FEMININE PERSPECTIVE

DAD CALLS A FAMILY MEETING AFTER DINNER.

Our last one was a year ago, when we talked about getting a pet. I wanted a dog. I didn’t care what kind. Just whichever one I liked best at the shelter. I even had a name picked out: I would call her Gidget after the surfer my dads showed me in this really old TV show, and she’d come down to the beach with me and chase the tide. Elliott wanted a cat because he said they’re clean and quiet. Dad was our tiebreaker—he didn’t want anything.

The meeting before that one was about Elliott’s job. Another college wanted to hire him, but it was all the way across the country, in Maine. Elliott said we’d just be moving from one beach community to another, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t take the job. And even though Dad and I both said we’d move without a fuss if it made him happy, I was glad he didn’t.

I try to guess what the meeting is about during dinner, but they won’t tell me. They don’t look mad, though, so I’m not in trouble. At least I hope not.

Family meetings are held in our tiny backyard at the picnic table under the paper lanterns. It’s cool at nighttime in Ewing Beach, even in the summer. So Elliott makes chai and we take it outside where we bundle into beach blankets under the stars.

“Why do we always have our meetings outside?” I asked Dad once.

He breathed in deeply and looked at me. “There’s something about the fresh air that makes people think more clearly,” he said, letting out his breath slowly.

Tonight is extra chilly. I wrap the woolly red-and-black plaid blanket around me as tight as it will go and watch the steam curl up from our mugs.

“I officially call this meeting of the Freeman-Price family to order,” Dad says in a voice that he thinks makes him sound businesslike. I think he sounds more like the ringmaster of a circus: too loud and a little bit silly.

Elliott smiles and pounds his fist on the table like a gavel.

I try not to roll my eyes.

Dad looks at me. “We have some news, Alberta.”

Oh no. Are we moving to Maine after all? Or am I going to have to do something I hate, like the time I had to take ballet lessons to make sure I have a “well-rounded childhood”? The leotard was so tight I wanted to tear it right off. My wet suits are even tighter, but those are different. They keep me warm when the water is freezing. I was cold every single time I wore that leotard. And I wasn’t interested in pointing my toes or moving my arms like a swan.

“Good news,” Elliott says from across the table.

I look back and forth from him to Dad. “What is it?”

“You know Denise,” Dad says slowly.

Of course I know Denise. She’s my surrogate mother. The doctor implanted her with Elliott’s sperm to make a baby. Which ended up being me.

“And you know she’s getting ready to have a baby herself,” he goes on.

I nod. She had just gotten pregnant the last time she came to visit, at the beginning of the year, but you couldn’t tell yet.

“Well, it turns out that Tim has to go away for work. They didn’t plan it, of course, and it can’t be avoided. He’ll be gone a few weeks, right up until the baby is about to be born.”

“So,” Elliott takes over, “we thought she’d come stay with us for the last few weeks of her pregnancy. She can get away from the bustle of L.A. and spend some time here in Ewing Beach.”

“How does that sound?” Dad asks.

“Sounds good to me.”

I like Denise, but it’s almost impossible to not like Denise. She’s a sunny person, always smiling and laughing and sweet. She gives the best hugs, her hair always looks pretty, and she smells like patchouli and oranges.

We see her a couple of times a year, usually when she and her husband are passing through on their way to San Francisco. They came up for Dad’s fiftieth birthday party last year, and we stayed at her and Tim’s house when we went to L.A. for a big art show when I was ten.

“We thought it might be nice for you to have her around,” Elliot says. “Another… feminine perspective. But we wanted to be sure it’s all right with you, too, since she’s going to be sharing space with all of us.” He’s giving me that serious look. The one that says I’d better not lie.

“It’s all right with me.” I pause. “But what is she going to do while she’s here?”

I get annoyed when people who don’t live here say Ewing Beach is boring, but the truth is you can do pretty much everything in town in two days. And there’s even less to do after Labor Day, when half the restaurants shut down for the season and all the other businesses cut their hours.

“Well, she’s a journalist—freelance, so she can work from anywhere,” says Dad. “But the idea is that she’ll get a lot of rest while she’s waiting for the baby.”

I’ve never been around anyone who’s pregnant. Will she have strange food cravings? What if the baby comes early, while Tim is still away?

“What’s she having?” I take a careful sip of my chai, hoping it’s not still too hot. It’s perfect, though, and it goes down milky, spicy smooth.

“They’re waiting to find out,” Dad answers. “Denise says it’s one of life’s only true surprises. They’re so excited. You know, I think Denise was a bit sad that she couldn’t keep you when you were born.”

“What?”

“Kadeem.” Elliott says it lightly, but it still sounds like a warning.

Dad waves a hand at him. “Oh, she’s old enough. Besides, what’s so bad about hearing you were so loved that someone wanted to be your mother?”

“Is that true?” I ask slowly. “Denise wanted to keep me?”

“She never said so. But we were in the room with her, and the way she looked at you—”

“She’d just given birth,” Elliott interrupts him. “It’s a huge life event. There are a lot of hormones and emotions involved.”

Dad sighs. “You’re right. I shouldn’t speak for Denise.” He turns to me. “But she does care about you very much.”

“Yes,” Elliott says, his voice softer. “Ever since you were just a twinkle in our eyes.”

I look down at the table. I never know what to say when they talk about me before I remember being me. Most of my friends don’t seem to think too much about how they came into the world. It’s like they just knew they would exist, no matter what. But I know how badly my dads wanted me and how it wasn’t as easy for them as just deciding they were going to have a baby.

“When will Denise get here?” I ask.

“Well, since you’ve given the okay, we’ll call her tonight and find out,” Dad says. “Tim has to get on the road pretty soon, so maybe as early as next week.”

Next week? That’s so soon. I’m starting seventh grade next week, and Edie just moved in, and for some reason it seems like so many big things shouldn’t be happening so close together.

I head to Laramie’s the next day after I eat lunch with Dad. I used to go over for lunch sometimes, until Dad figured out Leif was making things like chicken nuggets and fried bologna sandwiches. We’re vegetarians, so sometimes all I could eat were frozen french fries or ice cream from one of the pints Leif brings home from the creamery. (Even though, to be honest, some of the meat smelled really good.) Dad freaked out and said I couldn’t eat over there until they started serving real food. I haven’t had a meal at Laramie’s since.

Today, she and I can’t decide what to do.

“We could go to the beach,” I say. It’s usually my first idea, and it’s only a few steps out Laramie’s back door.

We’re sitting on the floor of her bedroom in the middle of the rug. She stretches her legs in front of her and I try not to notice how much they’ve grown.

Laramie makes a face as she wiggles her bare toes. “I don’t feel like dealing with the sand today.”

Which is ridiculous because you can’t walk through Laramie’s house barefoot without getting sand between your toes. It comes with the territory.

“What about the comic shop?” It only seems fair to suggest it since she went to the surf shop with me the other day.

Laramie picks at a loose thread on the rug. “The new comics don’t come out until next Wednesday.”

“Oh.” I knew that. “The creamery?” Leif’s working again.

She shakes her head, still looking down.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Nothing sounds good. I’m almost excited school is starting next week.”

I stare at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Laramie.”

She sighs and looks at me as she unties her curly blond hair from its ponytail and loops the elastic tie around her wrist. “I started. Last night.”

I frown. “Started what?”

She stares at me, her brown eyes serious. “Come on, Alberta. Think about it.”

I do, and then my face gets hot. “Your period?” I whisper it even though we’re here alone. Laramie seems embarrassed, and it makes me feel embarrassed, too.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s weird. My mom was all proud, like I had something to do with it. I just wish…”

“What?”

“I wish things weren’t changing so much. That I wasn’t changing so much. Mom measured me last night, and I’ve grown almost three inches this summer. I feel awkward all the time and—it’s just happening too fast. Everything.”

“Sorry.” I twist my hands together. I’m not sure what to say. I know what she means about things changing too fast, but my body definitely isn’t on that list. I feel bad for being jealous of her, but I am. Maybe I would feel the same way Laramie does if I were the one who’d started first… but I don’t think so.

“It is what it is.” Laramie sounds so grown-up when she says that, but she looks scared and small. She snaps the hair elastic against her wrist. “Do I get to meet the new girl before school starts?”

I told her all about Edie after Dad and I got back from the B&B. Laramie sounded interested when I said that Edie is obsessed with horror movies and came from Brooklyn, but in a way that I think means she’s only interested because I am. Laramie is popular. She doesn’t really need new friends. We hang out with the same people, so I guess I don’t need a new friend, either. But I don’t have any Black friends. Not ones that I actually see outside of school.

“What about Saturday? Do you care if she comes with us to the surf camp party?”

“Cool with me,” Laramie says.

She looks slightly less miserable than she did five minutes ago, so I try one more time. With something we both love to do together. “Want to see what the thrift store got in this week?”

Laramie’s face finally brightens.