I Was Told It Would Get Easier

by Abbi Waxman

  But now here we were, trapped with a small group of people and a rapidly drying tray of pastries. It was too late to go back up to the room and disguise myself as a plant or something, and now Dani had spotted us.

  “Oh, my goodness, is that Jessica Burnstein?” she said loudly. “Look, Alice, it’s Emily!”

  Alice looked up from her phone. “So it is.” She returned to her phone and started working her thumbs. At least her kid is as antisocial as mine. Teenagers are the great leveler.

  I sighed inwardly, plastered a smile on my face, and went over to hug Dani with every apparent enthusiasm. FML, right?

  EMILY

  Mom’s handling this; she fakes it for a living. I’ve seen her get ready for big work events, all flying hair and cursing, hopping to put on a high heel, slippery straps that need tightening, Can you do this necklace up for me, baby? But then she sails out the door like a freaking movie star playing a high-powered lawyer, all glide and polish. She’s two different people: Stressed-Out Mom and All-Powerful Lawyer. Nothing in between. Nothing she shows me, anyway.

  I waved vaguely at Alice and then headed straight to the breakfast buffet. I was hungry, it was too freaking early in the morning, and if I didn’t get my blood sugar up soon, I’d pass out. The biggest question I could handle right now was, jelly or cheese? My phone buzzed. It was a snap from Alice.

  “Ten bucks my mother suggests we ‘hang out’ in the next thirty seconds.” Alice still has my number, of course, and this is the thing with her: Her power lies in making you feel like the most amusing, important person in the room. She’s also capable of being a total and utter bitch, of course, but she’s a born politician: If she thinks you might be useful later, she’ll only shoot to wound.

  “I’ll take that bet,” I say.

  “Oh my goodness, the girls should definitely hang out on this trip!” her mom said loudly. “And then we can escape and have some catching-up time!”

  “See?” texted Alice. “Ten bucks.”

  “Double or nothing,” I wrote. “My mom is about to lie and say she’s been meaning to reach out.”

  “That’s a great idea,” my mom said. “I’ve been meaning to reach out, but I didn’t realize you were going to be on this trip. We should have flown together!”

  “Damn,” texted Alice.

  “We were in business class,” Alice’s mom said casually. “My husband flies so much for work we had miles for miles, if you know what I mean.”

  I could tell from Mom’s face she was remembering why she didn’t hang out with Alice’s mom. Mom hates it when people show off. However, she’s pretty good at politics herself, so she said, “How lovely,” which is her way of saying, You’re an asshole.

  Then she looked at me and I pointed at the pastries, giving her an out. She got it and said, “I’m going to run and get something to eat, can I bring you anything?” And Alice’s mom said she’d had a green smoothie after her workout, and my mom said, “That’s fantastic,” which is another phrase she uses when she lies. Then she turned and headed in my direction, and I hunted around for a muffin with lots of chocolate, because Mom might be annoying at times, but she’s still my mom, and out in the world we’re a team.

  JESSICA

  A young woman with the kind of complicated reverse fish-tail braid that I could probably learn to do on YouTube, if I had three hours to spare and fourteen extra fingers, stepped to the front of the room and smiled around brightly.

  “Welcome, Los Angeles Tour Group,” she said, with a surprising level of barely suppressed joy. “Please find a seat, and can I have everyone’s attention?” She was maybe twenty-four, and I guessed this was her first job out of college, and she was determined to nail it. I examined her carefully made-up face, her bright eyes, her pantsuit and coordinated blouse and thought how proud her mother must be. That long blond hair must have been a delight to brush out and braid when this girl was ten, but one day she’d stopped letting her mother do it, and started bringing home Cs and uninspiring boyfriends, and her mother lay awake like I do. But it all worked out, and now this young woman gets up in the morning and brushes her teeth and combs her hair all on her own and sets out in the cold morning to do her work. I was suddenly filled with sympathy for her, as I am for all young people. It’s a little bit hideous, that first part of adulthood.

  The tour group stopped milling about and sat on the half-upholstered seats, which made exasperated puffing sounds as we sat down. I looked around and realized the whole room was essentially padded, with thick carpet and walls that appeared to have been covered with linen. Earth tones predominated. We could have been there to discuss literally anything, the room was so neutral: world peace, necrophilia, the splitting of the atom . . . I could faintly smell chlorine from the pool on the floor below, and the occasional distant sound that could have been playing or drowning, it was hard to tell. It was enough to distract me, like when a group of parents are sitting near a pool where kids are swimming and every so often your heads all turn at once to make sure the screaming is good screaming and not the kind of screaming that requires one of you to jump in fully clothed. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling 100 percent relaxed, let’s say that.

  “I’m Cassidy,” said the young woman, turning and writing her name on a large pad propped on an easel. She put a heart above the i, which I thought was a nice retro touch.

  “I’m the coordinator for this tour, so remember my name and reach out to me for anything you need.” She turned again and added her number to the board, and we all dutifully entered it into our phones, even though I knew I would forget to take it out once the tour was over and would occasionally go through my phone and wonder who the hell Cassidy was and why I had her number. I could feel Emily fidgeting next to me, presumably dying to be on her phone, and pulled some origami paper from my purse. She’s a whiz at origami.

  Cassidy beamed around and said, “Really, text me for anything. That’s what I’m here for. You’re all familiar with the itinerary, of course, but I’m going to go over some details and fill in some gaps.” I decided Cassidy had probably had too much caffeine. “We’re starting today at Georgetown.” She began handing out large envelopes. “Here’s your Georgetown packet. You’ll receive a packet for each school, to help with your evaluation process.” She smiled around again, and for a moment I imagined her up until 1:00 a.m. the night before, exhaustedly putting pieces of paper into envelopes until the sharp sting of paper cuts made tears roll down her photogenic young cheeks. I did the math: ten families on the trip, eleven schools, one hundred and ten individual packets. I opened my phone again and put dauntless tour guide next to her name. Never forget.

  Cassidy took a breath. “There will be a twenty-minute presentation by the admissions department, then we’ll break into two groups, parents and students, and tour the campus. That should take around forty minutes. Then we will reconvene for an early lunch and take the Metro to George Washington University. There we will have another twenty-minute presentation from their admissions folks, and another campus tour. After that you’ll be free to explore DC as you wish or join either the Ford’s Theatre tour or visit the Mall. Tonight we’re all going for dinner and dancing at El Presidente!” She seemed thrilled at the prospect, which made one of us.

  “Is the cost of dinner included in the tour?” asked a mom from the back of the room, while her son tried to disappear into the floor.

  “Yes, it is.” Cassidy nodded. “While each of you has your own goals for the trip, one of our goals is for you all to get to know each other, and hopefully continue to support each other through the application process.”

  I admired her enthusiasm, but she must realize that, unless we were already friends, we would barely speak to each other again. In fact, all of us would spend the tour evaluating everyone else’s kids purely in terms of their competitive standing with our own children. This was the diplomatic meeting where individual countries a
gree on the terms of engagement and then go home and prepare to bomb the crap out of each other.

  I’m sure Cassidy knows that. She must.

  “And one note, before we move on: Please do not attempt to talk to the admissions people about your specific child. They are not going to remember anything, and it is their job to remain impartial and let the admissions process take its course. E3 has excellent access to the top schools, and we don’t want to get a bad reputation.” She took a deep breath. “Besides, you have to trust in the process . . . the schools work very hard to identify the right kids for their schools, and in the end everybody ends up where they’re supposed to be. I truly believe that.” She looked at us and—I’m not kidding—I think she teared up a little. I personally thought she was glossing over decades of institutional prejudice and societal privilege, but hey, I hadn’t had enough coffee to argue.

  Then, as if she hadn’t just warned us not to attempt to subvert the course of true love as expressed through college admissions, Cassidy clapped her hands and told us to put our chairs in a circle.

  EMILY

  Listen, I’m in school, so I am a freaking expert on boredom, and this was at least an 8 on the scale. It was not a 9, because different kids and free pastries, but it was not a 7 because this chick was talking about crap I couldn’t care less about. I could be asleep, and instead I was in this weird windowless place that smelled like a locker room and my hands were sticky. I was DYING to pull out my phone—several other kids were on theirs—but Mom would not go for that. She’ll slap the phone right out of my hand if she catches me on it when someone else is talking. Mom had given me origami to do, thank god. I was going to fold a pistol and shoot myself.

  I was hoping this trip would make me excited about going to college, but so far, bubkes. I wanted that November feeling, you know, when you suddenly remember the holidays are coming and your tummy gets all excited and it’s like being seven again. Sienna and Ruby already know what schools they want to go to, what they want to study, what the entrance requirements are and how they’re getting them. I don’t even know what I want for lunch.

  I wonder if putting a little heart above the i in my name would be cute or not. Maybe a star. Or maybe a dagger dripping blood because, honestly, kill me now. How much longer could this possibly go on?

  The girl was still smiling, but then she said we need to put the chairs in a circle and go around and introduce ourselves. This was slightly less boring but infinitely more stressful. Fan. Tastic.

  JESSICA

  We moved our chairs into a circle. It was like an HR training on sexism in the workplace. I bet Cassidy has a communications degree.

  “Alright then,” said Cassidy, standing in the middle and turning to make sure her smile spackled us all evenly. “Let’s go around the circle, and you guys can tell me who you are and one interesting fact about yourselves.” She pointed at a random parent, across the circle from me. He was one of only two men in the group, and the better looking. He had sleepy green eyes, which was either sexy or indicative of sleepiness. Not that I was judging by appearances. The man frowned at her.

  “Uh,” he said, “what sort of fact?”

  Cassidy made a charming shrugging gesture and said, “Whatever you think is interesting.”

  “What if there’s nothing interesting?” The parent was clearly perplexed. He was wearing jeans and a hoodie, which is what I wished I were wearing. I was wearing the approved Mom uniform: nice slacks, a vaguely ethnic blouse, and a coordinating cardigan with at least 20 percent cashmere. I had the regulation small earrings, a wrist full of bangles, and a mildly interesting necklace in case someone needed a conversational gambit.

  Cassidy was firm. “There must be. Or you can tell me where you went to college, if that’s easier.”

  The parent made a face but nodded. “Uh, my name is Chris Berman, and this is my son, Will. I didn’t go to college, so that was an unlucky backup choice for me.”

  Another pause, this time more awkward. His son sighed.

  “My name is Will, and I would be the first in my family to go to college, so that will have to be my interesting fact.” He was also wearing jeans and a hoodie, but his were cooler than his dad’s. His eyes were less sleepy than his dad’s, sharper. I felt Emily shift next to me, but when I looked over, she was just folding paper.

  “That is interesting,” said Cassidy overenthusiastically. “How exciting.”

  “I’m not there yet,” said Will calmly. “Don’t jinx me.”

  Cassidy laughed uncertainly and moved on. I could feel Emily looking at the boy, who was definitely her type, not that I would ever dare mention that to her. He was the kind of boy who looks like he prefers indie music to sports. She loves a tortured poet, my daughter, bless her inexperienced little heart.

  Then it was my turn. I blanked for a moment and then pulled something at random from my dusty brain.

  “Hi, my name is Jessica Burnstein, I went to Columbia, which is the last stop on this trip, I think. My interesting fact is that I nearly qualified for the Olympics in 1996. The Atlanta Games.”

  “Ooh,” said Cassidy. “The one with the bomb! Which event?”

  “Archery,” I said, suddenly wondering if this had been a wise admission. I was sharing a non-fact, a thing that hadn’t actually happened. I might as well have said I nearly got nominated for best original screenplay, but, you know, didn’t (in that case it would have been because I’d never written a screenplay in my life). There were murmurings around the room as everyone made those noises you make when you’re mildly impressed but have no idea what to do with the information you’ve been given. Sort of like a herd of wildebeests muttering about Tupperware. Embarrassed, I quickly added, “But I didn’t make the team at the last minute, so, you know.”

  “Well, never mind,” said Cassidy very sympathetically, which made me want to clarify I was totally over it, it hadn’t blighted my life, it’s not like I sat in the dark at night clutching a scotch in one hand and a quiver of arrows in the other, brooding. But it was too late, and now they all thought I was a brokenhearted Katniss Everdeen. I gazed at my lap and hoped Emily would come up with something distracting.

  EMILY

  Mom had just told everyone she failed to go to the Olympics, which wasn’t weird at all, and then it was my turn. I had literally nothing to say, so I went with that.

  “Uh, I’m Emily. I can’t think of anything interesting . . .”

  “I can think of something for you,” said Alice, who was sitting a few people down. She smiled her snakiest smile. “She won the good penmanship award at school, three years in a row.” She looked at the really hot boy, the one whose dad didn’t go to college. “She has excellent fine motor skills.” It’s amazing how insulting that can sound.

  “Uh . . . neat,” he said, and I heard a hint of mockery in his voice. Please let it be for Alice.

  I died. No, literally, my brain shut down and my body started degrading at the cellular level. Why was Alice exposing me in front of these strangers? What the hell did I do to her? And how did she know about the stupid penmanship thing? That happened before she was even at the school, which meant someone told her, which meant she was talking about me behind my back, which of course she was, but it still sucked. I looked at Cassidy, the girl running the thing, praying she would move on.

  “Oh, you two know each other from school, of course! How lovely.” She smiled patronizingly at me and said, “Penmanship is such a lost art.” As this is because the need to write by hand is becoming obsolete, I had no response, and thankfully she moved on. Mom leaned over and squeezed my hand.

  “I love your handwriting,” she whispered, because occasionally she’s extra like that. I squeezed back but didn’t hold on very long. Sometimes she has so much faith in me it freaks me out. Unconditional love is cool and everything, but not when you suspect you’re unworthy of it.

 
After pretending to be invisible for a few agonizing minutes, I risked a look across the circle, and the hot boy was totally looking at me. He smiled and raised his hand in his lap to make a peace sign. Maybe I didn’t have to shoot myself after all.

  JESSICA

  It’s amazing how much I can hate a child. Alice purposely embarrassed Emily, and I would happily reach along the row of chairs and punch her in the throat. If Em came home from school and told me that story, I would have told her to shrug and rise above it, but it’s very hard to rise above an intense desire to protect your cub in the moment. I wouldn’t actually do anything, of course, because that would make Emily go ballistic and also possibly die of mortification, but if I get a chance to trip that little bitch later, I’m simply saying I might.

  Oh good, Cassidy’s reached Dani and Alice. Let’s hope they make fools of themselves.

  I’m a bad person.

  Daniella shook back her hair. She’s the same age as me, maybe even a couple of years older, but she’s much better preserved and professionally tended. She is the wife of a studio magnate, after all.

  “My name is Dani. I didn’t go to college, either, because I was working as a model in Europe, so we have that in common!” She was looking at Will’s dad, whose face suggested he thought that would pretty much be it as far as shared experience went, but Dani didn’t seem to notice. She laughed and added, “Maybe I should go now. Alice and I could be roomies!”

  Yes, I thought, Alice is going to totally embrace that idea.

  Alice ignored her mother completely, showing more restraint than I would have given her credit for, and said, “My name is Alice, and an interesting fact about me is that I hold a patent.”