My niece, the kid of my husband’s sister, turned 7. Elsa is very ladylike, so ladylike it’s awkward for some people to be around her because they don’t know how to handle her demeanor. She is perfect. Our niece is completely misunderstood by her mother who threw her party at one of those thematic pizza restaurants where the employees take their misery out on customers with half-assed musical routines and poorly baked pizzas and a salad bar where the lettuce is always wilted. The moment we walked in, the noise set me on edge. I held on to my husband’s arm as we navigated the minefield of feral, over-stimulated children. We found his family at a long table near the stage. As we sat down, the waitress cheerfully informed us a new show began every 20 minutes. The schedule alarmed me.
Elsa looked miserable, flanked by my mother-in-law and her mother, both wearing matching sweatshirts. She wore a chic pink dress and white satin gloves. Her hair was done up in curls piled on top of her head. She looked like the saddest girl in the world. I am an orphan and an only child. She’s the only person I have left to love. If she were my daughter, I would have taken her to a teahouse. We would have had elegant finger foods and teas with complicated ideas. A civilized birthday. She was born via a surrogate so she could just as easily be my child. I was, in fact, her surrogate and egg donor. I have to be very careful around her mother. The cord was never completely cut and we all know it. I sat across from Elsa and handed her my gift, which I had wrapped impeccably with pink linen paper and a white silk bow. She appreciates attention to detail. She carefully traced the edges of the long, narrow box with her gloved fingers and slid the box into her tiny purse. She said, “Thank you,” rather primly. I winked at her.
It wasn’t long before a new show began. Three furry creatures, I wasn’t sure if they were ferrets or rabbits or giraffes, stood in front of purple microphones and started singing a song with an indeterminate beat about sunshine and peace and love and joy. Elsa stared at me and I didn’t look away. I could see a tear forming in the corner of her eye. I tapped my hand just over my heart. It’s a thing between us. She wiped the tear away and sat with perfect posture. When the show finished, she and I exhaled visibly and we grinned. My husband stood, applauding wildly. I was mortified. My sister-in-law offered Elsa some tokens for video games. Elsa took the coins, holding them between two fingers. I understood. The gesture was insulting.
My sister-in-law is a lesbian. Her partner of 13 years, Patty, just walked out on their relationship, said she didn’t love Elsa as much as she loved my sister-in-law and the guilt was too much. Patty had also taken up with a man. When my sister-in-law called to share her bad news, my husband handed me the phone. She makes him uncomfortable when she’s emotional. I listened while she cried. I told her she would find someone better, younger, more attractive. She said, “That’s the kind of thing a man would say.” I said, “What’s your point?”
♦◊♦
Elsa spends every Saturday night at our house and leaves late Sunday afternoon. It has always been this way. We used to have my niece over to give her mothers a night off. Now, every weekend, my sister-in-law drives 50 miles into the city and throws herself at women with stylish glasses and modern haircuts who are not interested in a woman who takes her kid to thematic pizza restaurants and wears matching sweatshirts with her mother. The week after her birthday party, I dressed in Theo’s hotel room, checking my appearance in the mirror. He stood behind me, holding my waist. His cock was still hard even though we had had sex twice. He kissed the back of my neck and I tried to slide out of his embrace. He tightened his grip. I put my earrings and rings back on and smoothed my hair into a neat ponytail. I stared at his reflection in the mirror and arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Don’t go,” he said.
“You’ve gotten everything you could possibly want from me.”
“What if I want more?” He kissed my neck just below my right ear. I wanted to fall into him again but I didn’t.
I tried to peel his fingers off of me. “I cannot give you more.”
Theo grabbed me by my hair, pulling my head back. My scalp throbbed and the skin on my face felt terribly tight. “You are so cold,” he said. He dragged his fingers along the column of my throat then sank his teeth into my neck, and sucked hard enough to leave a bruise. “Are you sure you have to leave?”
I lifted my foot, carefully digging my stiletto heel into his bare foot. He yelped and started hopping around on one foot while holding his other in his hands. There was a small indentation and a bright red mark.
“Don’t force me to have an unpleasant conversation with you,” I said. “I like you too much.”
As I left, he called me names he should have called me when we were fucking. In the rearview mirror, I could see him holding a T-shirt in front of him while giving me the finger. I returned the favor.
This is a fabulous story. I think there’s more to it—more possible. Perhaps it could be a novel. Very compelling, beautifully done.
Wanted to print out your Weekend Fiction, but there is NO easy way to do that – like a simple Pdf. Can you arrange that in the future?