Page 18 of A Happy Catastrophe

Marnie is smiling, loading up the mashed potatoes into a bowl. “Yessir. That Patrick sure can keep secrets,” she says, and Tessa says, “No, no! He didn’t know! I’m the one who kept the secret. I never told him I was pregnant. We were”—she smiles coyly—“just ships passing in the night. Well, two nights, actually. He was such a youngster! It was when he had an art show—and I was in town interviewing for a teaching position, and I slightly knew his sister . . . Hey, remember our trip to the boys’ locker room?”

Patrick can feel himself groaning inwardly. Why give Marnie an image? She’s already rolling her eyes at him, and when she passes him on the way to get her purse to give money to Paco, she touches his arm and whispers with a deep chuckling laugh, “You got a lotta ’splainin’ to do when this is over, you youngster you.”

But he finds himself wondering: Will it be over? Why are they really here? What is his role supposed to be? He eyes the Little Mermaid suitcase, over in the corner, being sniffed at by Bedford, and feels a bit uneasy.

During dinner, he is placed next to Fritzie, who animatedly resumes talking about Disney princesses again. “Why do we even have them?” she says. “Boys don’t have movies about a prince, do they? And also in the movie Cinderella, did you ever notice that the prince has to have a big dance so he can find somebody to marry him? Like, why can’t he just talk to women he knows and find out if he loves them or not?” She is gesturing with her dinner roll. “And doesn’t he totally know everybody in the kingdom already?” She shakes her head like this is the most ridiculous thing in the world. “What’s he gonna learn about girls at a dance?”

“I have to agree,” he says. “So maybe he shouldn’t have looked for Cinderella with the glass slipper, then?”

She nods. “The glass slipper was the worst idea ever.” And then she laughs, such a delighted little laugh. “Like, every time you would step on it, it would probably crack. I bet her feet were literally bleeding all over the place!” He’s struck by how the word literally sounds like yiterally when she says it. He doesn’t think he used that word when he was eight.

“I can see your point,” he says, the slightest bit charmed. He’s less charmed, though, when she picks up two of the snowflake rolls and starts tossing them into the air and catching them again. “Here! Patrick! Can you catch a roll in your mouth if I throw it right to you?”

“No, I’m sure I can’t,” he says. But then he has to anyway, because she tosses one at his face. It hits him in the eye, and he reaches up to grab it.

She stares at his hands. “Ohhhhh,” she says. “The fire hurt your hands, too.”

“Yes. I had surgeries to fix them.”

She looks at them appraisingly. “Let me see them. I bet it was hurting for a long time.” She reaches out to touch his hand, and he lets her, even though he hates his hands being touched and every fiber of his being is yelling out for him to pull his hand back. The nerves never healed right, and now he knows they never really will.

“You know,” she says, and her face is so serious that he thinks she’s going to come out with some from-the-mouth-of-babes observation, even though he doesn’t really believe in that kind of thing. Still, he’s heard from people who like children that it happens. She doesn’t, though. She says, “I kind of wish I had a Spider-Man suitcase instead of the mermaid one. It wouldn’t be pink, it would be red or black. And when I fly on an airplane—and ohh! Did you even know I just came from London? It is five whole hours LATER in London, and we were staying with my grandmum.” She’s bouncing up and down on her chair, and now she takes on the voice of a much younger child, singsongy and possibly bratty. “You don’t know her, but she’s nice. ’Cept she doesn’t want to keep me. She can’t, ’cause she’s mad at Mommy. That’s the only bad thing. The fighting. So we came here. To see you. Only I didn’t know that’s why we were here. I didn’t even know about you!”

Tessa, who is talking to Marnie, suddenly looks up. “Fritzie,” she says warningly. “Let’s not get into all that, shall we?”

But Fritzie is too manic by now. Even Patrick, who knows nothing about children, knows that he’s watching a situation spin out of control. Fritzie laughs and gets to her feet and cups her hands around Patrick’s ear and whispers into it, loudly and wetly: “So. My mommy is in love with Richard, and they want to live together in Italy, but the trouble is, Richard doesn’t want a kid. So we hope I can come and live with you.”

Marnie and Tessa stop talking. “Oh my God,” says Tessa. “This is not—”

“What?” says Fritzie to her mother. “That is what we’re doing. We might as well tell them!”

“Oh, well,” he hears himself say over some unpleasant buzzing in his ears.

Tessa starts to laugh. “Fritzie! I can’t believe—” She looks around at the silent, shocked faces that are looking back at her. He can see that she’s embarrassed almost beyond excruciation. He’s actually fascinated with the whole scene, as if it has nothing to do with him, as if it’s a television show about human beings who had a crazy, madcap plan, and he wonders how they’ll resolve this and what will happen next. Tune in next week, folks.

Tessa stands up. “You know what? Never mind. This is such a stupid idea. I’m out of my mind, and I just realized I probably sound like I’m the worst mother in the world. Come on, Fritzie. We should go.” She glares at Fritzie, who bursts into loud, uncontrollable tears.

“Come on,” her mother says. “Stop it. You’re just overtired. Let’s go. NOW.”

Patrick, for one, is all for letting them go. It is dawning on him that this is what this oddball sitcom was leading to—having Fritzie live with him and Marnie. Huh! He doesn’t even know this kid that’s supposed to be his, and she doesn’t know him. How was he supposed to be able to raise her? And exactly what kind of mother would plan in advance to drop off her kid with strangers, even if she believed one of them might be the “bio-daddy”? Because he is fairly certain that a man doesn’t turn into a father within a matter of seconds, and he certainly has no intention of even trying. He’ll be reasonable about sending checks and presents, he supposes, if that’s what’s called for—but when he looks at this presumed daughter of his, he’s not feeling a requisite desire to give her fatherly advice or correct her homework or walk her down the aisle at her wedding.

In fact, he’s all for cutting things short right this minute, shaking their hands, rolling out their Little Mermaid suitcase, and saying good-bye. He might thank the child for giving him some things to think about with regard to well-loved fairy-tale stories and Disney princesses before he closes the door.

He stands up, too.

“Wait,” says Marnie. “No, no. Stay right here.” She’s looking at Tessa with an expression on her face that Patrick knows all too well. Oh God, she is seeing a love story. Her eyes have lost focus. “Tell us what’s happening. Tell us what you need,” she says, and she reaches over and touches Tessa’s hand. Fritzie stands next to Patrick, her fingers in her mouth, looking contrite, and then she slowly settles herself against him. Nestles, really.

e is smiling, loading up the mashed potatoes into a bowl. “Yessir. That Patrick sure can keep secrets,” she says, and Tessa says, “No, no! He didn’t know! I’m the one who kept the secret. I never told him I was pregnant. We were”—she smiles coyly—“just ships passing in the night. Well, two nights, actually. He was such a youngster! It was when he had an art show—and I was in town interviewing for a teaching position, and I slightly knew his sister . . . Hey, remember our trip to the boys’ locker room?”

Patrick can feel himself groaning inwardly. Why give Marnie an image? She’s already rolling her eyes at him, and when she passes him on the way to get her purse to give money to Paco, she touches his arm and whispers with a deep chuckling laugh, “You got a lotta ’splainin’ to do when this is over, you youngster you.”

But he finds himself wondering: Will it be over? Why are they really here? What is his role supposed to be? He eyes the Little Mermaid suitcase, over in the corner, being sniffed at by Bedford, and feels a bit uneasy.

During dinner, he is placed next to Fritzie, who animatedly resumes talking about Disney princesses again. “Why do we even have them?” she says. “Boys don’t have movies about a prince, do they? And also in the movie Cinderella, did you ever notice that the prince has to have a big dance so he can find somebody to marry him? Like, why can’t he just talk to women he knows and find out if he loves them or not?” She is gesturing with her dinner roll. “And doesn’t he totally know everybody in the kingdom already?” She shakes her head like this is the most ridiculous thing in the world. “What’s he gonna learn about girls at a dance?”

“I have to agree,” he says. “So maybe he shouldn’t have looked for Cinderella with the glass slipper, then?”

She nods. “The glass slipper was the worst idea ever.” And then she laughs, such a delighted little laugh. “Like, every time you would step on it, it would probably crack. I bet her feet were literally bleeding all over the place!” He’s struck by how the word literally sounds like yiterally when she says it. He doesn’t think he used that word when he was eight.

“I can see your point,” he says, the slightest bit charmed. He’s less charmed, though, when she picks up two of the snowflake rolls and starts tossing them into the air and catching them again. “Here! Patrick! Can you catch a roll in your mouth if I throw it right to you?”

“No, I’m sure I can’t,” he says. But then he has to anyway, because she tosses one at his face. It hits him in the eye, and he reaches up to grab it.

She stares at his hands. “Ohhhhh,” she says. “The fire hurt your hands, too.”

“Yes. I had surgeries to fix them.”

She looks at them appraisingly. “Let me see them. I bet it was hurting for a long time.” She reaches out to touch his hand, and he lets her, even though he hates his hands being touched and every fiber of his being is yelling out for him to pull his hand back. The nerves never healed right, and now he knows they never really will.

“You know,” she says, and her face is so serious that he thinks she’s going to come out with some from-the-mouth-of-babes observation, even though he doesn’t really believe in that kind of thing. Still, he’s heard from people who like children that it happens. She doesn’t, though. She says, “I kind of wish I had a Spider-Man suitcase instead of the mermaid one. It wouldn’t be pink, it would be red or black. And when I fly on an airplane—and ohh! Did you even know I just came from London? It is five whole hours LATER in London, and we were staying with my grandmum.” She’s bouncing up and down on her chair, and now she takes on the voice of a much younger child, singsongy and possibly bratty. “You don’t know her, but she’s nice. ’Cept she doesn’t want to keep me. She can’t, ’cause she’s mad at Mommy. That’s the only bad thing. The fighting. So we came here. To see you. Only I didn’t know that’s why we were here. I didn’t even know about you!”

Tessa, who is talking to Marnie, suddenly looks up. “Fritzie,” she says warningly. “Let’s not get into all that, shall we?”

But Fritzie is too manic by now. Even Patrick, who knows nothing about children, knows that he’s watching a situation spin out of control. Fritzie laughs and gets to her feet and cups her hands around Patrick’s ear and whispers into it, loudly and wetly: “So. My mommy is in love with Richard, and they want to live together in Italy, but the trouble is, Richard doesn’t want a kid. So we hope I can come and live with you.”

Marnie and Tessa stop talking. “Oh my God,” says Tessa. “This is not—”

“What?” says Fritzie to her mother. “That is what we’re doing. We might as well tell them!”

“Oh, well,” he hears himself say over some unpleasant buzzing in his ears.

Tessa starts to laugh. “Fritzie! I can’t believe—” She looks around at the silent, shocked faces that are looking back at her. He can see that she’s embarrassed almost beyond excruciation. He’s actually fascinated with the whole scene, as if it has nothing to do with him, as if it’s a television show about human beings who had a crazy, madcap plan, and he wonders how they’ll resolve this and what will happen next. Tune in next week, folks.

Tessa stands up. “You know what? Never mind. This is such a stupid idea. I’m out of my mind, and I just realized I probably sound like I’m the worst mother in the world. Come on, Fritzie. We should go.” She glares at Fritzie, who bursts into loud, uncontrollable tears.

“Come on,” her mother says. “Stop it. You’re just overtired. Let’s go. NOW.”

Patrick, for one, is all for letting them go. It is dawning on him that this is what this oddball sitcom was leading to—having Fritzie live with him and Marnie. Huh! He doesn’t even know this kid that’s supposed to be his, and she doesn’t know him. How was he supposed to be able to raise her? And exactly what kind of mother would plan in advance to drop off her kid with strangers, even if she believed one of them might be the “bio-daddy”? Because he is fairly certain that a man doesn’t turn into a father within a matter of seconds, and he certainly has no intention of even trying. He’ll be reasonable about sending checks and presents, he supposes, if that’s what’s called for—but when he looks at this presumed daughter of his, he’s not feeling a requisite desire to give her fatherly advice or correct her homework or walk her down the aisle at her wedding.

In fact, he’s all for cutting things short right this minute, shaking their hands, rolling out their Little Mermaid suitcase, and saying good-bye. He might thank the child for giving him some things to think about with regard to well-loved fairy-tale stories and Disney princesses before he closes the door.

He stands up, too.

“Wait,” says Marnie. “No, no. Stay right here.” She’s looking at Tessa with an expression on her face that Patrick knows all too well. Oh God, she is seeing a love story. Her eyes have lost focus. “Tell us what’s happening. Tell us what you need,” she says, and she reaches over and touches Tessa’s hand. Fritzie stands next to Patrick, her fingers in her mouth, looking contrite, and then she slowly settles herself against him. Nestles, really.

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