How to Party With an Infant Read Online Free Page B

sense.”
    “I tell you stories all the time,” he says, and it’s true. It’s something they all do, something Mele has always had a knack for: drawing people out, unraveling them. When she first met Bobby, who was reticent and mysterious, she asked him about his regrets, past girlfriends, his first memory, what he was like in high school. She watched him open up. He was intricate origami, undoing the folds, showing her how he was made. It was so simple. Ask questions, then listen.
    “Tell me why you’re so lost in thought,” Mele says to Henry.
    Observe people. Notice them. Ask what they’re dying to tell you anyway.
    She watches Barrett’s daughter push down on Gabe’s head as if he were a jack-in-the-box. Gabe-in-the-box raises his fleshy fists in anger. Mele squints, pretends she’s watching midget wrestling.
    “You know you’re not supposed to say midget anymore?” she says.
    “What do you win again?” Annie asks, and Mele knows that what she’s really asking is, Why are you wasting your time with a cookbook competition?
    “A trip to Napa,” Mele says. “I don’t know, it’s just something to do. I do it anyway, basically. Maybe it can be a real book one day.” She laughs so they know she isn’t serious, but she is so very serious. She wants to publish a book, to make her dream come true, but she doesn’twant to say she wants this—she just wants it to happen and then say that she wanted it. Her other motivations are too difficult to express. Single motherhood, Bobby, no real career, the love she has for her child, the guilt she has about her impatience, laziness, and sometimes utter boredom with being a mother. She has no interest in seeing Ellie play with blocks. None.
    She needs something tangible to work on, and immersing herself in food and other people’s stories should keep sadness out of sight, simmering. She needs some tiny accomplishment to shove up Bobby’s ass and an excuse to cook, something she didn’t enjoy that much at work, but at home, in her own tiny kitchen, cooking with music and a glass of wine, little Ellie flipping through a book or watching Barney —this is the best part of her day.
    She’s entering the contest because vacancies should be filled, hunger should be satiated, and Bobby called the other day and had the audacity to invite her to his wedding.
    “We’d like Ellie to be the flower girl,” he said.
    We. Meaning him and the big cheese.
    Mele looked out her living room window, dazed. She could hear Ellie behind her pressing the buttons on her musical frog. Five minutes to night-night. And then a song came on, a mournful waltz. Mele’s eyes came to focus on someone trying to parallel-park, holding up a row of cars. She felt united with this driver—different problems but that same feeling of panic and inadequacy. She wanted to put her life in park, lean over the steering wheel, and sob.
    “I’ll call you right back.” She settled into the armchair in the living room, as if a show was about to begin. Ellie had the plush frog in her lap, and its lament filled the living room. Mele felt a deep shame and guilt, wanting her child all to herself. How happy it would make Ellie to be a flower girl, to don a princess dress and walk down the aisle,but at that moment she’d rather Ellie feel rejected or without. There was a new challenge to parenting just then—it was hard to do it on your own, but harder to maintain a generous spirit while parenting with someone who hurt you. A good mother lets go. A good mother hides her sadness.
    She called him back, and yes, Ellie would be the flower girl, but as for Mele coming to the wedding, she would have to think about it.
    She’s been looking for a dress ever since.
    “I could use something to focus on,” she says. She catches Annie rolling her eyes. They all knew about the invitation to the wedding, and some were more supportive than others.
    “Here,” Annie says. “Here’s some inspiration.” She looks at her