by Abbi Waxman
Emily blushed slightly. “I’m not sure, maybe engineering?”
“Oh,” said Chris brightly. “You like building things?”
Emily said, “Well . . .”
I jumped in, again unable to help myself. “She always did, you should have seen the Lego cities she built. She likes fixing things, she was the classic take-it-apart-to-see-how-it-works kind of kid. Engineering would suit her down to the ground.” I suddenly realized I’d interrupted Emily, and turned apologetically. “Not that you need to decide right now, of course.” Emily was still smiling, but her eyes warned me that I’d come dangerously close to embarrassing her. I subsided.
Chris looked at his son. “Will was like that, too, but now he wants to study computer science.”
Will grinned at Emily. “I hear the internet is going to catch on.”
“You think?” She smiled back.
Suddenly Chris said, “You know what, you two should move to another table, otherwise it’s going to get overcrowded once the food arrives.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” I said, “and then we can show each other pictures of you two when you were small, which would be painfully embarrassing for you if you had to sit through it.”
“Definitely not into that,” said Will, looking at Emily. “I had a haircut in fourth grade that would be social suicide if anyone saw it.”
Emily nodded. “I dressed like Dora the Explorer for three months straight in second grade, and she has pictures.”
Will grinned. “They don’t realize the power they have.”
“Yes, we do,” said his dad. “Go sit somewhere else so us adults can actually have a conversation.”
EMILY
Well, that wasn’t awkward at all.
First my mom dragged me into this stupid café, although I was a bit hungry, and then Hot Boy and his dad showed up. And now I was sitting with him all alone and I had zero to talk about. What if he heard what Alice was saying about him? What if he asked me about it and I had to stab myself with a fork in order to cause a diversion?
The waitress showed up with my donut.
“You changed tables,” she said accusingly.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
“Will you be wanting a separate check?”
Oh, great, more awkward. “Yeah,” said Will calmly, “we’ll take separate checks, and can I get a coffee please?”
The waitress eyed him dubiously, but he smiled at her and she softened. He has a freaking dimple on one side of his face that I could honestly use for storage. It is so cute I can’t even.
The donut was huge, so I cut it into pieces, nudging the plate towards Will. He took a piece and said, “Do you really want to study engineering?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I chewed a segment of donut and swallowed. “You know, there’s a reason why donuts are usually fried and heavily sugared. My eyes were so happy to see a donut, but my mouth is now sorely disappointed.”
Will grinned at me—score—and nodded over to where our parents were sitting. “That’s funny,” he said. I turned and saw that they, too, had cut their donut into pieces and were sharing it. “I guess you and your mom are pretty alike.”
I shook my head. “Not really. Maybe we both have small appetites.”
“Or maybe you’re both nice and like to share?”
“Maybe. She’s nicer than I am.”
“Probably. Moms usually are, right?”
I made a face. “Do you read the news? Watch movies? Moms can be evil incarnate.”
Will laughed. “You have sugar on the side of your mouth.”
I licked it, but he smiled and said, “The other side,” so I licked that, too, and he nodded. “You got it.” He handed me a napkin. “My mom left when I was little, so I guess I should have a lower opinion of mothers, but I don’t. My dad’s fine, but he works all the time, so he can be pretty cranky. He also has this weird obsession with chores. What about yours?”
“Same.”
“Chores?”
“Not so much chores, but same working. She’s a lawyer and she works all the time. We have dinner together maybe twice a week.”
“And your dad?”
“I don’t know him very well. They weren’t even together when she found out she was pregnant. He lives in London now, he sends me Paddington Bear stuff every so often.” I smiled. “I think he thinks I’m still ten, but it’s reasonable seeing as he hasn’t actually seen me in years.” I looked at him. “Are you an only child?”
“No, there are four of us, but my older sister left home already.” He said it casually. “My grandma lives with us, so she’s watching my brothers while we’re here. My dad’s spending half his time on the phone, yelling at employees.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a contractor.” He took another bite of donut. “What about you? Why are you on the tour if you don’t want to go to college?”
“What makes you think I don’t want to go to college?”
He waited. “Am I wrong?”
“Everyone goes to college.”
“Not everyone.”
“Well, everyone I know does.”
“And you have to do the same as everyone else?”
I shook my head and didn’t say anything. I suddenly can’t decide if I like this boy or not. He’s cute, but he asks a lot of questions I don’t have answers to. I looked over at my mom, but for once she wasn’t watching me like a hawk. I dug a dollar out of my pocket and started folding it into a butterfly for the waitress.
“That’s cool,” Will said. “Where did you learn that?”
“My grandma taught me. She taught herself origami after she quit smoking to give her something to do with her hands.”
“My dad used to smoke. He quit, too.”
“Does he do origami?”
“No, he cracks his knuckles.”
We both shuddered. I finished the butterfly and spread out its wings, balancing it on a sugar packet.
“Wait,” said Will. He took the sugar packet, tore the corner, tipped out a little sugar, and replaced the butterfly so it appeared to be eating the sugar.
“Funny,” I said.
“Amazing what a little scenery will do, am I right?”
He smiled at me and I felt a bit like a butterfly myself, not to be all gushy about it.
JESSICA
It turned out Chris and I got along very well, which was a pleasant surprise. In general he was a pleasant surprise, because it also turned out he was the most no-bullshit person I had met in a while.
“You’re much nicer than I thought you would be,” he said, for example.
I laughed. “Uh . . . thanks?”
Chris chewed a piece of donut and nodded. “You look like one of the moms at school, friendly but judgy at the same time. Do you know?”
I wasn’t sure I did know but nodded. “I look judgy? That’s not good.” I wanted another donut. Why am I always so hungry? I looked around for the waitress.
He shrugged. “Judgy’s too strong a word. I take it back.”
I asked, “Are the moms at your school not nice?”
“Oh, no, they’re nice. But for some reason the fact that I’m a contractor and not, you know, a fancy doctor or lawyer messes with them. They assume we don’t have money, and although they’re all good liberals and want to treat all people with equal dignity, they also don’t want to be insensitive and invite Will to play polo and discover he doesn’t have his own pony, you know?”
I laughed. “It sounds to me like you’re the one doing the judging. How many families in Los Angeles play polo?”
He grinned. “You’re right, I’m being unfair. A little bit. But, here’s a good example of what I mean: Back in ninth grade, when we started there, one of the moms in Will’s class offered me a
bag of hand-me-down clothes, right?”
“Sure, that’s not unusual at all. I have a friend whose daughter is two years older than Emily and she passes stuff down all the time. The kid has excellent taste. Em loves it.”
“Yeah, but this kid was no bigger or older than Will, these were extra clothes they didn’t need. And when I said no thanks, which I did because he has plenty of clothes, she looked embarrassed and I realized she thought I was being proud and that she might have offended me.” He caught the waitress’s eye and signaled for another coffee and two more donuts. I could definitely like this guy.
I shrugged. “So? Did you clear it up?”
Chris stared at the table. “No, actually. I guess word got around that the guy with the dusty boots is sensitive, so nobody ever offered me anything again.” He made a face. “Will isn’t bothered by any of this, none of the kids seem to give a crap about parents anyway. I ask Will what his friends’ parents do and he looks at me like I’m nuts. Why would they talk about old people, when they have themselves to talk about?”
I grinned at him. “This is why children are our future.”
He grinned back. “We should teach them well and let them lead the way?”
“Yeah, if we don’t mind following someone who’s looking at their phone all the time. Was Will always into computers?” I asked.
“Yeah, if by computers you mean video games and Minecraft,” Chris replied. “It’s not like he’s been building microprocessors in the garage, he likes computers the way other kids like sports.” He sighed. “I think he wants to do computer science because it’s a good career, not because he’s deeply passionate about the future of programming.”
“And you didn’t go to college?”
“No, I was sick of school. I wanted to get on with my life, you know?”
The coffee and donuts arrived, and I took a bite while I thought back to that time.
I said, “I never considered not going, it was what everyone did. My sister was already at school, it seemed like fun.”
Chris looked at me. “And was it?”
“Sure. I made good friends, we’re seeing a few of them on this trip.” I shrugged. “And I had archery, which I was really into. It was fun. I hope Emily has as much fun as I did . . . They take things so seriously these days. And the debt is nuts.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, I never had any debt. I worked in my family business for a few years, then started my own.”
“As a contractor?”
“Yeah. My parents focused on houses, I do larger buildings and stores, but it’s the same work.” He shrugged. “I like it. It pays well, and because my mother-in-law helps with the kids, I can afford better schools. I couldn’t do it without her.” He laughed. “And compared to all those fancy doctors and lawyers, I think I have less stress. What do you do?”
I said seriously, “I’m a fancy, overstressed lawyer.”
Chris made a face. “Whoops.”
I laughed. “It’s fine, I love it. I started out wanting to defend the defenseless, right, like you do when you’re twenty, but then I got pregnant with Emily and had to switch to plan B, which was go into corporate law and make a load of money so I could afford to be a single parent.” I noticed Chris hadn’t asked me about Emily’s dad, unlike everyone else. “Work kind of expanded to fill all my available time, though, so I’m not sure I’m doing all that well on the parenting front.”
I looked over at the kids. They were laughing at something on Emily’s phone and seemed fine. I turned back to find Chris looking at me.
“I’m sure you’re a good mom,” he said. “We all worry.”
I shrugged. “I’m lucky, I have a great nanny who takes amazing care of Emily while I’m stuck at work, but now I worry that I missed all of it.”
“Well, I have a mother-in-law and feel the same way.”
I hesitated, because I wanted to ask where his wife was, but it’s a minefield. He took pity on me.
“My wife left us when the kids were younger. She’d been leaving slowly for a couple of years and her mom had been there a lot, so I’m not entirely sure the kids were as traumatized by it as I was. Her mom took it worst.” He paused and looked over at Will. “He’s always had his head on straight, but my older daughter is a disaster already and she’s only twenty.” Another bite of donut, another sip of coffee. “But I guess like mother like daughter.”
I ignored his comment about his wife because, you know, hos before bros, and said, “Emily’s a pretty good kid, probably because of the nanny.”
“What’s her name?”
“The nanny? Anna.”
“Well, Anna might take care of the day-to-day but you still laid the groundwork, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. And Emily’s not super challenging, she does her work, she goes out with her friends, she comes home when she says she will.” I smiled wryly. “Or she’s got a really good cover and she’s actually running a drug-smuggling ring.”
Chris said, “You never want to give up on a kid. But my daughter’s making it hard not to, and it puts more pressure on the others, too.” He looked at Will again. “He seems fine, but I thought she was, too. Right up until she wasn’t.”
7
JESSICA
Emily and I decided to go to the optional Ford’s Theatre tour, which turned out to be the least disappointing tourist experience either of us ever had. If you haven’t gone, you definitely should. The guide was amazing, the story—bearing in mind we all know how it ends—was tense and dramatic, and the gift shop was outstanding. I love a good museum gift shop; it makes it possible to both spend money and feel erudite. Sure, some people would argue that museums are for education and inspiration, not the purchasing of assassination-themed merchandise. But they would be wrong.
* * *
• • •
Back at the hotel, Emily threw herself down on the bed and sighed. She’d bought a T-shirt that read “That is SO four score and seven years ago,” and we’d had fun together, without even a hint of teenage angst or perimenopausal agita. But now I felt the air change a little and got ready to be patient.
She pulled her backpack over and got out a little model kit my dad had sent her. These were little sheets of metal with shapes punched into them, for making buildings, cars, bugs, all kinds of things. I’ve got about three dozen of them scattered around the house, and let me tell you, stepping on a three-inch model of the Brandenburg Gate at 2:00 a.m. in bare feet is no joke. Thank god it wasn’t the Chrysler Building, or I’d still be limping.
Then, without looking up, Emily said, “I like the city a lot, but neither of those colleges really appealed to me. Not that I could even get into them.”
I walked across the room and turned on the bedside light, getting a short static shock. Why does that happen so much? I shook my hand and waited a moment before saying, “Well, honey, I’m sure you’ll get in somewhere, and you can’t have a career these days without a college degree.”
“Not necessarily.” She’d dug out the little pliers she carries everywhere and was working on the model.
“Well, yes. All I want is for you to keep your options open.”
Emily was silent. We’d had this conversation a dozen times lately. As usual, I could feel Emily wanting to say something, but not. I glanced at my watch. Was there time for a quick power nap before dinner? I realized Emily was looking at me from under her lashes.
“What is it?” I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Nothing,” said Emily. “I’m getting kind of burned-out at school. I’m not really the academic type.” She was focusing on her pliers again, having drawn me back in.
“I know,” I said, trying to be supportive. “You’ve always been more hands on, you like to do things.” I gestured at the model, but she didn’t see me.
Emily suddenly frowned at me. “You know, i
t’s really annoying when you tell me what I’m like. I know who I am, I don’t need you to narrate my internal experience.”
I took a breath. Then: “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you’ve always liked building things, exploring outside, that kind of thing.”
“I know, Mother, I was there, remember? I’m actually living my life, I don’t need an explanatory voice-over to understand it.”
Another breath. She’s not being a problem, she’s having a problem, I reminded myself. “Are you hungry, honey?”
Emily sat up. “No! I’m not hungry, Mom, sometimes I can get irritated on my own, without low blood sugar, lack of sleep, or too much screen time. Sometimes there isn’t a reason, alright? I understand what I’m feeling, no explanation needed. I can manage myself, I don’t need handling like a four-year-old.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that this was clearly untrue, based on current evidence. I decided strategic retreat was probably called for, so I got up to take a shower.
“Where are you going?” asked Emily.
“Uh, to take a shower?”
“You’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you. I wanted to take a shower and you didn’t want me to ‘handle you,’ so I thought it was alright if I left the room.”
Emily glared at me. “You’re being sarcastic.”
I felt a familiar wave of exhausted sadness wash over me. It’s so hard to know which Emily is going to show up for any given conversation. She’s capable of so much happiness and calm, and then in an instant she gets enraged by anything and everything I say. Conversations would veer off the rails like cartoon chase sequences, regardless of how slowly I took the curves. However, Emily is right about one thing. I do tend to look for explanations that feel more comfortable than the obvious one: My kid is an asshole.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Emily had her hands over her face as she lay on the bed. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked, and I’ll admit it, I rolled my eyes. It’s not that I don’t have enormous sympathy for the hormonal and emotional roller coaster that is sixteen; it’s that the whiplash is killing me. I went over and sat next to Emily on the bed again.
