I desperately needed a job, even if it didn’t pay much. After dropping out of NYU to model wasn’t the get-rich-quick adventure my twenty-year-old mind had believed it would be, I realized there was a reason my peers had taken the more traditional path of summer internships, graduating college in four years, and landing a job in finance or tech. It was called a 401(k), vision benefits, and paid vacation. While I was living leveled up in Dolce & Gabbana, my Fairchild classmates had been securing a future. Four years later, when the loudest noise in my life was the sound of a wailing toddler, I knew I would never let Etta make the same mistakes I had made. If I worked at Fairchild I could even influence hundreds of next-generation me’s to forgo the path less traveled and focus on creating a stable and secure pipeline to a solid future.
“Ohhh, I got something for you.” In addition to the champagne I’m about to make Lola’s day.
“Gurl! You had sex, didn’t you? Please tell me you had sex,” Lola says moving her barstool closer to mine, not wanting to miss a single detail.
“Uh, no, sorry for the letdown.”
“No worries, I knew I was overreaching.”
“And on that pathetic note, the gay dads who Roan called for the win, one of them just may be the hottest dad to pass through Fairchild this decade—I’ve named him ‘Wonder Boy’ in honor of the question on the tip of every single woman’s tongue in San Francisco—I wonder why, yet again, this truly foxy man isn’t straight? I’ve reserved a spot for him in my closet Hall of Fame.” I grab a napkin from the bar and feign a heat flash creeping up my neck. “Every inch of Wonder Boy’s six-foot-fourish frame is pure bliss. His handshake was so firm I would let that man grab my dreads and take it from there. And you know how I feel about people touchin’ my hair.”
“You do not call him Wonder Boy,” Lola deadpans. “That is so white!”
“The man is white. White and gay.”
“Then I’m pretty sure his interest in grabbing your dreads and taking you anywhere is nada. But I’ll give you credit for actually recognizing a hot dad when you see one, that’s progress.”
“Oh I recognize plenty of hot men, I just haven’t been bringing them home. With Etta leaving soon, guess it’s time to start imagining future possibilities. Lucky me, I have a great imagination.”
“HAAAAAAA!!!” Lola busts out like she won the lotto. “It’s about time you kicked Michael’s memory to the curb. “
Michael and I met six years ago when he was the city councilman for our district. Aunt Viv always went to the neighborhood meetings when the city councilman was attending. I thought she went to be politically active and have her voice recognized and her concerns heard, but then one night she bribed me to go with her with the promise of wings and potato salad afterward. In the first minute I knew Aunt Viv attending those meetings had nothing to do with politics.
It was love at first glance, but I didn’t make it easy for Michael. I refused to give him my number. Told him a city councilman should know how to connect with all his constituents. The next day, an eleven-year-old Etta handed me a business card and told me a guy who was kind of cute stopped by and that I should call. I took the opportunity to teach Etta the first lesson in dating that all women should know: You don’t go calling boys; they call you.
Two days later he showed up at a school tour. He took the whole tour, even asked a question during the Q and A. At the end of the tour I worked the room, talking to all the attendees except him. He waited me out. By the time the last overly engaged parent had left it was lunchtime and I was starving. I let him take me to lunch. Then I skipped the rest of the day at work and let him take me to bed.
For four years and three months Michael was the upstanding man three generations of Bordelon women had never experienced. For the first time in our lives Aunt Viv, Etta, and I did not have to do it all on our own. Something broke, Michael fixed it. Aunt Viv couldn’t reach a pot on a top shelf, Michael got it for her. Fairchild had a father/daughter dance, Etta got to go. And I got to properly fall in love for the first time at thirty-three.
Then, just a bit over two years ago Michael got an incredible job offer in Sacramento. When we were all together we encouraged him to take this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. When Michael wasn’t around, Aunt Viv assured me she would be just fine if Etta and I moved to Sacramento to be with Michael, not to mess with true love. I invited her to come along, but she told me her life was in San Francisco. Her life had been in San Francisco before I showed up as a babe and it would continue in San Francisco long after I left.
But the invitation to move to Sacramento with Michael never came. There was talk of long distance, there was talk of visiting each other on weekends, but there was never talk of becoming a real family.
Ultimately, I had to let him go for Etta. I didn’t want her watching her mother accept anything but true love and commitment from a man. She didn’t need the promise of a weekend father that I knew would eventually fade for reasons she was too young to understand. And I didn’t need a part-time lover. Alone was better than half-assed. So I took the lead and the three of us let Michael go. What was most heartbreaking was that he didn’t seem to mind going. That we, in fact, had been a layover for him on his trip to bigger and better things.
“Josie, as good as those four years were they were not worth closing up shop. Everybody needs some good lovin’.” Lola reminds me, more like a big sister than a girlfriend.
“How can you have three kids and have the brain capacity, let alone energy, to think about sex all the time? Nic is one lucky guy.”
“Oh I don’t spend my time fantasizing about having sex with my husband! You fantasize about your husband folding laundry or emptying the dishwasher or making dinner other than pizza. I think about having sex with anyone but Nic. Let’s just say I have a rich imagination, and as much as I would like to imagine you getting it on with Wonder Boy, it’s not even worth my very limited brain capacity, you know, since he’s GAY.” Lola licks the rim of her empty second glass of champagne and hops off her barstool. “Gotta go. My mini–Bruce Lee will be starving for his cheese stick. And, Josie, we are two years and a handful of months past Michael. As much as I applaud your recognition of a good-looking dad—even if he’s not straight—it doesn’t count as dating progress. Bring me a man who wants to sleep with women. That’s something I can work with.”
Every woman needs a girlfriend who speaks the truth. At almost forty it’s as necessary as a pair of Spanx.
FOUR
“Mama, we need to talk about next year.” Etta is setting the dinner table. I spy Aunt Viv fake minding her own business. She’s been washing the same bunch of collard greens for about five minutes.
“Not right now, I’m exhausted. I had my first tour today and Lola made me have two glasses of champagne.” I can feel it coming—three, two, one.