They didn’t speak of the fathers on that day or for a while, but sat as the day ended, making the room grayer and grayer. Michele looked out of the window and Judy brushed her hair. Then they switched. They sat for the better part of an hour in silence. This became ritual. It was the first silence of Judy’s life that wasn’t awkward but like a warm bath. With Michele in that room, a room that her mother demanded she keep pure and clean as a penance and preparation for her new life after the baby that would be focused and make sense, she felt lighter. It was as if they canceled each other out, which Judy was surprised to discover was what she needed.

Judy slips the record out of its sleeve, the one she had held tenderly to her nose, and puts it on the player. She flips the ‘on’ button and is pleased when the record starts to spin. The floor vibrates from Michele’s heavy footsteps as she moves over to the window again. Judy watches her from the floor, wanting her attention, but Michele opens the window and the screen, leans her head out. Judy lifts the needle, and just when she’s about to drop it on the record, Michele says, “We’re going to the mall.”

It’s been days since they’ve been out aside from school, and Judy’s whole body tenses thinking of Michele at the mall. Her only comfort beside Michele in public is that Judy always feels small in comparison. Judy responds, “I want to listen to this record first.”

Michele keeps her head out in the wind, and says, “Catholic boys are coming down the street. Come see, Judy.”

Judy thinks that the only reason Michele isn’t spitting and screaming at them is because they’re in uniform and not in basketball shorts, which is something Michele doesn’t tolerate. It’s been established that the father of hers was a wearer of such shorts. Judy’s only implied that hers was a Catholic boy, but any boys make her feel enormous, so she says, “I ain’t getting up for that. It’ll take me twenty minutes.”

Michele says, “I bet it ain’t him, Judy, and they gotta be seniors, judging by the way they’re walking. Tall one’s gotta swagger. That’s what I like. Means he knows something.”

Judy holds the needle above the spinning record. She knows that he doesn’t walk past her house anymore. She told Michele that, but she keeps bringing him up. Michele whistles out the window like a man, and Judy wants to yell but it comes out muted, “Close that window.”

Michele says, “They’re looking up here Judy. Should we invite them in?”

Judy feels something tingle in her face, and finally yells, “Not a fucking chance in the world, Michele! Close the window. I want to listen to this record!”

Judy rests the needle beside the spinning record, stares down at it and gets dizzy. She closes her eyes and tilts over until she crashes onto the carpet. Michele slams the window shut, turns, and asks, “What the fuck did you do to yourself?”

Michele wobbles over and starts to lower herself to the floor as Judy blinks her eyes open, and pushes back up to a seated position. When she’s entirely up, Michele’s on the floor with legs splayed inelegantly like a dropped doll’s. Judy points to the stack of records and says, “They were my Dad’s records.”

Michele opens her mouth but Judy beats her to it, ”There’s this song by a group that was my Dad’s favorite. I haven’t heard it in a long time. He asked me to play it at his funeral.”

Michele drops the stack and glares. Judy doesn’t remember what the song sounds like, but sees her father in the car as he listened to it. The memory of his face makes her happy, although she’s pretty sure her Dad knows she’s pregnant and hasn’t even bothered to call. As she picks up the needle and readies it for the record, Judy says, “Here goes nothing.”

It’s an old song and a few men sing in harmony which gives it a churchy quality that Judy didn’t remember. They listen: “It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore/ I am sorry/ Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry outloud/ I am lonely/ I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are/ You make it hard…”

Judy looks straight at Michele as a kind of punishment. She makes it clear that she doesn’t want her input. Judy doesn’t remember any of the words but she’s glad for them and the crackle of the record. It’s been a while since she’s listened to any music other than the tiny battery-powered radio that Michele carries in her backpack that barely picks up a signal. The song continues: “Remember what we’ve said and done/ and felt about each other/ oh babe, have mercy/ don’t let the past remind us of what we are not now/ I am not dreaming/ I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are/ You make it hard…”

Judy imagines the men singing together, each having to latch onto the other voices while still maintaining their own. It’s impossible, and these words make her feel like she’s almost flying but without much agency. And then she looks at Michele who’s a rocking a bit; her eyes are tombs. The song continues: “Tearing yourself away from me now, you are free/ And I am crying/ this does not mean I don’t love you, I do, that’s forever/ Yes, and for always/ I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are/ You make it hard…”