This gesture devastated Alix and she couldn’t help but think, Oh my God, my friends are such MOMS. Alix found it remarkable how she could be both in love and embarrassed at so many things at once. There was the age and status of her friends (Rachel, divorced twice at thirty-five. Jodi, the mommiest mom ever, also thirty-five. And Tamra, though impressive in every other way, was quickly pushing forty). And then there were other numbers that suddenly seemed mortifying. The height of Alix’s husband (the same as her, 5’10”), her own post-baby body (141 pounds), and most of all, the fact she’d lain in bed the night before and been so pleased as she counted in her head how many African American guests would be present at her Thanksgiving table. This number had totaled to five.
Rachel shook her head. “I wanna kill him.”
Jodi said, “I think there was a This American Life where this happened.”
Tamra nodded. “I know which one you’re talking about.”
Jodi asked, “Are you going to tell Peter?”
Peter wouldn’t know what to do with this information in the context of the evening. Alix needed him to be his charming self and keep Kelley occupied with gracious hospitality. She said, “Not tonight.”
Rachel waited a second before asking, “Are you going to tell Emira?”
This sent Alix back inside herself. She looked to Tamra and said, “Tam, what do you think?”
“You’re not telling anyone anything tonight, okay?” Tamra decided this for Alix and for the rest of the group. “She and Kelley are probably having the same conversation we’re having right now anyway. But listen, I’ll take care of Emira. Peter and Walter are already taking care of Kelley. You went to high school with him and that’s it. What a coincidence. How funny. That’s all.”
“Okay . . . just a coincidence.” Alix reached her hand into the neck of her sweater and tried to create space between her sweating armpits and her top.
“What a shame though, right?” Rachel took another sip of wine. “Their kids would be gorgeous.”
Fourteen
When Mrs. Chamberlain had opened the front door, Emira had to stifle her laughter. Mrs. Chamberlain’s face had landed at a similar bewilderment as it had the first time they met. Five months ago, Emira watched Mrs. Chamberlain swing her door open to reveal a person she’d created in her head, and surprise!, it was someone much darker. Mrs. Chamberlain was so graciously confused at the sight of Emira that she even apologized for herself (“Sorry, hi. You’re so pretty! Come on in”), and her reaction to Kelley on Thanksgiving was much akin to this. But as Emira waited for her to apologize for herself, Kelley called her Alex. Emira’s knowing giggles turned into nervous laughter and Mrs. Chamberlain’s face curved down. Before she could get an answer, Emira was pulled into a Thankful Wonderland and ambushed by three other moms. The women shoved a glass of red wine into her hands as they asked where she was from and where she went to school and if she was caught up on a sitcom called Black-ish. When Emira said she hadn’t seen it, Tamra touched her arm with a solid hold and said, “Oh Emira, you have to see it. It’s a very important show.”
After the three women all headed upstairs, Emira spotted Briar in the living room in a plaid and uncomfortable-looking dress sitting next to two other little girls, one with bright red hair and the other with a tiny afro held back by a flowered headband. Emira tapped Briar on the shoulder. “Hey, pickle.”
Briar stood. She solemnly wrapped her arms around Emira’s neck. “I don’t like fancy shoes in the house.”
“You wanna come meet my friend?”
Briar didn’t say yes, but Emira picked the little girl up and walked back toward the front hall where Peter, Kelley, and another man were talking.
“This is my . . . this is mine,” Briar said to the man Emira didn’t know. “This is my friend.”
“That’s terrific,” he said. He had huge cheeks, big shoulders, and looked like a young Santa Claus in a white sweater with knit swirls. “We haven’t met yet. Walter. I think you already met my wife, Jodi. All the redheads you see are mine.”
“Emira, nice to meet you.” She smiled. “Hey, B. This is my friend Kelley. Can you say hi?”
Briar tucked her head into Emira’s neck at what looked like a painful angle; she could still inspect Kelley even though her face was almost upside down. She stuck out two fingers and said, “I’m three.”
Kelley turned toward the little girl and said, “No way. I’m three, too.”
Briar eyed him and grinned. “Noooo.”
“I’m just big for my age,” he said. “Well, I’m actually three and a half.” Emira’s lips mushed against each other and she felt so pleased. Of course he was completely wonderful and easy with children. Of course he had a scripted show of how to entertain new ones before they became familiar. But as Tamra came down the stairs, Jodi, Rachel, and Mrs. Chamberlain in tow, Kelley ended his routine early. He placed his hand to Emira’s back and said, “Can we talk for a second?”
Emira said, “Hmm?” but Tamra interrupted their gaze.
“Briar, I know you’re so glad your buddy is here today. Emira, can you lend me a hand in the kitchen?” She passed Cleo to Jodi and headed back upstairs. The woman’s question sounded more like a command, and from the way she threw back her shoulders as she walked, it seemed like she very much expected Emira to be coming right behind her.
Emira set Briar on the ground. “I guess I’ll be right back.”
On top of the upstairs table was fancy silverware Emira had never seen before, and a pile of cloth napkins next to it. “I just need a hand folding this silverware real quick,” Tamra said. “I’m sure you know how.”
Emira said, “Sure,” but this all felt very strange. Not only did she not know how to fold silverware into napkins, but the pile of hand towels seemed careless in a way that didn’t match Mrs. Chamberlain. Mrs. Chamberlain definitely would have completed this task before guests arrived. Had Tamra unassembled them just so she and Emira could have this moment? Weren’t they all about to have dinner together anyway? Emira looked down and she was almost startled to find her own olive green dress, instead of the oversized white polo she wore every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Tamra laid the knife down first, and Emira copied her steps. After completing the first roll of silverware and tossing it into a wicker basket, Tamra reached over and gently tugged the bottom of Emira’s braid. “So what’s up underneath here, huh? I’m guessing you’re afraid to go natural.”
“Oh.” Emira laughed, more out of discomfort than indifference. She’d been to several events where another black party guest was foisted on her by a well-meaning but ignorant host, but Tamra appeared to be conducting this interaction on her own. It reminded Emira of the one time she’d watched an episode of The Bachelorette at Shaunie’s apartment. Four times she had to witness “hometown dates” in which the father of a white woman stood up at a staged dinner table and asked the Bachelor if they could have a man-to-man chat. Each time Emira cringed more than the last. “I don’t know,” Emira said. “I like it long, I guess.”