Frida worries about being too candid with Teen Mom. She worries that she hasn’t been supportive enough after Teen Mom’s confession. Linda has been saying that she and Frida, the grown-ups here, need to keep an eye on Teen Mom and Beth.
“What you told us the other night,” Frida begins. “Thank you for trusting us.”
“Oh my God, barf. Beth won’t stop bringing it up either. I didn’t tell you so you could all ask me questions.”
“I’m just saying you’re brave. You’re a survivor.”
“That is the stupidest term. My mom uses that term. Well, now she does.”
“I’m sorry she didn’t believe you.”
“Whatever. I’m over it.”
“If you need someone to talk to—”
“Frida, seriously. Stand down. No more processing today. Okay? You swear?”
Frida apologizes. The snow is wet and heavy, like shoveling cement. They finish the four sets of Pierce steps, nodding at the mothers on their way to clean the classroom buildings. Their faces chap. Their backs and knees ache. Their eyes hurt from squinting at the snow. All day, Teen Mom hints she has a secret. She grows impatient with Frida’s guesses.
“Come closer. No, don’t look at me. Don’t be so obvious. Listen, so, I fucked the guard. The cute one. You better not say anything, or I’ll tell every single bitch here that you tried to kiss me.”
“I promise.” Frida tries not to appear concerned. Teen Mom and the green-eyed guard fucked in the parking lot. In his car. Frida asks how she got outside. Aren’t there alarms? Floodlights? Cameras? Other guards?
“Lady, you seriously have no game.”
“You used a condom, I hope.”
“Really? You think I’m that stupid?” She only let him fuck her ass. The sex was nothing special. He came in two minutes. His dick is long and narrow. He kisses sloppy, but his hair smells nice.
Frida feels stupid and jealous and old. Teen Mom has a body like Susanna’s, thin and lanky, but with full breasts. She’s pretty in the way that all teenagers are pretty, some baby fat on her cheeks; clear, shining brown eyes; poreless skin. Her hair is the only ugly part of her: fading to dark gray, blond at the roots. Of course the guard chose a teenager, a girl who is feral and gifted, infinitely resourceful.
She wants to ask if they kissed with tongue, if the guard fingered her while fucking her ass, if the guard was noisy, if they steamed up the windows. She would like to know these things, would like Teen Mom to know that she was once daring too, but asking would suggest that she hasn’t changed, and change is essential, so she asks about Teen Mom’s family, if she misses them. Not just her daughter, but her parents.
Teen Mom kicks at the snow. “I tell you one thing and now you’re allowed to go in?”
She doesn’t want to talk about them, says it’s none of Frida’s business, then admits that she misses her mom. They’ve never lived apart before. How old is Frida? Her mom is only thirty-five.
“Maybe you two can be friends,” Teen Mom says, laughing. Her father left when she was three.
“Too bad they can’t round him up and send him to dad jail.”
Her daughter is named Ocean. Ocean’s grandmother is taking care of her, but money for day care is running out. Ocean can be a little shit, likes eating soil from houseplants. They’d find her tooth marks on the soap. She started crawling at five months, started walking at nine months.
“She was like a little cockroach. I hit her a few times. But it’s not what you think. I only did it when she was really bad.” She points at Frida. “You better not repeat that. That shit is not in my file.”
Frida promises, though she’s alarmed. She and Roxanne have griped about hitters being grouped with non-hitters. Roxanne thinks that what she did, leaving Isaac with her niece, even what Frida did, wasn’t on the same level.
“It’s like the people with cancer are being treated the same as the people with diabetes,” Roxanne said.
“I didn’t want to keep her,” Teen Mom tells Frida. “My mom made me. There was this couple who wanted to adopt her, but the dad looked at me weird. Some people just have that evil vibe, you know? And then, when I changed my mind, they went fucking nuts. People who want babies and can’t have them lose their minds.”
She asks what it was like getting pregnant as an old lady. Is Frida’s stuff all shriveled? “You can’t have any more, right? Like you’ll be forty, and then…” She makes a zipping sound.