Free Kids These Days by Drew Perry

herself.”
    â€œAre you sure we shouldn’t—”
    â€œPlease don’t ask me that,” she said. “She asked me to wait, and I decided the ten minutes it’d take her to shower wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference. God, I want a glass of wine.”
    â€œYou could have a half,” I said. “Want me to open a bottle?”
    â€œI think I’ll just shut my head in the sliding glass door a few times instead.”
    â€œIt’ll work out,” I said.
    â€œEmpty promise,” she said. “You don’t know that.”
    The phone rang, and we looked at each other. It was loud. It rang again. “We have to get that,” I said.
    â€œI know,” she said, but neither of us moved. The answering machine picked up.
This is Sandy Wilkes
, Aunt Sandy’s voice said. We hadn’t changed the message. It felt weird to keep it, weirder still to erase it. We’d been meaning to get a new phone and save that one on a shelf in the closet.
If I’m not here
, her voice said,
I must be out. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back with you as soon as I can.
I was holding her binoculars. We were sitting in her chairs. Delton was getting ready to use her monogrammed purple towels. The machine beeped, and then there was Carolyn’s voice filling the condo, saying, “Leecy? Are you there? Jesus Christ, is Olivia with you? She left a note. Pick up. Goddamnit, I need you to—”
    Alice was already at the phone, telling her yes, Olivia was here. “She’s fine,” she said. “She’s in the shower. She wanted to call you when—”
    Delton opened the bathroom door, stuck her head out. She said, “Is that my mom?” Then she saw me. “Oh,” she said, and shut the door.
    â€œSorry,” I said.
    Alice slid a stool away from the little pass-through bar to the kitchen, looped the phone cord around her wrist, accidentally pulled the phone off the counter. “Shit,” she said, trying to pick everything back up. “Are you still there? Hello?” She pressed the button a few times. Other than the shower running, it was dead quiet in the condo.
    â€œShe’s gone?” I said.
    â€œShe’ll call back,” she said, and the phone rang again.
    â€œI’m going back outside.” I motioned at the bathroom door. “Give her some space.”
    She nodded, answered the phone. “Hey,” she said. “No. I dropped it. How are the twins?”
    The pickup was past us, headed farther down the beach. Up north, some kids were setting off Roman candles. Somebody had a grill going on the strip of grass between the condos and the dunes. There was that mineral smell of charcoal in the air.
    Alice had come to Florida when Delton was born, and when the twins were. She came for Maggie, too. When she got back that time, the Maggie time, all she could talk about was what a good father Mid was, how involved he was, how many diapers he changed. We’d stopped at some chain restaurant on the way back from the airport. There were hockey sticks on the wall. She said, “But here I am treating him like he’s some wonder of the world because he’s wanting to be a parent. To his own child.” Then she said, “You know Ed came to see them and didn’t even pick her up?”
    Ed was Mid’s brother. “Is he supposed to?” I said.
    She looked at me. “What do you mean?”
    â€œWhy is it a big deal that he didn’t pick her up?”
    â€œShe’s his
niece
,” she said. It was clear exactly what kind of deal it was.
    â€œI get it,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”
    She went back to her cheese fries, got quiet, and I ordered another beer. That was basically how it went for the few years we talked about having a kid, talked about trying: I’d make some error, and things would be sharp between us for a couple of days. What