“Can we see your star?” Maisie asked.
Patrick paused. “I don’t have one.”
“But I thought you were famous.”
“I am.” It was a minor point of contention. A bony whippet trotting by looked up at Patrick as if to say, Can you believe it? The dog wore little booties to protect his paws from the hot pavement and Patrick looked back, Can you believe those? and the whippet, in fact, could not. “But in order to get one, I’d have to get involved in the community, and you know me. I don’t like getting involved.”
Clara scoffed, like that was the understatement of the century.
“That’s not fair, you should!” Maisie spun around in front of a gift shop selling vintage-looking （but decidedly modernly mass-produced） knickknacks. “Can we look in here, GUP?”
Her outrage was, apparently, short-lived. “Go for it.” He ushered Clara into the shade until they could watch the kids through the window, then leaned in to whisper, “Whatever they find in there will be total shit, but act excited anyway.”
“You want to know some of the presents I’ve received from Darren’s kids? A tongue scraper. Those bags you use to vacuum-seal sweaters. Paprika, I think, once.” Clara wandered toward the opening of the store and fanned some of the air-conditioning her way.
“I’m glad you’re here, Clara.”
Clara cocked her head, caught off guard.
“This is good. The kids need a motherly presence.”
Clara agreed. This was the easiest they’d been on each other all day and it felt agreeable. “It takes a village.”
“With a thriving gayborhood,” Patrick agreed.
“I’m not sure this ice cream is good for my tummy.”
Patrick groaned, upsetting their fragile peace.
“What now?” Clara had risen early, due in part to the time difference, perhaps more from the sun that streamed aggressively through the guest room windows. She was surprised at how long Patrick and the kids slept; she wondered if that was due to their being up far too late for the party or if this was evidence of a new, bohemian schedule. Up all night, down all day. And he was going to further criticize her?
“If I could genocide one group of people it would be adults who say tummy.”
“What should I say, then? What does it say in Patrick’s Guide to Being Perfect?”
“Stomach. What’s wrong with ‘stomach’？ I’m not seeking perfection, I’m just wanting to have a grown-up conversation with another adult.”
Clara shook her head. No, nothing’s wrong with stomach? Or no, I’m not doing that? Even she didn’t seem sure. “Welcome to being a parent.”
Patrick walked to the corner and tossed the last of his milkshake in the trash. “Look over there.” He pointed across the street on his way back. “New Palm Springs. The Rowan, one of our more recent hotels. H&M. Kiehl’s. One of those Starbucks that serves wine.”
Clara followed his arm to see a beautiful new hotel at the base of the mountains and the pristine facades of fresh construction along the main drag. Even the palm trees looked fresh, upright, a vibrant green, perfectly trimmed. The sidewalk on which they stood was comparatively trapped in time, connecting storefronts that mimicked the look of a small-town Main Street from decades ago.
“This side of the street? Old Palm Springs. I like this side, but I’m afraid it won’t be here for long. If it were actually Christmas, we would camp out here for the annual Christmas parade. Local marching bands. The fire department. Floats with drag queens. You’d like it.”
“Is it this hot at Christmas?”
“No. It’s downright cold. Highs in the sixties.”
Clara scoffed again; on what planet was sixty downright cold? Still, that did sound pleasant—even with wise men in drag.
“You know who’s been on my mind a lot lately?” Patrick’s hand was wet from the condensation on his cup he’d tossed, so he wiped it on his shorts.
“God, you’re chatty.”
“Exhaustion. Coupled with sugar.”
Clara used her free hand to pull on her blouse and fan some air between the silk and her skin. “No, who?”
“Mom.”
“Oh,” Clara said. She swiped her milkshake cup in a smooth arc across her forehead, then looked like she wanted to throw it at an older, lumbering man wearing a lock her up tee. “Why?”
“I have a new appreciation, I guess. It’s a lot of work.”