Neighborly(10)

“I can only imagine. It’s exhausting having one.”

“I used to be in pageants, if you can believe it.” This seems apropos of nothing except perhaps a sudden bout of insecurity. I’ve noticed that Wyatt is always touching her back or arm or shoulder like she needs constant validation.

“I believe it.”

“I’m talking way too much!” She indicates her empty glass and says, “I’m such a lightweight.” Then she laughs self-consciously. “That’s one term that doesn’t usually apply to me! Not anymore.”

“I’ve put on weight, too, since having Sadie.”

“You look great.” There’s a peculiar note of accusation in it, and I’m glad when she changes the subject. “I think about going back to work sometimes. Do you?”

“I don’t just think about it. I am going. In about two months.” I feel a rush of sadness, looking down at my beautiful sleeping girl in my arms.

“Part-time?”

“No. Full.” To my surprise, I’m on the verge of tears.

“Then don’t go!” Yolanda says sympathetically. She’s trying to help, but doesn’t she get that it’s not always a choice? For me, it’s a necessity. You’d think she’d realize that, since her husband is a police officer, not a finance guru like some of the other men on the block.

“Kat’s a career woman,” Doug says. “That’s always been true of her.” I don’t know how long he and Wyatt have been listening. His comment is intended as support, but I feel like there’s an undercurrent of him thinking I’m better at work than I am with Sadie. Sometimes I fear that myself.

“Other women on the block work, too,” Wyatt says. “Tennyson runs that boutique on Main. It’s called Le Jardin. Have you been there?”

At the mention of Tennyson, Yolanda’s expression hardens like cement.

“We haven’t really been on Main yet,” Doug says.

Wyatt rubs Yolanda’s arm as if it’s a lamp that might contain a genie. She won’t look at him.

“We should head outside for dessert,” Wyatt says. “Yolanda makes these Nutella squares you won’t believe. No one eats just one.”

“That does sound killer,” Doug says, with an overblown enthusiasm that tells me he’s sensed the sea change between Wyatt and Yolanda, too. He stands up. “You want me to handle Sadie’s diaper? You know I’ve got the magic touch. She won’t even wake up.” I hand her over, feeling suddenly exposed, like I’ve lost my security blanket.

Yolanda gives me a high-wattage smile. “It’s been great getting to know you, Kat.”

“You too,” I say, returning the smile.

“Thanks for the booze,” Wyatt says, “and the talk.”

“It’s so good to have people like you on the block,” Yolanda says, fixing her gaze on Doug and then on me in turn. “You know, normal people.”

What were Nils and Ilsa?

Yolanda and Wyatt walk out, and I want to wilt back into the couch. We came, we saw, we conquered. I avoided any major social faux pas. That’s enough for one day.

Doug carries Sadie upstairs to the changing table, and though he does have a talent for minimal jostling, she wakes up with a wail anyway. I hear him soothing her expertly. He’s just the dad I hoped he would be, and I think I always sensed that and was attracted to it from the first time we got together, even before I knew that I wanted to be a mom myself.

They come back down, and Sadie’s in a fresh purple onesie that reads DADDY’S GIRL.

“Seriously, Doug?” I say.

He smiles. “You dressed her for Round One. I get Round Two.”

I’d put her in a cute print sundress, not a onesie from the five-pack his mother had given us, which we made fun of when we’d found a pink YOU GO, GIRL! in the mix. But no need to split hairs.

“Should we call it a day?” I ask.

“Did you even see the dessert table? I’m having at least three of those Nutella squares.” He lifts Sadie high in the air and then drops and catches her. It’s a game she finds endlessly delightful. “Come on, Introvert. It’s only one more hour.”

I don’t know where he gets all his energy. Right now, he’s practically vibrating with it. He was recently promoted to senior market research analyst and has been working longer hours, then coming home and still getting in his quality time with Sadie. While the raise couldn’t have come at a better time, there’s no customized Tesla in our future.

“Are you OK?” His question reminds me that we’re in this together, and if it’s not OK right this second, it will be soon. “You don’t have to go back out if you don’t want to. I get that this stuff is hard for you.”

I feel a tsunami of love for him, for them. Doug and Sadie. They’re my life, and it’s good. “Let’s go.”

When we step outside, the party is still in full swing, though the laughter is more raucous (read: drunken). On the curb across the street, the kids are lined up like a photo op, seemingly according to height, their feet in the street, their knees practically touching, while they eat ice-cream cones. I see that there’s an actual silver cart nearby with a pinstriped umbrella, and an adult I haven’t met yet is scooping.