Of course I wasn’t at HP’s house all the time in those weeks. Work kept me at the office weekdays from eight thirty until four, and on the weekends Saskia was always rushing off to mommy groups or playdates or teach-your-kid-to-be-amazing-at-everything sessions. I did spend a few Friday nights in New York with Freddy, listening to jazz in his apartment and eating food so elaborate he must have ordered in. He asked me questions about HP but never seemed to care about my answers, glazing over as he opened fresh bottles of wine.
Freddy and my mother might have wanted me out of the Parker house, but the longer I stayed, the more comfortable I felt there. HP, Saskia and I ate dinner every night in their echoing dining room, a twinkly old chandelier hanging over our heads. Olive was squared away to bed by that point in the evening. The table could easily seat ten, so each meal felt a bit like a board meeting, but still, it was something. Saskia would pop up from her chair to put on new iPad playlists that she’d compiled during the day. She liked songs that made me think of seventeen-year-olds road-tripping to California in a convertible. I’ve never felt so buoyed while eating. Saskia’s mood seemed to dull whenever HP and I joked and laughed together. He’d whip side dishes down the table towards me, making some in-joke or other. Her grimaces were momentary, however, and she regrouped with new conversation starters, as if she had cue cards hidden in her lap.
“If you were a color, what color would you be?”
“Do you believe in magic?”
“What is the happiest moment of your life so far?”
They were questions straight out of a Grade 9 sleepover. Eventually Saskia ran out of prompts, so the subject at dinner conversation rarely strayed from Olive—what she said that day, what new milestone she’d reached, what she had for breakfast. Since there was only so much I could absorb of Olive’s daily successes, I began to bring photographs to the dinner table, just to change the pace. I unearthed a steady stream of classic shots from Grade 11 parties and grad, mostly to get HP smiling. It was like a mini high school reunion every night. We laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of our old Halloween costumes or the height of Ezra’s hair during his teenage years.
“Who’s the girl?” Saskia responded to just about every photo she looked at.
“I gave up counting,” HP said, “and so should you.”
“He doesn’t discriminate very well,” I explained.
“He didn’t,” Saskia said.
I scanned the credenza for more wine. When HP went to help Saskia carry dishes back into the kitchen, he punched me on the arm, unseen by her. I could hear Saskia in the kitchen as she dropped cutlery into the sink, the pitch of her voice a mosquito-whine, until finally HP came back and told me to quit it with the photographs.
“It makes her feel left out,” he said.
That night I stuck all the pictures into a photo album. It was probably a mistake to leave it on the coffee table in the living room.
Shortly after that, Saskia invited Ezra over for dinner. The inference was that he hadn’t come over in a while.
“On a Friday night?” HP asked when he heard of Ezra’s invitation. “You’re brave.”
Saskia spent the whole afternoon cooking a vegetarian dish made with red peppers that she kept calling capsicums. By the time Ezra showed up it was past 8 p.m., and he’d brought a guest with him. From the look on Saskia’s face, he’d not mentioned he was going to bring anyone. Saskia scurried to lay another place at the dining room table.
“Uh-oh,” said HP when he opened the door. Both Ezra and the woman he’d brought had that sloping gait of alcohol and afternoon sun. Ezra’s youthful good looks were a little the worse for wear, sure, but she looked mid-forties. The closer she got, the more of a squint she developed. All but three buttons of her shirt were undone.
“We late?” Ezra licked his teeth. HP held the screen door open for them. “Thanks, buddy. Sorry, we got sidetracked.”
“Ezra!” Saskia arrived at the door again and stood behind HP and me. “I’m afraid you’ve missed Olive, she’s already—”
“You’re looking ravishing, Saskia. Tidy as always.”
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “You look like you could use some food.”
As she walked back towards the kitchen, she raised both eyebrows at HP, like it was him that was wasted.
Ezra burped through dinner and barely touched his food. He made reference to the fifteen or so wedding photos Saskia had hung on the wall, noting his absence in all of them. Every now and then HP told him to behave, but the animosity was palpable.
“So what are your plans, Ezra?” Saskia chewed a small mouthful of peppers. “Did you get any more swim-tryout-offer things?”
“Water polo,” Ez said. “And I didn’t make the cut. That’s okay, Saskia, life’s full of losers. We can’t all be perfect.”
“Watch it,” said HP, pointing with his knife. “I’m not telling you again.”
“Haym?” Saskia’s head tilted. “Settle down. It’s nice to have mates over. Let’s not spoil good tucker.”
HP got up then, and took a long time in the kitchen finding a beer.
After we’d made it through dinner, I drove Ezra and his date home. We took off down the north shore, Ezra next to me in the passenger seat, his window wound down as he howled like a wolf in the night air. We were almost in town by the time he turned to face me. “I still fucking hate Saskia.”
I exhaled and switched gears.
“She took him right out from under us, LJ. When I first met her, I thought she was going to be a good thing.” He squinted into the rearview mirror. In the backseat his date was fast asleep. “You remember my old dog in high school? Renfield, you called him, needy as shit, crazy, followed me from room to room?”
I nodded and turned left.
“You know what I figured out lately? Saskia is Renfield. She’s everywhere, always whining, pawing, desperate to help.” He grimaced. “I hated that dog. Wanted it gone.” He paused. “Here, this is me.”
I pulled up outside a ragged apartment building with a paneled door smeared with a thousand fingerprints.
“You wanna come up? Have a coffee? Make out?” He fumbled his way out of the car and opened the rear door, pulling at the arm of his girlfriend. “Or whatever, turn me down. It wouldn’t be the first time.” He crouched in the gap of the passenger door while his date toppled out.
“Ez, whatever happened to your dog?”
“Got hit by a car,” he said. “Still had to pay to get it put down.”
I drove back to HP’s house and opened the door quietly. Saskia was on the couch in the living room, HP beside her.
“He’s just lost,” HP was saying. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
“He hates me. They all do. I can’t get anything right. Even Angela—”
I walked straight into the living room.
“Hey,” said HP, sitting up. “You get them back safely?”
“Yeah. Ezra was in a chatty mood.”
Saskia looked at her feet. Olive cried out upstairs and Saskia jumped up as if an Olympic pistol had just fired, leaving HP and me alone.
I sat next to him on the couch. I don’t know why, maybe I was thinking of those grad days, but I jabbed him in the ribs, play-fighting.
“What are you . . . ?” He batted me away, or maybe he was going to start a tickle fight, but just then Saskia appeared in the doorway holding Olive.
“Babe?” Her face was flushed. “I need you; her bed needs changing.”