Page 43 of The Top of Admiration
The best is yet to do, and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it
As You Like It, William Shakespeare
We spent three years together before we had our first baby, Aria. She was and still is a whirlwind, just like her mother. Elias came just 11 months after Aria, surprising everyone but me. Miranda was characteristically lax with her birth control, so when she was definitely done, I had a vasectomy.
Some nights, when the kids are finally asleep and the house is quiet—or as quiet as it ever gets—I look around and wonder how I ever lived before all this noise. Before Miranda. Before her glitter explosions and overcooked pancakes and half-finished art projects that somehow migrate into every room like cheerful squatters. While a great deal of my life was unpredictable, some things were incredibly predictable. Miranda is a birthday person, so every year, she spoils me. She loves holidays and our décor is always being switched around depending on the season. She forms bonds easily, so is immediately best friends with anyone we meet and her loyalty is still unwavering.
I used to think I wanted peace. Predictability. A life that moved in straight lines, with logical goals and firm plans. Then she showed up, all color and chaos and heart, and I realized peace was overrated. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I wish for peace. Even just for a few minutes, but those moments are fleeting, and I wouldn’t trade my life for anything.
The glitter incident was probably the first sign that calm was dead forever. I still find flecks of it in my car vents and occasionally in my coffee, like a cosmic reminder that she’s permanently in my orbit. Then there was the egg inferno, which she insists was “culinary innovation.” I’ve stopped arguing semantics because I learned pretty quickly it’s difficult to argue with someone who has a rather twisted version of logic.
Our life is made up of tiny, ridiculous moments: flaming breakfasts, ridiculous schemes, a broken wrist from a “welcome home” banner gone wrong (yes, my wrist of course). Every disaster somehow becomes a memory we laugh about later. I used to think love was about compatibility. Turns out, it’s about who you want standing next to you when you accidentally set off the smoke alarm at 7 a.m.
The best (or worst) part? Aria is exactly like her.
She’s seven, and last week she tried to “surprise me” by painting the dog purple. Said it was his “royal era.” Miranda was laughing too hard to scold her, and all I could do was sigh because I’ve seen this movie before. The impulsive brilliance. The chaos dressed as kindness. The heart that means well even when the logic doesn’t. And as Miranda logically pointed out, Aria is very advanced artistically because she blended the purple herself from various shades of blue and red.
We were both stunned when Aria started elementary school, only to run into another set of parents who were wishing their child well for the first day. Bad Cam and Jess. They seemed disproportionately tense during the entire exchange, but remained for an awkward conversation after the bell rang. The hostility in the conversation was almost tangible. The hostility between them that is, not between the four of us.
Miranda spotted them before I did—Jess pushing a double stroller, another toddler dragging behind her, and Cam walking a step too far ahead, hands in his pockets like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t part of the parade.
“Uh oh,” Miranda muttered, under her breath. I followed her gaze. “Who—oh.” My tone flattened. “The ex and the emotional support moonwalker.”
“Be nice,” she whispered. “But try not to make eye contact. Fuck, I hope they’re not part of this school.”
It was too late. Jess had seen them. Her face lit up, not with warmth, but with the forced brightness of someone who never passed up a chance to prove something. “Miranda! Cam! Wow, small world!”
Miranda smiled. “Hey, Jess. Cam.”
Bad Cam’s eyes darted between them. “Hey. Wow, been a while.” He looked older, but not in a settled way. His hairline had retreated slightly, and the easy confidence he once wore like a cologne had thinned out with it.
Jess adjusted the stroller, one hand on a squirming toddler. “Three kids,” she said with a proud, brittle laugh. “Can you believe it? And the first baby is starting school today! Cam’s thriving as a dad.”
Bad Cam gave a weak smile. “Yeah. Thriving. That’s one word.”
“Three?!” Miranda said, genuine surprise in her voice. “Wow. Congratulations. They’re beautiful. Our little girl starts today too.”
“Thanks,” Jess replied, smoothing her hair in that way that said I may have dark circles but at least I still look good. “It’s chaos, but, you know—family life. Worth every sleepless night.”
“Totally,” I said, tone warm but dry. “Nothing says fulfillment like a good 3 a.m. existential crisis.”
Bad Cam laughed, a little too eagerly. Jess glared at him.
“Time flies,” Bad Cam offered. “One minute you’re on a flying visit home drinking with old friends, the next you’ve got three kids and a mortgage.” He laughed bitterly.
Jess ignored him. “So, what are you two up to?” she asked, adjusting the baby blanket that didn’t need adjusting. “Still doing the … art thing, Miranda?”
She nodded. “Yep. I’m the resident artist at Modern Classics Gallery. Cam’s still in apps but he consults now.”
“Oh, that’s great,” Jess said, with the same tone she might use to say good for you, but no one’s impressed. “Cam’s still pursuing his music. We’ve never given up on his dreams, but it takes some hard decisions.”
“Yeah, and Jess was always better at making decisions, especially for both of us,” Bad Cam almost sneered.
He ground his teeth and continued. “Yeah, I’m… uh, producing stuff now. You know—helping other artists find their sound. It’s … it’s more behind the scenes.”
Jess snorted softly. “Behind the scenes because the scenes stopped calling.”
Cam’s jaw tightened. “Jess.”
