32.

Vanessa finally came home from Vassar one weekend in September to meet Ian.

“Paposan!” she bellowed as Will opened the door.

“You’re past due,” Will said, following her in.

“What am I, a gallon of milk?” she asked.

“Mamosan!” Vanessa kissed me and I pulled her inside to where Ian was lying on the couch.

“Oh my God, he’s beautiful,” she said as I picked him up.

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean it,” she said. “He’s really beautiful, Thee.” She hugged me, sandwiching Ian between us. I hadn’t seen her since she’d left with her family in July. She looked older; her curly brown hair was longer and she had more wisps and chunks of it flying around her face. She smelled like cinnamon and trees. “I can’t believe it. Can I hold him?”

I put Ian in the crook of her arm.

“I can’t believe it,” she said again.

“I brought you a belated housewarming present.” She pointed to a large floppy rectangle in a plastic bag. “Open it.”

Will picked it up, letting the bag drift to the floor. It was a horsehair welcome mat that said GO AWAY in big black letters.

“Perfect,” Will said.

“I’m totally behind on Ian’s hat,” she said. “I need more yarn. Can you believe I ran out again? I need to go back to that store.”

I smiled at her, feeling resentful that she’d been too busy hanging out, eating pineapple pizza, to finish it by now. Vanessa sat down, holding Ian in the same position as I did when I fed him, which made him root around, darting his head at her chest.

“Uh! Look at that,” said Will, as if proving a point. “He wants to eat again. That’s all he ever does.” He gestured his head at me. “She’s the only thing he wants. How’s Vassar? Are you a Vassar girl yet?”

“It’s good,” she said. “Though there are a lot of wonks and posers from the Midwest. Or worse, California. Let’s see.” Vanessa looked over Ian and examined herself. “Black turtleneck, check. Big ass, check.” She pulled up her sleeve. “Uh! No marks! Uh, not a cutter. Guess she’s not a Vassar girl yet.”

“Ew,” I said.

“It’s all mock,” she said. “Like taking aspirin to kill yourself. Everyone is sooooo intense. Fucking Nick Cave, dude … bad seeeeeed. You guys are Little Mary Sunshines next to them. And you, little lump o’ love.” She held Ian up to her face. “Make out with me. I love his little male pattern baldness. Sooooo hot. Does he ever open his eyes?”

“Not so much.” Will swiveled in the chair, spinning a CD on his finger.

“He opens them,” I said dumbly, bringing a glass to the sink. Will’s plate from the previous night was still there, untouched, with dry food all over it.

“Will, this is fucking gross,” I snapped, holding it up. “If you’re not going to wash it, at least scrape it.”

Will and Vanessa exchanged a “What’s her problem?” glance.

“I’m sorry, but help out,” I said. “Did your mother show you how to do dishes? Let me guess the answer to that.”

“I can’t believe you’re a mother,” Vanessa said, quickly changing the subject.

“I know,” I said.

“No, I really can’t believe it. You’re, like, crazy out there now. My crazy mother friend. Are you guys all, like, walking around the Village, going to, like, tea salons? Do you wear berets? All three of you? Matching berets?”

Will and I couldn’t help smiling at each other. “Yeah, that’s us,” he said. “We’re part of the movement.”

“We’re organizing,” I said.

Vanessa and I went for a walk while Will stayed with Ian.

“So how’s it going?” she said, taking my arm in hers and moving in long strides down the street. “God, I miss New York.”

“You do?” I asked.

“Shit, yeah. There’s nothing to do up there. So navel-gazey.”

“But do you like it?”

“It’s a lot of lying around,” she said, stopping to roll up her jeans. She was wearing jeans with black flats that looked like ballet slippers. All of a sudden I wanted to roll up my jeans too, but I was wearing clogs. It would have looked dumb. “There’s a girl, Helen, on my hall, she’s pretty cool. At first I thought she was a huge narcey-marcey. Totally self-absorbed. She sneaks into the room as if anyone in there cared, and her eyes dart around, paranoid, like you’ve been talking about her all day. But she’s funny. And she has beautiful skirts, which she wears every day. She only wears skirts. With black tights.”

“Is she your new best friend?” I asked. We’d gotten to the small park near Christopher Street and I steered her to a bench. I was so exhausted from being up all night with Ian that my tongue itched.

“I don’t know, Thee. A million times a day I wish you were there.”

“Awww,” I said.

“I’m serious.” She dug into her pocket for a shredded pack of gum and offered me a piece. “What about you? What’s going on?”

I watched a little girl in grimy pink leggings waiting by the swings with her mother. “It’s scaring me how I can love him so much, and yet every second of the day, I think about how I could lose him,” I said, taking the gum. “That’s the hardest part.”

“Will, you mean?”

I shook my head, surprising myself. “Ian.”

“Thea, you’re not going to lose him,” she said.

“You don’t understand, Ness,” I said. “I could. He could get sick, he could suffocate, he could just … slip away.” She squeezed my hand and shook her head slowly, as though she couldn’t believe the things I put myself through. Then she popped her gum and I had a sudden memory of the two of us skateboarding down Seventh Avenue, and her stopping at a traffic light with an exploded bubble all over her face, a long, long time ago.

“Anyway, I’m trying to get him on a schedule,” I said, “like the books say. Dinner, bath, bottle, bed.”

“Almost the same as mine,” said Vanessa. “Dinner, read, vodka, sex, pot, pizza, bed.”

“Yours is more fattening,” I said. “By the way, I meant to ask you, what the hell is a schwarma?”