Happy Hour by Marlowe Granados

Author:Marlowe Granados
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Verso

All I do is pick up Josefine from morning summer camp, walk to her ballet class, wait for ballet class to finish, and walk her to her house. I am supposed to give her snacks till her dad comes home. It’s nice because I’m free to eat whatever I want, and usually it’s the gourmet cheeses in the fridge. Although, I have a habit of arranging the food in a way that it does not look like I’ve had a bite. On my second day, I sat in the ballet school’s waiting room with the other moms and nannies. They looked at me as though they were trying to parse my relationship with Josefine. I was hard to place because I was both stylish and not white. When I got up to go to the bathroom, a woman whispered to her neighbour, “Either a nanny or John’s new, very young Asian girlfriend.”

The waiting room is painted in 1980s pastels. A small majesty palm tree with browning leaves sits in the corner. There were no mothers in the room this time, just nannies on long-distance phone calls to their families while keeping an eye on a toddler or two. My mind wandered back to the weekend. Men and Gala are the only ones who incite any kind of volatility in me. Noel had invited me for “friendly” drinks on Sunday night but then cancelled half an hour before we were supposed to meet. You could say I was disenchanted. I am someone who believes that no matter how casual a relationship (or whatever it is), it should be conducted with dignity. It is not at all difficult, but people are always trying to put a hold on me. Men are used to getting away with things, and I won’t have it. It doesn’t matter how much I am invested in the person; the fact anyone could treat me in that way makes me want to lie face down in bed. I decided to text him, à la Gala, “You must really get off on humiliating me.” He responded, “There is some fun to it, but I assure you it’s not the only thing.”

Josefine came out of her class wearing shorts with her leotard underneath. She could tell I was sulking, and with her arms crossed she said, “What’s wrong with you?” I told her I had become frustrated with my friend the last few days and that each time we make plans to see each other, he cancels at the last minute. She was pretty blasé about it and said, “Why do they say they’re free when really they’re not?”

That day her dad came home at two forty-five. I met Gala at the Bergen stop. We walked through the neighbourhoods, and all she kept saying was “Wow! Can you believe this is only a couple of stops away from us. So pretty! This is worlds away!” Mostly she was impressed by the grocery stores. “Look, Isa, they sell vegetables in this neighbourhood.

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