—
Ash and Jimmy lived less than a mile from Jimmy’s parents and a fifteen-minute drive from Ash’s. Viv was the first grandchild for both families, and they were always stopping by to see her or bring her a present or offer to take her to the park. Every Monday and Wednesday, Ash’s mom, Beverly, took care of Viv. She’d come pick her up in the morning and bring her back right before dinner. She always let herself into the house, pausing after opening the door, calling, “Knock, knock!” before walking in. Beverly was like the sixty-year-old version of Ash, and because of this I felt completely comfortable around her. I’d met her a few times when she’d come to visit DC, and she was always pulling me into a hug—just like Ash, she was overly and immediately affectionate. I didn’t mind it though. It was nice to rest my head against her soft sweater sets, to breathe in her perfume as she held me against her chest and asked me how I was doing.
Jimmy’s mom called often to ask if Viv was available for “a sleepover at Grammy’s.” She was always pushing the four of us to go out to dinner, trying to find a reason the baby should stay with her. Viv had her own room at Jimmy’s parents’ house, complete with a brand-new crib, because as Mrs. Dillon told me, “It just made good sense.”
“I thought I’d have to hire someone to watch Viv,” Ash said, “so I could start to build my Stella and Dot network here, but those women want their hands on their grandbaby so badly we may never have to hire a babysitter again.”
Mrs. Dillon (whose first name was Sue Ann, but who never asked me to call her that) was so friendly it was almost frightening. She had a wide lipsticked smile, and she found a way to compliment me whenever she saw me. “Oh, Beth, isn’t that an adorable top?” she’d say, or “Isn’t that color delicious on you?” I tried to explain to Matt how it was too much, how her compliments in question form seemed almost aggressive (and made me believe that she thought the real answer to all of them was no), but he didn’t understand. Mr. and Mrs. Dillon had us over for dinner at least once every couple of weeks, and they both adored Matt. (And he loved Mrs. Dillon’s baby back ribs so much that I doubt he would’ve noticed if she’d called me ugly right to my face.)
Just like Ash’s mom, Mrs. Dillon had a key to their house, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. “I came home just a week after we moved in to find this in the middle of the table,” Ash said, pointing to a large cast-iron Dutch oven. “There wasn’t even a note. It was just sitting there, and so we had to call and ask her what it was for. Jimmy thanked her for it—he didn’t even think it was weird that she came in while we were gone, and now she does it all the time.”
“Did she say what it was for?” I asked. Ash’s kitchen was well stocked with beautiful things—I couldn’t imagine she didn’t have a similar pot somewhere in there.
“Yes. She thought the pot I had wasn’t good enough to make chili. And then she said, ‘And you know how Jimmy loves his chili.’?”
I laughed and made a sympathetic face, and for maybe the first time in my life felt thankful for Babs—whatever things I had to say about her, at least she’d never let herself into our home.
Mr. Dillon wasn’t friendly and didn’t try to be. He always seemed to be insulting Jimmy, and Ash told me that they’d had the same dynamic since Jimmy was a teenager and a little wild. “It’s like he still expects him to get expelled or have a party at the house when they’re out of town. He still treats him like an unruly sixteen-year-old.” He did seem to take a liking to Matt though, always asking him his thoughts about Jimmy’s opponents, listening to his answers carefully. Sometimes at dinner, Matt was the only person Mr. Dillon talked to.
—
On Thursday mornings, Ash took Viv to a music class, which was really just a group of babies sitting in a circle and clutching tambourines and shakers as the teacher and parents sang and clapped. Sometimes, Ash got one of the songs stuck in her head and would hum it constantly for days, then shake her head as if she could knock it loose.