Read Online Cutting Teeth: A Novel by Julia Fierro - Free Book Online Page B

ensemble. Frayed camo shorts and a tee shirt, stained, most likely from Hank’s greasy fingers. He took a swig of his beer and congratulated himself. The last time he’d worn a suit was just before Hank’s birth, when he had become an official stay-at-home parent, and when he had (with relief) quit his temp IT job at Grace’s investment firm.
    When Nicole’s husband had arrived a half hour earlier, fresh from the Manhattan commute, Rip had caught the pale shadow of terror on the man’s face as he walked into the early-evening chaos; overtired children, wine-flushed parents, the floor carpeted with toys and cookie crumbs and puddles of spilled juice.
    “Wyatt,” Josh called through clenched teeth, as Wyatt skipped across the deck, “Mommy says it’s time to go potty.”
    Passive-aggressive parenting, Rip thought. Blame it on the other parent.
    “He’ll make a decent soccer player,” Rip called out with a short laugh.
    “Yep,” Josh said.
    Whatever, Rip thought. Not like he was dying to make chitchat with the mommies’ SOs, aka Significant Others.
    SOBs, Rip often joked toward the end of the playgroup dates, when everyone (except for Leigh, who was too almightier-than-thou to drink before sunset) had imbibed enough liquid courage for a bit of honesty to seep out, and with it, a collective venting about their partners, their kids, the monotony of life as a parent to small children. Rip played his part, griping about his fourteen-hour days alone with Hank, but, in all honesty, it was the best life Rip could imagine. Lately, the reality of that life running out (Hank would be in preschool next year) had Rip up at night, in a panic, strategizing over rum and Diet Coke on how to maintain his stay-at-home-daddy status.
    Of course, he knew there wasn’t much strategy needed, though his mind still trembled in an endless cycle of what to do, what to do . It was simple. He had to convince Grace to have another baby, to accept the role of an anonymous sperm donor back into their lives, along with the hormone shots in the soft brown skin of her ass, the egg extraction, all leading to in vitro.
    On the first try, it had seemed like science fiction to Rip, like one of the dog-eared paperbacks he’d loved as a kid. Brave New World. It had seemed routine by the third try, when the egg had finally stuck. Stuck was what the women on the trying-to-conceive online message boards called it, as in I hope to God this one sticks. Rip had spent hours (mostly during Hank’s afternoon naps) lurking on the anonymous boards of www.TryingToConceive.com, watching as the women sent each other good wishes ( sprinkles of sticky baby dust!! ) when they signed off. Off to check their basal temperatures, he assumed, or to pee on a plastic ovulation detector stick—all so they could time sex perfectly and catch that window of procreative opportunity.
    As the sun slipped closer to the water and the pools of seawater on the sandbar caught its tangerine light, Rip thought of how he envied those women on TryingToConceive.com. Even if they were barren, at least their wombs ensured it was they who held the reins. He admired their bottomless optimism. Like him, they were believers, unwilling to surrender to that stubborn old bitch, Fate.
    If only Grace had an ounce of the reproductive fervor those women had, he thought. Then he would have his baby.
    Wyatt’s flip-flops slapped against the deck as the father-son pursuit wore on.
    Josh hunched forward, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. “Wyatt! Come to Daddy already. It’s time to get dressed and go potty.” He coughed. “You can’t walk around half-naked, now can you?”
    First mistake, Rip thought, kids don’t do reason. Second, do not ask your kid a question. Uh, yeah, Dad, you can walk around half-naked. I’m doing it right now!
    There were a thousand Joshes in Brooklyn, Rip thought. All with the same sixty-dollar haircut and thick, black, Buddy Holly glasses. They dressed their