FOUR
Becky dragged us three out with her accounts team for celebration cocktails, lauding us as the people responsible for finally getting her boyfriend onside. I tried to wave it away, but Tola lapped it up, enjoying her moment in the spotlight, a feminist relationships expert, fanning the flames of exhaustion, rage, and frustration until they became a huge bonfire.
“He doesn’t remember our kids’ birthdays!”
“I have to buy his mother’s Christmas present every year!”
“I went away for a conference and my daughter went to school wearing yellow polka-dot tights and a Peppa Pig pajama top!”
“I don’t think he was really happy for me when I got that promotion, you know? Like, deep down.”
“I went back to uni to do my master’s and now he says I act like I’m smarter than everyone.”
“He came home drunk and pissed in the laundry basket.” Well, at least that last one was funny.
I was slightly worried Tola was winding up a potential mob.
Maybe I was lucky to be on my own? To have my own time and agency and no one to answer to? Maybe love wasn’t worth the exhaustion. I thought of my grandmother, preparing the dinner every night for fifty years, and how she never once complained. Maybe she would have, if I’d asked her.
“Are you his fucking mother?” Tola asked one of Becky’s friends, pausing dramatically to sip from her straw. “No? Then stop coddling! Stop feeding. Stop doing anything but demanding what you deserve. Because you are all beautiful, wonderful women, and you deserve to be worshipped! Those men should be on their fucking knees, grateful you put up with their badly shaven, unwashed, don’t-know-where-the-dishwasher-tablets-are selves.”
There was hooting and whooing.
“This is rapidly turning from an engagement celebration into a potential ritual sacrifice,” I mumbled to Eric, who snorted and leaned in close to me.
“I’m trying not to make too many abrupt movements in case they suddenly remember I’m here,” he mock-whispered.
“She’s good with a crowd, though,” I had to admit, watching Tola holding court. “She’s got the razzle-dazzle.”
“She’s got more than that. I feel like she’s determined to make this into something, and she’s going to take us along for the ride no matter what. There’s ambition, and then there’s Tola.”
I watched the women talking and laughing with each other, looked at their faces as they joked about their shitty maternity packages and navigating in-laws and bumping into exes. Jealous boyfriends and early morning runs and dyeing their hair.
These women were tired. And they didn’t even realize it. The exhaustion of expectation and disappointment was part and parcel of being female. Like Tola said, they’d been hoping they’d meet someone who was already a fully mature grown-up who could cook his own dinner and knew what his mother’s favorite flowers were.
“Excuse me.” One of Becky’s friends broke off from the group and hovered at our table. “You helped Tola, didn’t you?”
Eric grinned and tilted his head to me. “She’s the mastermind. Expert in human ridiculousness.”
I elbowed him, smiled apologetically. “I helped, yeah.”
She dragged a chair over and fell into it.
“I’m Emily. My husband doesn’t know how to look after our baby. He offered to be the stay-at-home parent so I could go back to work, but he didn’t read any of the books and he calls every fifteen minutes, or he gets my mother to come over and then she criticizes me for leaving my baby at home because I want to be a ‘career woman.’ I make more money, I had to go back! And then I get home, and the house is a mess and he hands the baby over and plays PlayStation all evening! I know I should be grateful, but . . .”
I closed my eyes. “Gratitude is an excellent emotion. But it’s not a shield that holds off bullshit indefinitely.” I sounded like an agony aunt column in a teen magazine, telling women not to settle for less. “You just need to teach him.”
“I need to teach him to recognize that our daughter needs looking after, and it can’t all be on me? Why can’t he know it on his own? Why is it my responsibility to teach him?”
I made a face and threw up my hands. “I have no idea, but unfortunately until someone else comes along, if you want the spoils, you’re gonna have to do the work. Hopefully only briefly, to benefit long term.”
“And you can do that?” Emily asked, suddenly hopeful.
“Well, we were thinking about starting a business outsourcing female emotional labor,” Eric told her. “Apparently it might be the final puzzle piece in the dismantling of the patriarchy.”
She kept her eyes on me, waiting for me to say the word and solve all her problems. I was shocked to find I felt powerful. I loved looking at a problem and finding a solution. And I couldn’t resist a challenge.
“Okay, tell me how I can help.”
—
We had to find a baby, which sounds more alarming than it was. Luckily, Eric’s friend Marcus was happy to help.
Marcus was a huge beast of a man, the cloth clinging to every visible muscle beneath his two-sizes-too-small T-shirt. The only thing that softened the complete “gym bro” effect was his baby daughter, strapped to his front in a purple polka-dot sling, grinning up at him like he was the center of her universe.
“Okay, there are a few key points here,” I said as we huddled together in Finsbury Park on a blustery Saturday morning, where we knew Emily’s husband took their daughter to play. “Marcus, we need to show off that you’re the ideal dad, and that your baby here is thriving.”
Marcus wiggled his eyebrows and grinned, adjusting his daughter in his arms. “Always happy to be told I’m perfect.”
“As long as you’re happy with a little healthy competition,” I teased. “We need the husband, Liam, to see how well you’re doing, how easy you make it look. We need him to want to be like you.”
Tola looked at Marcus suspiciously. “Why are you helping us again?”
He laughed, and his daughter burbled in delight. “Because Eric asked. And also because this guy is letting our side down. But mainly because the sooner men become more active parents, the sooner we get a decent paternity package.”
Tola smiled and nodded once, convinced.
“One that doesn’t depend on having a female parent in the picture?” she asked, and Marcus pointed at her.
“Got it in one.”
“Okay”—Tola rubbed her hands together—“let’s go start some shenanigans.”
Marcus ambled over to the swings, where Liam was halfheartedly pushing his daughter, eyes glued to his phone. We watched as Marcus ambled up, and saw Liam’s eyes widen in surprise at the sheer size of him. I could almost see the thought bubble above his head: This guy is taking his kid to the park? Shouldn’t he be in a gym somewhere? Or knocking someone’s teeth out?
“Is this seat taken?” Marcus smiled winningly, gesturing at the swing next to Liam’s daughter.
Tola snorted in my ear. “Is he hitting on him?”
Eric made a face and sounded prickly when he responded. “Marcus is very happily married, he’s just friendly.”
Liam just stared at Marcus, saying nothing for a moment, and then half shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”
“Cheers.” Marcus turned his attention to his daughter, chucking her up in the air and then sliding her into the swing, making faces and explaining what he was doing in a singsong voice.
Liam’s daughter started watching this new, exciting man in her field of vision intently, smiling and clapping at him more than I bet she ever had for the father standing slightly out of her field of vision with his hand glued to his phone. We watched as Liam seemed to realize this, too, and blinked.
“He put his phone away!” Tola grabbed my arm in excitement.
“Shh!”
“Let’s get closer,” I said quietly, “and stop acting like weirdos! Three childless grown-ups hanging near the kids’ play area is not a great look!”
We snuck around to the bit of grass behind the swings, so we could listen to them chatting.
“You got a happy one!” Marcus said, smiling at Liam. He nodded his head at his own daughter. “This one’s already a moody teenager. I feel like I’m going to turn around from making her lunch and find her all dressed up to go clubbing. The time goes so quickly, doesn’t it?”
Liam looked at him like he wasn’t sure Marcus was actually talking to him. Like he hadn’t had an adult conversation in a while, and had to remember how to do it.
“I dunno, sometimes it seems to go incredibly slowly.” Liam sighed, then looked embarrassed, like he’d said the wrong thing. But Marcus just smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, the ever-exciting routine of listening to them cry, waiting for them to shit all over the walls, crossing your fingers that they’ll sleep, and then panicking when they do.” Marcus shrugged. “Or is it just me that’s an absolute mess? I kinda figured the stay-at-home-dad life would involve more cuddles and Xbox, you know?”
Liam’s eyes lit up, even as Tola raised an eyebrow at me. “Really?” she hissed.
“He’s playing a part!” Eric defended his friend, then paused. “. . . At least, I think so.”
But that was all it took for Liam’s defenses to drop. Here was someone who wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t tell him it was all meant to be a magical experience. He had someone to moan with, and you could see the relief on his face.
“You’re a stay-at-home dad, too!” Liam exclaimed. “I haven’t met many others. It’s . . . yeah, it’s a bit more . . . boring than I thought it would be.”
Marcus nodded, keeping his eyes on his daughter. “Have you thrown up changing them yet? First time I changed her . . . I was sick, she was sick, we were both crying . . . it gets better.”
He looked at his daughter with such love, and Liam smiled.
“Besides,” Marcus added, “how much of your job before was boring? This way you get to be the person to watch her grow. I get to hear her first words and see her walk. My other half finds that a bit hard, I think. But that’s the way the finances go sometimes, right?”
Bringing in the fact that your partner makes more money, that it’s a financial choice with no ego. Nice one, Marcus. I was starting to think I hadn’t needed to make those flash cards for him; he was a natural.
“Yeah, Emily, my wife, I think she’s sad she doesn’t get that time. That’s why I give her Lila as soon as she gets in, so she gets her one-on-one. I know how much she misses her during the workday.”
I widened my eyes at Tola, mouthing, Simple miscommunication!
“Yeah, I know what you mean, it must be hard for her. That’s why when my partner gets in, I take it as a chance to sort out the washing and tidy up a bit, so they can have that time and not worry. We’ve got a good military-style system, haven’t we, baby girl?” Marcus laughed at his daughter, who clapped her hands.
I caught sight of Liam’s face, like it had never occurred to him.
“It’s tempting to just dump the kid on them when they walk through the door and take time for yourself, right? But we try and be equals, so my partner takes the baby, I’ll get dinner started. They’ll do the bath, and then I’ll go to the gym . . . we both get our time.”
Liam looked at Marcus, and nodded, as if he had decided to reveal something to this mystical guide on his dad journey. He took a deep breath.
“I call Emily a lot at work, I know, I just don’t know if I’m doing a good job. Everyone’s waiting for me to screw it up. To leave her on a park bench or get her fingers stuck with superglue or find her chewing on the cat’s tail.”
Liam rested a hand on his daughter’s head, and I suddenly felt for him. He might be completely clueless as to what his wife needed, but he clearly wanted to be a good dad, a good partner. He just needed a nudge. Maybe a role model. Definitely a community. I wondered if Marcus would catch that . . .
“Are you part of a parent and baby group?”
Marcus, you’re hired! I grinned at Tola and Eric, elated.
“Yeah, but they were mostly bossy mums and they kept telling me I was doing everything wrong, so . . .”
“There are loads of dad groups!” Marcus said, pulling out his phone. “Here, there’s one local one I’m part of on Facebook—shall I invite you?”
I watched Liam’s face at that moment, so much hope and relief that I felt myself get a little choked up. That look said, I’m not alone.
“Oh, bless him,” Tola said softly, and I smiled at her, before nudging them both to shuffle farther away from the play area. When we were a good distance from them, we started to speak at a normal volume again.
“That was . . . unexpected,” Eric said. “I thought the plan was to get them into a competition around whose kid was more impressive. I was looking forward to some sort of baby race!”
“We only get one side of the story,” Tola said, somehow more enthused than before. “Turned up thinking he was some waste of a dad, selfish and whatnot, but the man just needed some community and support!”
“He thought he was helping by chucking the baby at Emily as soon as she came in the door,” I said softly, shaking my head. “Of course he did.”
“That’s cute. I like it. We came here ready to see him fail and found him ready to grow. Love to see it!” Tola waved her hands in the air. “Come on! You two get it now, right? You see that we could help people! There is something here.”
“Yeah, okay, but what is it, exactly?” Eric countered, raising an eyebrow. “Playacting undercover to save people’s relationships, when really they should just go to therapy?”
I looked at him. “Strong words from someone who still doesn’t talk to a whole bunch of his family members after coming out.”
He threw up his hands. “They don’t talk to me. Which is why you go to therapy to fix yourself, not to fix other people. You can’t change people who don’t want to change.”
“He didn’t know he wanted to change. Or that his relationship needed saving.” Tola gestured toward Liam looking at Marcus like he’d appeared solely to present him with a genie, three wishes, and a deep-dish pepperoni pizza. “And now he does. Bibbidi bobbidi boo, bitches. We’re onto something.”