How to Party With an Infant by Kaui Hart Hemmings Read Free Book Online Page A

son says.
    And Kate blinks. It’s like watching someone come about of hypnosis.
    “Is that how it’s done?” Henry asks.
    “Yes,” his wife says. “That’s how it’s done.”
    He can see the boys’ chests moving up and down.
    “So, then what?” Henry asks. “What happens now?” He remembers her flushed face in the hallway, her silence during the car ride home. She gazed out the window the entire time with an expression of grief except for one moment when she smiled quickly to herself.
    “After the boy has conned her into thinking she’s special, what will the girl do?” he asks. “What is she willing to do?”
    “Forget it,” his son says. He stands, and his chair falls to the floor. He startles, then picks it back up. His body is rigid, on edge, but his face is wilted and lost. He has chocolate on his cheek. His friends look at him anxiously, as if they know he could blow their already blown cover. His son swaggers to the fridge. The other boys try not to laugh. Henry could care less. They should be drinking. It’s what you should do at this age. At least this is something his childhood could have in common with his son’s. Poor kids, rich kids, they all like to get lit.
    “Forget all this,” his son says. “I don’t want to deal with that bullshit anyway. Fuck girls. I’ve got everything I need.”
    “Yeah,” Ross says, quietly. “Your hand and your shower.”
    The boys laugh. Tupp punches Ross’s leg and says, “May the force be with you, Hands Solo.”
    Kate looks like she hasn’t even heard what the boys are saying.
    “But I want to know,” Henry says. “I want to know what the girl will do. The story isn’t over yet.”
    They all look at Henry’s wife, her cool skin, her sharp eyes. She’s a fortress, standing there. She looks like a stranger. The woman before him is not his wife.
    “The girl will do anything,” she says. “Because she’s never felt so wanted. It’s not about the boy. It’s about the boy showing her it’s not too late. She can be anything, anyone. She’s still alive.”
    “So does she fuck him?” Henry asks.
    “Whoa!” Shipley says.
    “Whoa!” his son yells. “Whoa, whoa, fuckin’ whoa!”
    “Whoa!” his daughter yells. She has just appeared in the doorway. She hangs her car keys on the hook. Henry thinks she has been drinking because she looks really happy.
    “What’s going on here?” She looks around the room at the boys. “What’s up, losers?”
    “S’up,” Shipley says.
    She’s only two years older than they are, a freshman in college. The boys are looking at her legs in the skirt, slung low on her hips. Her T-shirt reads, LOOK ME IN THE EYE, ASSHOLE , and Henry notices their eyes dart from her chest to her face. Her hair seems damp, and black eyeliner smudges the skin below her eyes.
    Henry tries to catch Kate’s eye. This is what you were like, remember? But she’s looking at her two children with worry.
    “Why do you look damp?” Kate asks their daughter.
    “I was at a concert.”
    “Which one?” Tupp asks.
    “Anti-Flag.”
    “Oh, I love them.”
    “Please,” his daughter says. “You probably don’t even know their first album was released in ’ninety-six.”
    “I do now, killer,” Tupp says.
    “You missed out,” his son says. “Mom and Dad are telling us how to get laid. It seems they have different approaches.”
    Henry can feel his face tensing. He wants to hear the end of the story. This isn’t a big joke to him.
    “You don’t have to convince a girl to do it,” his daughter says. “Just convince her you won’t tell. Believe me, they want to do it as much as you. They’ll even make playlists of songs you can do it to.” She opens the freezer and unwraps an ice cream sandwich. “On second thought. You guys hang with those prissy bitches. They won’t give it up unless you buy them all kinds of shit, and they’ll be all stupid about everything. They’ll own you, basically. Go for the punk girls.