Anton reaches into a bag at his feet and pulls out a bottle shaped like a large glass grenade, a wide grin on his face. His contribution to Friday nights has been to introduce everyone to expensive alcohol. Aimee chalks this up to his being a writer. She pictures him at home every day, sitting in front of an old typewriter, surrounded by books, sipping bourbon. She once shared this flight of fancy with Gwen, who laughed and said that when she gets home from her work, she often finds Anton in his underwear playingFortnite.
“Want some?” Anton asks as he holds the bottle in the air.
“I’ll take an old-fashioned,” Aimee says.
He cringes in exaggeration, pulling at his clipped beard. “I can’t let you pollute my Blandon’s, but I think Scott’s got some Maker’s Mark in there I can use.” He stands up.
“He definitely does,” Aimee calls after him. “On his beautiful bar cart.”
Once Anton is out of earshot, Aimee turns to Lisa. “Did you see the bar cart Scott bought? It was made in Denmark in 1960 and he’s very, very proud of it.”
“Ooh, mid-century modern,” Gwen says. “Who’s the designer?”
Aimee shrugs. “Beats me.” Her husband’s fascination with Scandinavian mid-century modern furniture is a passion she doesn’t begrudge him, but one she doesn’t share. It seems all the men she knows in their forties and fifties have developed some strange hobby. Anton and his top-shelf liquor—he’s always traveling far distances to pick up some limited-edition bottle—or Scott and his hours spent online hunting down some Danish chair. And Lisa’s husband, Marcus, took up cycling during the pandemic and now heads off every weekend at the crack of dawn in some neon spandex outfit.
“Of course, we’re going to have to trade that thing of beauty in for a locked liquor cabinet at some point,” Aimee says. “I found Noa pouring apple juice into a martini glass from the shaker the other day.”
Gwen laughs. It’s supposed to be a funny, self-deprecatinglook-at-the-things-our-kids-get-intostory. That’s what mom friends are for, to make you feel less alone in your parenting challenges. But when Aimee looks over at Lisa, her friend’s face is frozen in a neutral mask. Aimee feels an uncomfortable twinge in her stomach. The way she parents her nine-year-old daughter has become something of a sore subject with Lisa. Leaning across the table to touch her hand, Lisa smiles. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”
Aimee shakes off Lisa’s hand and tucks a loose curl back into her top bun. “Oh, it’s okay, I get it.” She doesn’t get it. Why Lisa lit into her like that,in front of everyone, for letting Noa visit one of her clients. But she’s trying to avoid a repeat of the conversation.
“You’re an awesome mother,” Lisa says, gathering her long black hair and pulling it over one shoulder.
“Yes, she is!” Gwen says. “In fact, I think we’re all killing it.”
“It’s just, how well do you know this woman, Aimee?”
Gwen groans. “Unbelievable,” she says. “Just drop it.”
“Look, I know you mean well, but I’ve got this, okay?” Aimee stares into Lisa’s almost-black eyes. She is not about to relitigate why she’s been letting Noa spend time visiting one of her clients. The woman, a retired elementary school teacher named Cathy, is perfectly harmless in her baggy Eileen Fisher clothes and chunky black glasses. She wants to hire Aimee to replace theazaleas on her sprawling front lawn with native plants to attract butterflies and birds. When Aimee first went out there to brainstorm design ideas about a month ago, she hit it off with Cathy. On her second visit, she brought Noa, who discovered Cathy had not just a cat, but three newborn kittens, after which she insisted on coming back whenever Aimee went. And yes, over the past few weeks, Aimee has let Noa spend a few hours here and there at Cathy’s to play with the cats. Aimee doesn’t tell Lisa and Gwen that Noa’s fourth grade is off to a rough start, that words likeADHDandsensory processing issueshave been bandied about. That being around those kittens makes Noa’s face light up, a welcome contrast to the defeated state in which she comes home from school every day.
Aimee isn’t ready to admit to herself what challenges Noa might have, can’t even bring herself to open the psychologist’s report that arrived in her inbox a few days ago.
And why should she have to say any of this to Lisa? To Gwen? Why should she have to justify herself?
She doesn’t have to. Anton comes back with drinks, followed closely by Scott and Marcus carrying trays laden with burgers, sausages, and grilled corn. Any further conversation is impossible, about Aimee’s parenting choices or anything else. Smelling the meat, the children converge on the table. Lisa and Marcus’s son, Kai, hangs back with Noa, but the four younger kids swarm the food.
“Slow down, boys!” Gwen stands and begins delivering commands while Marcus struggles with the tongs, distributing the slippery hot dogs. Finally, the boys step back and Kai and Noa hold out their plates.
“You two are so patient,” Lisa says to Kai and Noa. “Thank you for letting the younger boys go first.”
All the parents pitch in to get the kids settled with condiments and bean salad, with napkins and forks. This shared sense of responsibility, that they are all helping to raise each other’schildren, has created a tight bond. Aimee’s heard people complain that the D.C. suburbs are cold and unfriendly, too transient to make any real connections, so she feels extra lucky to have this circle of friends. They seamlessly step into and out of each other’s lives—picking up one another’s kids at school, for example, or checking if anything is needed before going on a Costco run.
Scott sits next to her, slipping his hand behind her neck and giving it a little rub.
“How’s Bethesda’s most innovative gardener doing?”
She laughs. That accolade was bestowed upon her company byBethesda Magazinelast spring, and he’s called her that ever since.
“It’s been a long week.” She needs to tell him about Noa’s psycho-educational report. They usually sit down after dinner on Sundays to go over important things. She can tell him then.
“Then drink up!” Anton says. “How’s the old-fashioned?”
Aimee takes a big swig, catching the cherry in her teeth. It’s delicious, and as the bourbon does its job, her stress begins to melt.
After dessert, as everyone is getting ready to leave, Aimee hunts for a book on gentle parenting that she found useless but promised to lend Gwen. She remembers leaving it in the laundry room, and heads there to look. A little buzz from the bourbon has her a bit fuzzy but in a good way. Behind her she can hear the chaos of kids and adults, who have all moved from the backyard through the house and into the large foyer. As she grabs the book from a basket of random things, Aimee senses someone behind her and looks up to see Anton standing there.
“Hey.” She straightens up and holds out the book. “Gwen asked for this.”