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.”
“Of course,” said Jenna, humiliated.
May grimaced. “Oh noo, I forgot to keep the secrret. I’m sorry Eric, that was an axnadent!” And then, understanding that she’d ruined the vibe somewhow, Black Swan slipped between her mom’s legs and ran to join her friends.
Jenna’s body had gone rigid. Somehow, she found the strength to look unbothered, and paste on a tight smile. “Sorry guys. No, we’re not…I’m not engaged. But oh Billie, I’m so excited you’re pregnant.”
Everyone went silent, too stuck in the mire of that terrible moment to say anything. Jenna and Eric were cloaked in a miserable awkwardness; nothing anyone said would’ve saved them.
Billie let her arms slip from the two of their shoulders. “Excuse me while I drown myself in the East River.”
“Billie’s had a long day,” said Jay, glaring at her. “So, what was your announcement, Jenna?”
She cleared her throat, but her voice sounded weak. “Eric was invited to South by Southwest. The festival.”
The congratulations were long and loud—almost too effusive. “The board called him yesterday, and said that they’d already fallen in love with Tyler on Perry Street,” said Jenna, trying to overcome her dampened enthusiasm. “But after reading the New York piece, they knew they had to move before his stock rose and Sundance scooped him up. They actually admitted that.”
“Yeah, the dude called me ‘talent soup.’ Whatever that means.” He said this with an empty smile. It had been the greatest call he’d ever received. The call he’d been waiting for since third grade. But in this anticlimactic moment, it was the last thing he wanted to talk about.
“No one deserves it more than you, man,” said Jay, shaking his hand. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, professor,” said Eric.
“Don’t forget the little people, heartbreaker,” said Elodie, kissing him on the cheek.
Then, in a hurried attempt to fast-forward through the tarnished moment, Billie herded everyone over to the picnic table, to blow out May’s candles. Eric and Jenna stood on opposite sides of the table, the space between them seeming to loom oceans-wide.
After the party, Jenna asked Eric to walk with her along Pier 6, which stretched out far beyond May’s party area. Neither one felt like talking, but Jenna couldn’t go home while things were so abysmal.
They reached the end without speaking, and then leaned back against the railing.
“Want to go first?” asked Jenna.
“Yep,” he said. “Why were you selling me so hard to your friends?”
“What do you mean?”
“He lives at home, but he’s moving the second he saves money. I know he’s just a kid, but it’s okay ‘cause he has his own Wiki page. He’s good enough for y’all. Swear.’”
“Honey, you took that the wrong way.”
“Are you embarrassed to be with me?”
“Seriously? You know I’m in awe of you. I’m a you-groupie.” She looked at him. “But while we’re talking about saving money—are you really betting on video games? A person who’s trying to save money doesn’t spend it on such silly things.”
“Said the woman living in the hood with a fifteen hundred dollar armchair.”
“Hilarious.” Jenna furrowed her brow. “You didn’t seem like you today.”
“Neither did you. You were trying to control everything I said, watching to see if I made mistakes. I felt like I was breathing wrong.”
“You barely said anything, and then you turned into a jackass.
The fruit allergy thing was particularly memorable.” Eric shrugged. “I was over it.”
“We weren’t ourselves,” she said in a small voice.
“No.” Eric was silent for a beat. “You’re right about me wasting money on video games, though. Maybe I should start reading Forbes. You know, to learn how to manage my finances like an adult.”
Jenna blinked.
“Maybe Brian Stein needs an intern. He could teach me how to invest, how to use proper cell phone etiquette. How to be a social success around fifty-year-old women. He could send me to Duane Reade to get his mousse. It’d be dope.”
“Oh no,” groaned Jenna. “My phone. Let me explain…”
“I know technology confuses you. But you should erase your history after Google-fucking your ex.” Furious, he shot out of the railing and started pacing. “‘Everything I ever loved is in her details.’ That’s him, Jenna? This clown had you for twenty years and most vividly misses your decorating?”
“Elodie just sent me the link! How could I not read it? But it doesn’t mean anything!”
“She just sent you the link? You’re so bad at this. That shit’s been out a month.”
“How did you know that?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He kept pacing. “I bet it feels good, knowing that he’s still obsessed with you. How many times did you read it? Did you call him? Have you seen him?”
“No!” Trying not to look as flustered as she felt, she said, “I can’t control what he says about me. I heard he’d mentioned me in an article and, of course, I was curious. That’s all! I don’t want him. I want you.”
“But why? He’s the antithesis of me. If he’s your type, I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because I love you!” She paused to catch her breath. “You’re here because I want the people I love most to know you. Because I wanted us to tell them about your huge achievement. Because I want you in my life, my actual life.”
“Do I look like a fucking idiot to you? This was an audition for the role of your in-real-life boyfriend.”
“That’s not true! Please don’t be upset.”
“I’m not upset! Do I look upset?”
“Yes! You look like you wanna huff and puff and blow my house down!”
Eric looked up at the sky, trying to calm himself. “I need you to tell me the truth. You want what Billie and Jay have. Like, now.”
“Sure, but not…now. Just, you know, in the abstract.”
“Don’t downplay it. You want it so bad that Billie had a seizure celebrating our fake engagement. You were deflating when the Witches of Eastwick were talking about babies.”
Eric wanted to tell her that Darcy had already told him the truth. He’d been obsessing over it since that moment in her office. His own mother had more insight into his relationship than he did. “You talked circles around it the other night, but never said anything real,” he continued. “‘What does our future look like, Eric? Are we gonna make it, Eric?’ It was so hypothetical. Do you know how I felt when I saw how excited you looked over that Disney wedding thing? Like a complete disappointment. Jenna, I just turned twenty-three…I can’t give you that life! When were you gonna tell me how unqualified I am to be your man?”
“You’re perfect for me,” Jenna said quietly.
“Do us both a favor and just say what you want. I wanna hear you say it.”
She couldn’t. She didn’t want to scare him away with her unrealistic daydreams about their future.
Eric waited five seconds, and then twenty, and then gave up.
“You’re a coward,” he said.
“And you’re too young to understand.”
“Right,” said Eric. “I’m eighteen years younger than you, and I live with the antichrist, and I bet on dumbass video games. I met you way too soon and I don’t know what we do about that. But I love you. I love you like it’s my calling. You don’t know, ‘cause I don’t say it, but there are these times when it hits me so hard, Jenna. Like in the morning when you do that melodramatic, fifteen-minute stretch and try to get up, but then collapse back on the bed like someone shot you. When you pick stuff up off the floor with your toes. When we’re in a meeting and your mouth gets tight because you’re trying not to laugh at something I said. Your you-ness ruins me.” His eyes bore into her. “Whatever happened here today, though? I’m not with it. And I gotta go before it gets worse.”
He tried to walk away, but Jenna grabbed his hand. “Eric, are we going to be okay?”
What could he say? They had to be okay. That wasn’t in question. He just didn’t know how.
He nodded vaguely. And then Jenna released his hand, and let him go.
Just Jenna: Style Secrets from our Intrepid Glambassador!
Q: “I’ve always adored fluffy coats and après-ski sweaters and fur-lined boots. My dream is to dress like Julie Christie in Doctor Zhivago. But I live in Taos!! And I adore it. My whole family’s here, and I love working with my kindergartners, and the topography moves me. But what about my fashion fantasy?” -@MelissaJustDoingMeLopez
A: Sweetie, it might be time to surrender to your reality. It’s, like, two thousand degrees in New Mexico—I’m frightened that embracing the Ski Chalet look might give you a heat rash. Also, I can’t in good conscience advise you to do what I call “Forcing the Season” (I see this during New York winters when we get a rare day above forty degrees, and women break out their Freakum dresses). The harsh truth is that the temps are too high for your winter style dream. Sure, you might not rock faux-mink earmuffs anytime soon, but you have the privilege of living in a place that you love passionately. Try adding winter-wear elements to your New Mexico wardrobe, like pairing a gauzy sundress with a lightweight, cropped bomber (check out
Nordstrom.com or Zara for my favorite season-splicing essentials!).
PS: The older I get, the more I wonder if the secret to true happiness is knowing which dreams to let go of.