Just keep moving forward, Ryden.
Before too long, I’m pulling my beat-up 2002 Mercury Sable into the makeshift parking lot at the southeastern side of the lake and lugging Hope (who drifted off to sleep during the drive—double win) and all her crap down to the beach. It’s not until I crest the hill that I stop. There’s a ton of people here. Probably the entire entering senior class plus their friends/girlfriends/boyfriends from other years. Oh yeah. This is what summer is like.
There’s a beach volleyball game going, the girls are lounging in bikinis on their towels, and there’s a keg set up right in the middle of it all. Almost everyone has a red Solo cup in their hands. There’s no one here over the age of twenty, and no one under fifteen or so. Except Hope.
The exhaustion haze clears, and I come back to myself. What the hell am I doing? We can’t be here. I may not be the world’s most qualified parent, but even I know you probably shouldn’t bring a baby to a keg party.
I take one last look at the scene below, then turn to go back to the car. Instead I collide with Shoshanna and Dave. Perfect.
No one says anything for a long second. Shoshanna looks from me to Hope and back to me, clearly trying to find something to say, and Dave just unabashedly stares, literally openmouthed, at the baby.
I sigh. “Yeah, so, this is Hope.” I lift her car seat to give them a better view, as Hope brushes her little clenched fists against her face in her sleep.
They still don’t say anything. It’s like they’ve never seen a baby before.
“Anyway, we’re gonna go.”
I move to duck around the statues that used to be Shoshanna and Dave, but suddenly Shoshanna animates. “Oh. My. God. Ryden. She. Is. Adorable!” “Adorable” comes out in a high-pitched squeal, and my poor, battered eardrums cringe.
“Um. Thanks.” It feels weird taking credit for something like that. All I did was have sex with Meg. Genetics did the rest.
“Look at her, sleeping there like a little angel!” Shoshanna says. “Look at those tiny fingernails! And those chubby cheeks! Come on. We have to introduce her to everyone.” She pulls me by the wrist, and before I know it, we’re skidding down the hill to the beach. My flip-flops sink into the soft, hot sand, and I have the sudden urge to roll around in it and cover my entire body in its warmth.
“Hey, everybody!” Shoshanna yells, waving her hands to get people’s attention. “Ryden Brooks is here!”
And then I’m being swarmed by people I used to know—the soccer guys, the varsity cheerleaders, the student government officers—and it takes everything I have to smile and act like everything’s great, and yes, I’m so glad to see them too, and yes, this is my kid, and please don’t wake her up.
Matt Boyd, the new captain of the varsity soccer team (that should have been me, but the vote was held at soccer camp this summer, and you can’t win a contest when you’re not there), tries to give me a fist bump, but it doesn’t really work so well since my hands are kinda full. “Training starts Monday, Brooks,” he says. His nose is covered in not-blended-in sunscreen, and he’s wearing a puka shell necklace. Douche. “You ready?”
As if I didn’t know that training starts Monday. As if I haven’t been trying to figure out how to make the schedule work all damn summer. Our soccer team is one of the top-ranked teams in the country, so practices are pretty intense. I may have gotten a pass on camp this year—for obvious reasons—but there’s no way in hell Coach O’Toole is going to give me any leeway on the regular practice schedule. Practices are from nine to four, five days a week for the two weeks before school starts, and then from two fifteen to four thirty after school every day. Those are Mom’s work hours. How’s she supposed to keep a steady hand for her calligraphy with a baby in her arms?
“Yeah, man,” I tell Matt. “I’m ready.”
And then they’re dispersing again, going back to their beer and their games, laughing and making out and grilling hamburgers. They’re doing fine without me. A few groups of people whisper to each other as they glance my way. I’m nothing more than a novelty.
I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. I guess I thought I could, for a moment, go back to being “Ryden Brooks,” instead of “Hope’s dad.” But that’s who I’ll be for the rest of my life. Even if I don’t have the first clue how to do it.
Shoshanna runs off, strips down to her bikini, and jumps in the water. Dave claps me on the back and says, “You want some food?”
I shake my head. “Nah, man. I think I’m just gonna go.”
Dave nods. “Cool. See ya, Ryden.”
I’m working my way back up the hill, my feet sliding around in my sand-covered flip-flops, the back of my neck sweating from the sun and all the heavy stuff I’m carrying, when footsteps close in behind me and the diaper bag is suddenly snatched out of my hand.
“Hey, what the—” I stop short. “Alan.”