Our relationship is your mug of piss and it takes every ounce of empathy in me to appease you. I know what I said. I know I said I would wait. But this is fucking ridiculous and we are adults and the buzzer goes off. I forgot about the Meerkat’s brownies and I did nothing wrong—she doesn’t know and if she does know it’s not because of me—and I grab a pot holder and I take the brownies out of the oven and how the fuck are we supposed to make it through a whole summer?
And then my door opens.
It’s the Meerkat but you’re right behind her and you’re not smiling and why are you here? If you really do want to stop sleeping with me then you shouldn’t tag along when the Meerkat comes to pick up her brownies and you barely look at me and the Meerkat barges into my kitchen and picks up a knife. You stay by the door and the Meerkat holds the knife but she does not slice into the brownies.
“Honey,” you say. “Don’t burn yourself.”
I reach for the pot holder and offer it to Nomi but she just holds on to her knife. “I’m fine.”
Your hands are on your elbows and your eyes are on your feet and no, Mary Kay. No. This is not how you play it. You don’t come in here and act like you’re fucking mad at me—what better way to confirm that we are fucking is there?—and I told you she doesn’t know about us and I promised she won’t find out. But her eyes are sharp like the knife in her hand and all those knives are aimed at me. “Do you think I’m stupid, Joe?”
“Of course not, Nomi. I think you’re exceptionally smart.”
She digs the knife into the brownies and you’re still by the door, as if you already got your punishment. I reach for a pot holder and she hisses. “Don’t dad me, Joe. We all know you’re not stupid either so you should know why I’m pissed. How long did you think you could pull this off?”
“I swear to you, Nomi…” No, Joe. Don’t fucking lie. “I’m sorry.”
She is shaking the way kids do when they’re forced to think of their parents as sexual beings and she clenches that knife, my knife.
You walk into the room now, as if on cue. “Nomi, he said he’s sorry.”
You’re looking at her, not me, and she drops the knife in the sink. “No, Mom. I want him to tell me. I want to know how stupid he thinks I am. My dad just died and that’s bad enough but you guys run around together behind my back and now he wants to stand here and lie about it.”
You rub your forehead—bad sign—and Nomi’s shoulders are shaking and is she crying? I made your daughter cry and you’re never gonna forgive me and I need your help and I look at you but you’re…
Laughing.
The Meerkat turns around and she wasn’t fucking crying. She’s laughing too and she raises her knife and winks at me. “Gotcha!”
You. Fucking. Bitches. “Wait,” I say. “Did I just get played?”
You are bowled over by the door, possibly peeing your pants, and the Meerkat picks up the pot holder and carries the brownies to the table. “Mom, omigod, I swear, you almost ruined it with your little ‘don’t burn yourself.’？”
You are Red Bed red and you are kissing me on the cheek. What the fuck is happening? “I know,” you say. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“I’m a little confused,” I say, because of the kiss, because of the laughter.
“Well,” Nomi says. “I’m not retarded.”
You sigh. “Nomi…”
“Sorry,” she says. “But anyway, I asked Mom about you guys… not that I needed to ask, but she told me and I was like… okay. What’s the big deal?”
I look at you. You smile. “Outta the mouths of babes.”
You’re happy because your kid is happy and your kid is happy because she pulled off a prank on me. We’re not gonna be like the fecal-eyed bores next door. We’re gonna have fun.
You check in with me—Sorry if that was too much—and I tell you the truth—You guys got me—and we’re in flow, Mary Kay. This works. This isn’t the dream—your dream was unrealistic, like most dreams—and this is real life. Real us. So much fucking better and this is what it means to be part of a family. I get the plates and the Meerkat cuts the brownies and you pour milk into glasses and we sit around my table like the family that we are, going over it and over it, how funny it was, how good you were, how stupid I was to fall for Nomi’s little trick. This is love. This is love I never knew and we stuff our faces with brownies and you sigh. “What a relief.”
“You’re welcome,” Nomi sasses. “I mean no offense, but you guys are so stupid. I will say, though, it was kinda fun watching you think you’re so sneaky and I am sorta gonna miss it.”
It occurs to me that the Meerkat might be covering her real feelings with her snarky, no-fucks-to-give jokes and I look at you—Is she really okay?—and you nod at me—Yes, we talked. You smile at me and I smile at you and the Meerkat looks at you, she looks at me, she looks at the brownies, and she sighs. “I think I’m gonna puke.”
When you stand up to get more milk, you squeeze my shoulder and your touch is different now. Better. You love me openly, right in front of your daughter, and it’s the first surprise party of my life and it’s the best surprise party there ever was.
“Okay,” Nomi says. “Can we please talk about something that’s actually important?”
You nod. I nod. Such great fucking parents!
“Joe,” she says. “I know I’m supposed to say it was nice of you to let us move into your guesthouse, but it’s also kind of not nice of you because I mean… have you been in there? It’s so freaking musty and it smells like old people!”
“Nomi, it smells fine,” you say.
“Oh come on,” I say, looking at you, looking at your daughter. “Why do you think I stopped working on the renovations? Part of me thinks we’re just gonna have to burn the thing down.”
It’s our first collective plural and you laugh and Nomi clamps her hands together. “Okay so can we please, please, please stop this stupid charade and just move in here already? I mean if Mom and I stay in there, I feel like we’re gonna die of some fast-acting lung cancer or whatever. Please, you guys. Please.”
We laugh like a family and Nomi gives us space to talk and you are the future cofounder of the Empathy Bordello. “She’s being dramatic, Joe. It’s not that bad and please don’t feel like you have to say yes.”
I too am the future cofounder of the Empathy Bordello. “Well, I was more concerned about you,” I say. “I won’t be hurt if you’re not ready to live with me just yet.”
You punch me. Gentle fox. “Oh, please, Buster. You know I’m ready.”
We call the Meerkat back inside—she gets the Whisper Room—and we pack boxes like a family and our first family hug happens naturally. It feels right. This is the story of life. People move on. After we move your things, we cook together and we eat together—burritos and salad!—and the Meerkat puts my cats on her Instagram—our cats, our house—and then the two of you hang out in the Whisper Room—women need to talk, about this, about me—and I’m not your codependent husband. I tidy up the house and I deal with the litter box and I turn off the light and get into bed to wait for you, hoping that you and Nomi aren’t sinking into some mother-daughter slumber party. And we really are in sync because I’m not in bed five minutes before I hear the door close downstairs and it’s real. That’s you on the stairs. This is you in my bedroom, our bedroom.