaded. A classy douche who understood proper texting etiquette. Did she still love Brian? How many times had she read that article? Had she been comparing him to Brian the whole time?
Now, this afternoon made sense. He thought Jenna wanted him at the party to liberate them from the office and the bedroom. And he thought it’d be fun, but it was terrible. All that pushy talk about his accomplishments? She wasn’t trying to show those old biddies that he was beyond being written off as a hot himbo who was too young to keep up. She was trying to convince herself. She wanted to see if he could be as impressive as her ex. But if this were the game, he’d always come up short.
Eric had told Jimmy Crockett his date with Jenna was a failed audition. Was this his?
His brain was so cloudy with anger and hurt that he checked out of the party. He opted out of the rambling discussion about whose apartment was big enough to conduct rehearsals for that psychotic flash mob. He only spoke when asked a direct question. And because he felt like being a dick—when Chiquita asked him what was wrong, he responded, “fruit allergy.”
Eric didn’t wake up until a tiny, be-dimpled Black Swan ran over to their cluster, and hugged Billie around the waist.
“This is the best party ever,” she said with measured excitement. Where most little girls would’ve hopped up and down or giggled with joy, the furthest she went was a deadpan high-five with her mom.
“My love!” Jenna bent down and gave May a squeeze. “Happy sixth birthday! Hey, I want you to meet my friend, Eric Combs.”
May, who’s face was flawlessly made-up to look like an evil, white-faced, black-lipped ballerina, looked at up at Eric with seriousness.
“Hello Hulk,” she said, sticking out her hand. She was wearing a black leotard, black tutu, feathery headdress and massive black wings.
“Hello, Black Swan,” he said, shaking her hand.
“So, what do you do at work with Auntie Jenna?” May asked.
“See my camera? It sounds…well, it sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but generally? I film women talking about their clothes.”
“I don’t think that sounds rindickalus. Clothes are cool.” She turned to Billie. “Mommy, can I talk to Eric about my costume? In front of his camera?”
“Wait, this is to die for,” said Jenna, who all but melted into a puddle. “Eric, she wants you to shoot her own StyleZine street style video!”
“Me next!” exclaimed Chiquita Banana.
Eric welcomed this idea. The truth? May was the cutest kid he’d ever seen—and he couldn’t get away from his current situation fast enough.
“May Lane,” he said, “I feel like this is gonna be the dopest video I’ve ever shot. Come on, let’s go over by the rocks. That Brooklyn Bridge view over the water is sick. Is that okay, Billie?”
“Have at it!” she said. “We’ll get you in ten minutes, so we
can blow out the candles.”
And then a tall Hulk and a tiny swan-demon made their way over to the beach. Without turning around, he knew Jenna was watching them. He was nailing the “…but is he good with kids?” portion of the test.
Minutes later, Eric had positioned tiny May so that she was leaning back against the lovely pile of granite rocks—with small beach, the East River and the Battery Park skyscrapers shimmering behind her. The afternoon sun cast her in a beatific, holy light (especially with the wings), which was a disorienting effect, considering she was dressed like a psychotic swan.
May looked like a fallen deity. Like Angel Gabriel in little girl form. Eric was in love.
He propped his camera up on his shoulder, and aimed it at her. “Okay, so I’m just gonna talk to you a little bit, to warm you up. Cool?”
“Cool!”
Only then did it hit him that he had no idea how to talk to little girls. He hadn’t spoken to a six-year-old since he was six. But, he decided they probably weren’t that much different than older girls. So he tried to think of things he’d say to his friends.
“So wassup? You look beautiful.”
“What does wassup mean?”
“Wassup is another way of saying ‘what’s up.’”
“Umm, I don’t know what’s up. I’m having a birthday party, which I like, but last night mommy said I couldn’t make a Play-Doh tomb for me to sleep in, which I don’t like. So, I don’t know wassup. That’s a too much confusing question.”
“No it isn’t.” He put the camera down by his side and sat next to her. “If someone asks you wassup, no matter what you have going on, just say, ‘Nothing. Chilling.’ Keep it simple.”
“That’s easy.”
“So, wassup?”
“Nothing. Chilling. Wassup?”
“Chilling,” shrugged Eric. “And now, if you’re really cool? You’d give me a pound-bomb.”
“What’s that?”
“You just pound my fist with yours. Like this.” He gathered her fingers into a ball and then pushed it against his. “And then we make a little explosion with our hands, like a bomb. POOF!”
“POOF!” hollered May. “You’re funny. Pound-bombs are silly. So are you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m not so silly, but I like silly things sometimes.”
“Yeah? You like silly movies?”
“Not really. My favorite movie is the Prince of Egypt.”
“The Disney movie about Moses?”
“Ancient Egypt is exciting. Because dead people got to be mummies. Even dead cats, if they belonged to a pharaoh. And the men wore eyeliner. I like the Moses story because it shows it’s not good manners to make people slaves, or to throw slave babies into a river filled with alligators. Manners are important.”
Eric tried not to register his surprise at May’s bleak tastes in movies. “So really, out of all the Disney animated flicks, that’s your favorite?”
“Si senor.”
“That’s cool. I like Ancient Egypt, too. I just thought little girls your age skewed more toward Disney princess movies, rather than slave ones.”
“I like those, too. I like Tiana, ‘cause she looks like us. And Tangled, because of her hair. I used to love long hair, when I was four. That’s when I always wanted to watch the Barbie show on Netflix. But I wasn’t allowed.”
“Why?”
“Mommy didn’t like that there was no one with brown skin and that Barbie only talked about boys and clothes. But she watches a show called Carrie Bradshaw and there’s no brown faces…and boys and clothes is all she talks about.”
Eric looked at her in awe. “You might be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”
“Akshally, I’m smarter than regular kindergartners. But I don’t tell my friends, ‘cause that’s bad manners,” she said.
“Your manners are epic, kid. I need lessons from you.”
“Boys don’t know about manners.”
“No, we typically don’t.”
“Do you know what ‘wedding’ means? Some boys don’t know about that, either.”
“Yeah, it’s when a man and a woman get married. Or, like, two men or two women.” Growing up with Tim’s two dads had made him sensitive to the legitimacy of same-sex couples. But he didn’t know if that was an age-appropriate response. He tried again. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just when two people…”
“See? Boys don’t know what it means,” said May. “It’s the only part of princess movies that I like. It’s what happens at the end of them. There’s always a cool song, and she wears a dressy dress and gets to marry a prince.”
“Okay, now I think I understand.”
“It’s fun to see the prince and princess so happy, because you never know, they could die really soon. Everyone dies, you know. And you never know when. So we have to have fun every day.”
“Word! Carpe diem.”
“Are you married?” asked May. “Maybe to a princess?”
“No, not married. Are you?”
“You really are silly! I’ve only been six for a day. It’s not time yet.” She smoothed out her tutu. “I saw you and Auntie Jenna come in together. Are you her true love?”
Eric drew back, wondering if she’d figured it out. He wouldn’t be surprised—she seemed like she could call upon the dark arts to steal secrets from her unsuspecting victims.
“No, we’re just friends.”
May looked like she didn’t believe him. “Well, maybe you can marry her. All princesses get husbands. And Auntie Jenna’s all by herself. Doesn’t it make you sad?”
“Not all princesses need husbands, you know,” said Eric, who couldn’t believe he was debating this with a baby. “The problem with those movies is that they tell little girls that weddings are the ultimate goal. And then they might rush out just to find someone to marry because they think it’s expected—instead of finding the right person. It’s smarter to take your time, figure out who you are, make mistakes, and then, when the timing’s right, maybe you’ll meet someone who makes you want do the Disney wedding.”
May nodded, but was unimpressed by Eric’s speech.
“So,” she said, “do you want the Disney wedding with Auntie Jenna?”
Eric passed his camera from one hand to the other. How had he ended up here? He was barely clothed and being judged by someone who couldn’t pronounce “actually.” He had nothing to lose, so he told the truth.
“Yeah,” he admitted, with a sigh. “I do. But it’s not the end of the movie yet.”
“Okay.”
“That’s a secret, Black Swan. Don’t tell.”
“I’d never ever.”
Eric glanced over at Jenna, who was helping Billie unpack May’s cupcakes. She waved, flashing an enthusiastic smile. Seeing him with the little girl had made her annoyance vanish. He waved back, but couldn’t bring himself to smile.
As May and Eric were wrapping up, Billie, Jay and Jenna came over to watch. When she signed off with the line he fed her—“I’m May Lane, and this was my StyleZine street style look”—the three broke out in applause.
“You killed it, May-May!” exclaimed Jenna. “Should I be worried about my job?”
“We were coming over to tell you that we’re blowing out candles now, but we couldn’t resist watching,” said Billie, giving her daughter a squeeze. “How did it go, May? Did you feel nervous? What’s up?”
She shrugged. “Chilling.”
Jay, who was dressed as ‘80s Al Sharpton (complete with a rollerset wig), chuckled. “Nice one, E.”
“Look what else Eric taught me.” May stuck out her little fist and gave him a pound-bomb.
“My homie, Black Swan,” said Eric.
“That,” said Jenna, “was beyond adorable.”
“Hey Elodie,” said Eric, “where have you been?”
Elodie was dressed as Medusa, with a snake fright wig, a green face, and snakeskin contacts. “I was helping Jay take May’s guest’s
tickets at the Carousel. A thankless job. I smoked some w-e-e-d before I came, just so I could deal with the runny noses and temper tantrums, but it just made me tired. Now I wanna take a power nap under that picnic table. Preferable with Chiquita Banana’s husband. Did you see him? The one that looks like Idris Elba?”
“So disappointing,” said Billie. “I have all these brilliant, beautiful single b-l-a-c-k friends and a Danish b-l-o-n-d-e gets Idris Elba.”
“Guys,” said Jenna, “I’ve been waiting all day for us to be alone. Scooch in closer.” Everyone huddled together with May in the middle. “We have huge news.”
Eric wished she wasn’t choosing this moment—when everything was so wrong—to make her announcement.
“Wait,” said Billie. “News? The both of you?”
“Yes,” squealed Jenna. She was glowing. “And we wanted to share it with you, first, before telling the world. You’ll be so happy.”
Billie ripped her hand from May’s, throwing her arms in the air.
“You’re engaged?”
“Wait, I don’t…” started Jay, seeing the stricken looks on Eric and Jenna’s faces.
“Come on, Jay, this is a huge moment.” Billie nudged herself between Jenna and Eric, flinging an arm around them both. “Jenna, you finally had that heart-to-heart, like we talked about! See? It worked out. And we have news, too. I’m two months pregnant! Maybe we’ll have babies around the same time, depending on when you start trying!” She kissed him on the cheek. “Eric, she wants this more than anything.”
“And so does Eric,” said May.
“Wh-what?” Eric could barely find his voice.
“What?” said Jenna.
“Eric said he wanted a Disney wedding with you! Where the prince marries the princess at the end?”
“Eric, that came out of your mouth?” Elodie clapping her hands. “Omigod, you two are giving me a toothache with the sweetness, I can’t!”
Jenna looked at him, her face a map of confusion, unfiltered joy and hesitant hope. “You said that? About us?”
The idea took her breath away—but then she got a good look at Eric. He looked like Peter Pan walking the plank. Clearly, it wasn’t what he’d said at all.
“No…that’s not exactly…” he babbled, his heart pounding in his chest. “We were talking about princess movies and May got carried away.”
