Julia Fierro - Cutting Teeth

“That’s so very interesting, Tiffany,” Grace said with a beaming smile of her own.

Grace’s calculatedly cordial tone made the back of Leigh’s neck prickle.

“I’m a child-development specialist.” Tiffany shrugged modestly. “With a master’s in music therapy.”

“And where was that?” Grace asked. “The Columbia School for Teachers?”

“No. City College.”

“Oh,” Grace said, and smiled. With a barely perceptible nod of pity, Leigh thought. Then Grace ushered the still-whimpering Hank to the screen door and out onto the deck.

Even before the screen door thwacked shut, Tiffany had pulled out her phone and was jabbing at the keypad.

Three seconds later, Leigh’s phone vibrated.

The text message read:

ok! she’s a fucking cunt!

Leigh’s hand jumped to her mouth to smother a laugh. When she looked up, Tiffany winked at her, seemingly unscathed.

Tenzin rushed by, shuffling after Chase, singing, “Potty time! Make a peepee on potty time!”

Chase cried, “Can’t get me!” and leapt onto the sofa seat next to Leigh, jumping up and down, his hip knocking the arm cradling Charlotte.

“Chase, sweetie, careful,” Leigh said. “You’ll wake the baby.”

“You can’t get me, Tenzie,” Chase sang with an openmouthed smile.

“No, no, no, Chase, my boy,” Tenzin clucked quietly, reaching for him.

With each jab of his elbow, Leigh felt the coil tighten in her chest.

“Stop, Chase. Please!” she heard herself begging. Then she took a slow breath and tried a more rational approach, “You’re not doing good listening, Chase.”

With each thudding jump, each dip of the cushion seat, Leigh felt a sense of unsteadiness grow, and when he fell against her, his fingers catching in her hair, a white-hot stinging at her temple, she almost laid her palm on his bare chest, imagining his skin still sun-warmed under her fingers, him on the floor, on his back, his elbows skidding across the thin carpet at her feet.

But Tenzin was there to save Chase (and Leigh) again, scooping the boy up under the armpits and swinging him up in the air and away, his giggles trailing behind them.

Leigh relatched the baby’s mouth around her nipple, the hot gush of her milk letting down a relief. Only then did she dare to look around the room, bracing herself for the disapproving stares. But no one looked her way. She couldn’t tell if their busy chatter was intentional. Maybe they were embarrassed for her. More than once, Nicole, and even Susanna (a mother to twins!) had said things like I don’t know how you do it, Leigh. As if Chase were a trial she must endure, as if she were a mother to be pitied.

But now she had her Charlotte.

Nicole, Susanna, and Tiffany stood in the kitchen doorway, their shoulders touching in a conspiratorial huddle as they watched Tenzin hop among the boys, plucking brightly colored foam sandals from their sun-browned feet. Leigh sensed a hint of mischief in their amused smiles. Even from Tiffany, who, as Tiffany loved to remind Leigh, had “discovered” Tenzin, and who called Tenzin a goddess to her face.

The Tibetan woman did look a bit comical, Leigh thought, and instantly felt it a betrayal to think this, as if she had joined forces with those judgy mommies against her precious Tenzin. Tenzin didn’t own a bathing suit and was wearing one of Leigh’s. It was too small in the trunk and left her hip bones exposed. But it was too big in the chest; the empty cups two pockets of air-filled fabric. She wore white men’s athletic socks and sweatpants rolled up to her knees. Her SAVE TIBET! baseball cap was perched atop her head. Still, Leigh thought, there was beauty in Tenzin’s effortless smile, in the simplicity of her unwrinkled golden skin that left little to distract from those loving black eyes.

When Leigh saw children look at Tenzin with lip-curled disgust, as Harper sometimes did, as the parents in the playgroup did now, Leigh felt a swelling urge to defend her.

“Tenzin going to clean up,” Tenzin sang in her usual cheer.

The only way Leigh could make sense of Tenzin’s playful energy, and her habit of referring to herself in the third person, was that she’d been a first-grade teacher back in India, where her husband and three children still lived. Leigh preferred to think of Tenzin’s clowning as intentional. An act. Tenzin’s daily performance was just as seamless as Leigh’s own. But lately, as she grew to rely on Tenzin for more than child caregiving, but also for comfort and even for guidance, Leigh sometimes feared that Tenzin was as clueless as she appeared. The nanny might actually believe there was goodness in everyone. After all, Leigh thought, Tenzin’s most-used American cliché was look on the bright side.

The din had woken the baby, who, unlike big brother Chase, was all smiles after a nap, even one interrupted. Leigh tried to avoid comparing them, but it felt impossible when they were such opposites. When the Leigh who was Chase’s mommy was a stranger to the Leigh who was Charlotte’s mommy.

Leigh jumped when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

The scent of Tiffany’s musky perspiration swarmed her.

“Jumpy, a bit?” Tiffany asked with an amused lift of her eyebrows.

“You scared me, silly.”

She gave Tiffany’s cool dry fingers a squeeze, counting one-two-three before releasing. Recently, Tiffany had pointed out, with a tone of exaggerated hurt, that Leigh didn’t hug her back, so Leigh had been making an extra effort.

Tiffany tucked herself between Leigh and the arm of the sofa, curling her naked legs under her. Like a cat looking to be scratched, Leigh thought. Harper ran over and climbed onto Tiffany’s lap. The girl’s long legs, spotted with yellowing bruises, spilled across Leigh’s thighs. The soles of Harper’s feet were filthy, and Leigh scooted over to make room.

“Milky-time, Mama,” Harper pleaded. She fell back so her head rested in the crook of Tiffany’s elbow. A cradle position. The same way Leigh held Charlotte.

But Charlotte was three months old. Harper nearly four years old. Again Leigh wondered when Tiffany would put an end to the sullying of this naturally beautiful act that, in Leigh’s opinion, Tiffany had made wholly unnatural.

Tiffany lifted a heavy breast over the neckline of her shirt, and Harper cupped it in her hands, closed her eyes and opened wide before pulling the bright pink nipple into her own pink mouth.

“Gentle, Harp,” Tiffany said, “I know you love mama’s yaybies and all, but ouch.”

Leigh smiled, more of a reflex, when Tiffany used her embarrassing alternative for boobies. Boob has negative connotations , Tiffany had once explained.

Leigh pressed her fingertips into the hollows above her eyes.

“Do you have any painkiller?” she asked.

“Nope. But,” Tiffany’s voice fell to a whisper, “Nicole has like a grab bag of pharmaceuticals in the bathroom upstairs.”

Leigh was about to stand and head for the stairs when Tiffany clutched her elbow and pulled her back into the sofa.

“Did you get a chance to think about the babysitting schedule?” Tiffany asked. “I really really need those hours on Thursdays.”

Not this again. How many times did she have to tell Tiffany no, without actually saying no? Tenzin was hers on Thursday — the only weekday Chase’s preschool did not have a spot, which meant twelve hours alone with the kids. Twelve hours trying to protect Chase from himself while she nursed the baby through the 5–7 P.M. witching hour. Don’t jump headfirst off the couch, Chase. Don’t stick Cheerios up your nose, honey. Don’t chew on Mommy’s cell phone, please.

“I’m sorry,” Leigh started, but Tiffany interrupted.