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: : : —SO, FREYA SAYS. —You going back home for Thanksgiving? To see your folks?
—Yeah, Fletcher says. He gets into bed, switches the phone to his other hand, arranges pillows behind his back. —And you?
—Yeah, Freya says. —Jakob and I are going out there; same as last year.
—Looking forward to it?
—Yeah, I guess. My mom loves Jakob; she's always trying to get me to bring him home more often. I think she's concerned that I'm not feeding him enough.
—Are you?
—Pff, Freya says. —He's an autonomous human being. He knows how to eat when he's hungry.
Jakob comes through the room, carrying a book, and he hears this. —Who's that? he says, indicating the phone by pointing his chin at her.
—Fletcher, she says.
—Tell him I said hi, Jakob says, and he sits in the armchair across from her.
—Jakob says hi, she says, dutifully.
—Tell him he should call me, Fletcher says. —We'll go out and have a beer. Tell him DuSable isn't the same without him around.
—He says hi back, Freya says to Jakob.
—You're paraphrasing, I see, Fletcher mutters.
Freya ignores him. —You know who I'm really looking forward to seeing, she says, —is Tim.
—God, Fletcher says. —I haven't seen him in forever. How's he doing, anyway?
—It's hard to say, Freya says. —He's not exactly the most open kid in the world.
—How old is he now?
—He's seventeen, Freya says.
—Seventeen! Fletcher says. —Fucking A! I remember him being like—ten.
—Yeah, Freya says. —We're old.
—My God, Fletcher says, —you're right!
—I mean, look at you. You're practically a dad now.
Fletcher winces. —That's not exactly true, he says.
—Don't give me that shit, Freya says.
—Now hear me out, Fletcher says.
—Some other time. So are you bringing Cassandra home with you? For Thanksgiving?
—No, Fletcher says. —She's got this thing that she does—she gets together with her friends from SAIC every year; they do something; I don't know what exactly. I think it's one of those girl things. They get together and talk about shopping.
—Give one another makeovers.
—Exactly. Then, if I understand correctly, they all have a pillowfight and make out.
—OK, Freya says. —There's an insight to your fantasy life that I did not need.
—You'll get over it.
—I'll repress it, is what I'll do. So—has Cassandra met your folks yet?
—No, Fletcher says. —There's kind of a snag there, actually.
—What do you mean? Snag how?
—Uh, Fletcher says. —OK, I've told my parents that I'm seeing someone, right? I at least got that far.
—OK, Freya says.
—But, I haven't exactly gotten around to telling them that she has a kid.
—Oh, Freya says.
—At first, you know, I didn't really see the point of bringing it up—I mean, well, you know what I mean, it's not like you exactly rush out and call your mom the second you start dating someone.
—Some people do, Freya says.
—Some people do, Fletcher admits. —But those people have problems. So, anyway, finally I was like, yeah, I'm seeing someone, and my mom was like what's she like, and I was all like she's cool, Art Institute, certificate in Theory and Criticism, blah blah, makes awesome Greek food, blah blah—
—And, oh, Freya adds, she's been married before and she has a kid.
—Yeah, I know that that would have probably been the opportune time, Fletcher says. —But I just didn't want to get into it with them. And now, months later, it's become this like conspicuous omission and I feel like I can't just go oh, by the way—
—You think your parents will care? Freya asks.
—I think—I think my mom wants a grandkid.
—So she should be happy.
—She should be happy, but remember, this is my mom we're talking about. I think she wants the whole grandkid experience, starting with the whole pregnancy thing. She wants to hang pictures of the ultrasound up on the fridge, give name suggestions, the whole deal. I mean, Leander's fucking adorable, right?, but he's not exactly a baby, but my mom's going to feel gypped if she doesn't get something baby-sized that she can hold in her arms at regular intervals for at least a year.
—So—easy solution—you and Cassandra have another kid.
Jakob looks up from his book and raises his eyebrows.
—No, Fletcher says. —No way.
—Just a suggestion, Freya says.
—There's one other snag, Fletcher says. —Cassandra isn't Jewish. So Leander isn't Jewish.
—You think that's important to your mom?
—As she's gotten older she's become completely obsessed with the continued survival of God's chosen people, Fletcher says. —I'm starting to feel like if I don't produce at least one healthy Jewish offspring, my mom's going to think that I'm ridin' with Hitler.
—I see, Freya says. —May I reiterate that I have an easy solution?
—No, Fletcher says. —No you may not.
: : :
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Index | << | 3 | >>
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