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

They’re still sensitive, but they won’t let you know.”
    “That’s what I said,” Henry says. “What did I tell you?”
    His wife seems crestfallen that no one’s paying attention to her anymore. But that’s what happens, right? The boy paid attention, made her feel special, she revealed herself, and now he is gone. It was a trick. She was tricked. Henry feels he knows the end of the story. The girl got pressed against the wall. The girl was happy for a while, the good feeling still pulsing between her legs, until she realized it was over, not the relationship—that’s not what she mourned—but the feeling, the possibility. That was over, and here she is, back where she started. A husband, two teenagers, and a toddler sleeping upstairs. She can’t be anything, anyone. It’s too late. Or is it?
    Henry walks toward his wife. “The girl really did it, didn’t she?” he says quietly.
    The boys aren’t listening anyway. They’re busy with the girl in the room, asking about her night, asking about her friends, trying to impress her by throwing another apple at the fridge. Henry’s wife turns and walks out of the kitchen unnoticed by all of the boys.
    *  *  *
    She hasn’t yet reached the stairs, so Henry knows she wanted to be caught up to.
    Her back is to him. Her shoulders are slumped, and the back of her neck looks fragile and thin. He quickens his steps, and when he gets behind her he turns her toward him. She’s crying, but her expression isn’t angry. It looks defeated, or maybe just tired. He holds her shoulders, and he moves her against the wall right outside of the kitchen. He almost leans in for a teeth-to-teeth kiss, but it would be a ridiculous thing to do. She sniffles, and then to his surprise she raises her arms and he walks into her embrace. It feels like a final embrace, but most likely they will embrace again, no matter what the outcome of all of this is. He holds her hair. He thinks about pulling.
    “What’s happened to us?” she asks.
    “You cheated on me with Greg Dorsey,” Henry says. His name rhymes with horsey . “That’s what’s happened. In a nutshell.”
    “And now?” she says.
    He resents her not denying it, even if honesty is the entire point of the evening. Now that it’s out there he’d like a little room to hide in. He wonders if this is how people feel after they remodel to an open floor plan with floor-to-ceiling doors and windows.
    “I’m very tired,” he says. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you just . . . tired?”
    The question seems to devastate her. A grave diagnosis.
    “I’m going to bed,” he says. “I think that’s what we should do for now.” He lets go of her hair, then walks up the stairs; a chorus of laughter comes from the kitchen. When he wakes up, his marriage may be over. It will be over.
    He trudges on.
    He strains to hear the voices of the children—it’s like a song, exiting music.
    “You don’t even want to know,” he hears his daughter say. “Like for real it will make you cry. Cry or laugh your ass off.”
    “I doubt it,” he hears his son say.
    “I’m telling you,” his daughter says. “It will.”

I’m not hatin’ on them because they don’t speak English. I am not racist. FYI I have tons of foreign friends. My favorite person in the world is German, my other favorite is Venezuelan. They love me and I love them. I was furious yesterday because my son flew facefirst down the slide. He was hurt. I saw the whole thing because I watch—not like those other parents. If they are living here illegally and I threaten to call the authorities on them, maybe they’ll avoid me and my problem is solved.
—Renee Grune
Renee—you have every right to be upset when someone, English-speaking or not, unjustly bullies your child. However, the language you have used in your grievance is quite disgusting. Perhaps an overview of bullying philosophy might be helpful. Powerful nations have used their military to bully other nations