Baby

Nobody was getting up close to me, whisper­ing, “Do you get a lot of sex?” Nobody was making my mouth fall open by running his finger up and down my spine, or anything like that, or talking dirty about dirty pictures and did I have those or anything like those, so I could tell him what I keep—what I have been keeping for so long in my bureau drawer underneath my cable-knit pink crew—so I could tell him what I count on happening to me every time I take it out from under there. Because it was a baby party for one thing, so we had cone paper hats and blowers, so we had James Beard’s mother’s cake with turquoise icing, and it was all done up inside with scarlet and pea-green squiggles, and the baby got toys.

Nobody was saying, “Everybody has slept with my wife, because everybody has slept with everybody, so why don’t we sleep together?” so I could say at last, “Yes, please. Thank you for thinking of me.” I would be polite.

Just as it was nothing out of the ordinary when the five-year-old slugged the eleven-year-old on the back and they kept on playing, looking as if they could kill for a couple of seconds. We didn’t know why. And then the baby cried in a bloodthirsty way.

My husband sat stony-faced throughout. I don’t think he moved from his chair once. What the fuck was wrong with him? He left the party early, without me; he said to get a little—I don’t know how he was spelling it—I’ll spell it peace.

I spoke to a mustached man right after my husband left. He was the first man all night I had tried to speak to. I know he loves sports. I said to him, “I think sports are wonderful. There are triumphs. It is so exciting. But first, you have to know what is going on.”

Then my boy was whining, “Mom, I want to go home.” He was sounding unbearably tired.

The baby’s aunt said she’d take us. She didn’t mind. She had to back up her car on the icy drive. She said, “I don’t know how we’ll get out of here,” when we got into the car. “The windows are all fogged up.” She said, “I don’t think I can do it.” She opened the window and poked her head out. She said, “I don’t think so.”

When she closed the window, we went backward terrifically fast. I don’t know how she knew when to spin us around into the street. It was like being in one of those movies I have seen the previews for. It was like watching one of those faces on those people who try to give you the willies. It was like that, watching her—while she tried to get us out.