Julia Fierro - Cutting Teeth

“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.

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.