There are blue hot dogs, cookies, slices of watermelon, ice cream sandwiches, Popsicles. The dolls must be fed first. Frida and Tucker lead their dolls to an empty corner of the tent. The parents’ self-segregation is dispiriting. Latino fathers hold court with Latina mothers. The lone fiftysomething white father has found the trio of middle-aged white women. His teenage doll daughter looks mortified.
Known lesbians in the community keep to themselves. Frida and the other mothers engaged in interracial socializing, especially the white mothers flirting with Black fathers, receive angry stares. Frida feels guilty, but if Roxanne or anyone else gets on her case, she’ll say that Tucker was simply standing in line, that this isn’t a manifestation of growing up with white culture. Most of the Black and Latino fathers are too young, most of the white fathers too creepy. There are no Asians.
Emmanuelle’s and Jeremy’s mouths are ringed with blue. Tucker and Frida talk about their dolls, whether their dolls are typically shy around strangers, how they behaved this morning, how they normally behave in class. Even chatting over blue food, she’s surprised to find that she feels safe with him, enjoys his deep voice and the way he listens. She asks if the fathers have good food or more privacy, if they have Friday counseling and Saturday cleaning crew, how they celebrated Father’s Day, if there have been romances or injuries or suicides or expulsions.
“We’ve had one. One suicide, I mean.” She doesn’t add that she could be next.
“None for us,” Tucker says. “I’m sorry. You have my condolences.”
“I didn’t know her very well. I want to feel sadder. It’s hard to feel anything here.” She admits her detachment makes her feel selfish.
“You don’t seem selfish.”
Frida smiles. “You don’t know me.”
Tucker cheerfully answers her questions about the father’s school: no cleaning crew, yes brain scans, counseling once a month, no talk circle, what’s talk circle, some hand jobs, but no real romances, not that he knows of. A bunch of fistfights, but no expulsions. Some malfunctions, but no dead dolls. They get to call home for an hour every Sunday. No one has ever lost phone privileges. The counselors think it’s important for them to stay in their children’s lives. For the most part, it’s been a supportive group.
Tucker has made friends. “From all walks of life,” he says.
Frida regrets asking. She rolls and unrolls the sleeves of her uniform, sighs deeply. If she’d been able to speak to Harriet every Sunday, as promised, how different this year apart would be.
She waits for him to ask about the mothers’ program. When he doesn’t, she says, “Don’t you want to know about us?”
“Sorry. We haven’t talked about you ladies very much. Do we have to talk about this? I don’t want to talk about this place. We have the day off. Tell me about you.”
“Really? Why?”
Tucker looks amused. “I’m interested in learning about the survival of the human spirit. Tell me about your spirit, Frida.”
“I don’t know if my spirit is allowed to talk to you.”
“Is your spirit already taken?”
“Oh, definitely. Full dance card. I’m super popular.”
“A girl like you,” he says.
He wants to know about her old life. Where she grew up, where she went to college, where she lived in Philly, where she worked. His earnestness makes her wonder if he’s Christian. She wants to know what’s wrong with him. He seems like a natural with children. She’d once had the same feeling about Gust.
“I miss my books,” he says.
“I miss reading the news. Remember how much time we used to spend doing that? Doesn’t it seem ridiculous now? I can’t wait to get my hair cut. I miss having bangs. They cover my frown lines. I have this horrid eyebrow crinkle. See? I can’t cut them myself, it would look too crazy. I don’t want to ask anyone here to cut them. I shouldn’t have this much face showing.”
“Why? You have a nice face.”
Frida blushes again. She thanks him, insists she wasn’t fishing for compliments. He didn’t think she was. This is the longest conversation she’s had with anyone besides Meryl or Roxanne. An hour passes. She enjoys talking to someone her age. She remembers telling friends about Gust after their first date. “He asked me questions,” she said. “He listened to me.” A rare experience in New York.
Emmanuelle and Jeremy play under the table while their parents eat human food and compare transgressions.