I Was Told It Would Get Easier

by Abbi Waxman

  15

  EMILY

  After lunch it was back on the bus. Swarthmore was pretty, but I probably shouldn’t pick a college based on looks; it would confirm my mom’s worst suspicions about the Instagram generation. Right now I can’t imagine wanting to spend another minute in a classroom, given the choice. When I graduate high school I will have been in school for thirteen solid years, not even counting preschool. I’d get a shorter sentence for armed robbery.

  The admissions lady was nice, though, and she was wearing, like, platform saddle shoes with bright green laces. I was obsessed.

  JESSICA

  Emily seemed very interested during the Swarthmore admissions talk and told me she thought it was a really pretty campus. I’d wandered onto Columbia’s campus and felt immediately at home. Was it too much to hope Emily would have a similar experience somewhere?

  It was a bit rushed at Swarthmore, unfortunately, and then we piled into the E3 bus to head to New Jersey. I guess they wanted to try to miss the traffic, but that was a pretty epic fail and we spent three hours on the bus instead of the hour or so the itinerary said. Not that it mattered.

  Emily sat next to me on the bus, although I’d noticed she and Will had had their heads together all through lunch. I decided to try to sidle up to the topic.

  “So, you and Will seem to be getting on. Is he nice?” Not a subtle sidle, to be fair, but it worked.

  “Sure,” Emily said. “He’s very nice. He knows a lot about art and history.”

  “Really? Then why isn’t he studying that at college, rather than computers?”

  She shrugged. “No clue. Ask him.”

  “No, you can ask him.”

  She frowned at me. “You know, it’s weird what you think I talk about with my friends. We never ask each other what our parents do for work, although you always ask me. We don’t talk about college, either, unless we’re forced to, like by Cassidy at breakfast. We talk about ourselves, about what we like, movies, books, the usual conversational stuff. It’s not a constant interview, which is what seems to happen when two adults get together. What do you do for a living? Where did you go to school? What does your wife do?” She looked out the window. “You guys are weird, you don’t know how to communicate, you’re too busy stratifying.”

  I looked at her. “Nice word.”

  “Thanks,” she said, not turning around. “I learned it from Casper.”

  “Who’s Casper?”

  “Geology Boy.” She frowned at me. “We had breakfast with him yesterday, remember?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry.”

  She turned back again. “See? You don’t even know their names.”

  I fought back gently. “It’s not like they’ve been coming up to me all the time, introducing themselves and curiously asking me my opinion and thoughts on everything.”

  “Alice talks to you.”

  I shook my head. “No, Alice hasn’t actually spoken to me directly. She doesn’t like me, because she can tell I don’t like her.” I lowered my voice, suddenly worried Dani could hear me. She was at least eight rows ahead, but the last thing I wanted was for her to know the truth. Truth is a deadly foe when you’re trying to get along with hundreds of other parents for a dozen years.

  Emily’s mouth twitched. “How can she tell that?”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Because she possesses the native cunning and sense of self-preservation all mammals do. She can smell my disapproval.”

  “Like a horse?”

  “I think that’s fear. I don’t think horses care if you approve of them or not.”

  “Why don’t you like her?”

  I made a face. “Because she’s not a nice person, she’s mean to you, she’s a narcissist and a power-mad queen bee.” I paused. “Apart from that I’m sure she has many sterling qualities.”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, there you go.” I watched the Pennsylvania countryside sliding by. We passed a classic red barn, a man walking a cow back into it on a rope, presumably leading his best farming life. He was unaware of our passing, and for all I knew he was filled with concern about his own kid’s entrance into college, but it seemed more likely he was thinking about his cow. Not getting her into college but getting her into the barn. Often when I’m driving around, I look at other people and wonder about their lives, about how we all go about our day with our minds swirling with hopes and plans for disaster, unaware of everyone else’s concerns. It made me feel better, knowing I was one of many, because most of the time I feel very much on my own.

  I’d made that choice, of course. When I’d found out I was pregnant, which was a surprise, I’d immediately known I wanted to keep the child. The guy in question was not a candidate for marriage, and although we’d been dating for a few months, it was simply a mildly pleasant liaison. We liked the same movies, enjoyed chatting about inconsequential things, amused each other in bed, but . . . nothing beyond that. He wasn’t quite as smart as me, I wasn’t quite as good looking as him, and neither of us had a desperate urge to couple up at all costs.

  When I told him the news, he was completely on board with my keeping the baby as long as I didn’t expect him to do anything about it. He didn’t want kids, didn’t want to share custody, didn’t want to babysit, didn’t want any of it. That was fine with me. I was nearly twenty-nine, didn’t see any opportunity for marriage in my future but had always wanted to have kids—or kid, at least—and didn’t want to wait any longer. I hadn’t been tapping my foot, impatient to get pregnant, but once it happened I felt completely confident I could handle the baby.

  And I was mostly right, because although babies are a lot harder than they look on TV, they are still only babies. I gazed lovingly at my daughter’s jawline, so much firmer than it had been at six months, but still adorable. She turned, caught me looking, and raised a single eyebrow before rolling her eyes. It’s just as well parents get a decade of cute and cuddly children before they turn into teenagers, otherwise humans would have died out long ago.

  Then we hit traffic, and Emily got hungry, and the packet of gum I had in my bag was apparently the wrong kind of gum, and suddenly I wished I were anywhere but on this bus. I’d even have traded places with the cow on a rope.

  EMILY

  You’d think the tour people would provide a snack; it’s kind of bullshit. My mom usually has nuts or something, but she had nothing but crappy gum. I knew I was hungry and it was making me bitchy, but knowing it is useless. My mom telling me I have low blood sugar doesn’t raise my blood sugar, and if she told me one more time to chew some gum, I was going to get off the bus, possibly without even asking the driver to slow down. I gazed out the window: Maybe one of those four thousand cars standing between me and food had a sandwich in it.

  Honestly, Mom drives me up the wall sometimes. If I complain I’m hungry, she points out other kids are starving, as if the fact that they’re hungrier than me means I’m not hungry at all. That’s not how it works! If she came in and told me to clean my room, and instead I told her about hundreds of other rooms that were far messier than mine, I can assure you she wouldn’t say, Wow, you’re right, I should be grateful for what I have.

  Then Will appeared, smiled at me, said hello to my mom, and asked me if I’d like to share a Twix. We’re getting married next week.

  JESSICA

  Oh my god, The Boy showed up and offered my furious daughter some chocolate. There goes her virginity.

  Then she and Will went off to sit with the other kids, and I leaned my head gratefully against the window and tried to work out what I’m feeling. I’ve gotten used to describing my state as “tired” and letting it go at that, but lately I’ve noticed other adjectives have been pushing forward. Sad. Frustrated. Confused.

  Dani suddenly plopped into the seat next to me. “Can I join you?”

  Seeing as she was already sitting, I didn
’t think I could say no, but at least I could rely on her dominating whatever conversation she had in mind. The worried Dani of breakfast seemed to be gone; this was the usual Dani, casually expensive clothes, layered necklaces, contoured bone structure. That Dani.

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask . . . do you have a plan for college?”

  I frowned. “How do you mean? Do you mean like a savings plan? Like a 529?”

  Dani flicked a glance over her shoulder and lowered her voice further. “No, I meant an actual plan of attack. For getting in where you want. You know the school always plays it straight, but there are ways to make it easier.”

  “Make what easier?” I was clearly missing something.

  She looked at me with raised eyebrows, clearly resetting her assessment of my intelligence. “Getting into college, Jessica. It’s not an even playing field, you know that.”

  “I guess. I haven’t thought about it that much.” This was a lie, of course, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing how freaked out I was.

  “Liar,” she said, which was irritating. “Well, I have a friend who can be very helpful.”

  “Like a college adviser person?”

  She nodded. “Yes. He can make calls, pull strings, that kind of thing.”

  I wondered why she was telling me. “Emily doesn’t even know where she wants to go to college.” And, I thought to myself, I don’t think you like me any more than I like you. Or was she so starved for friends that one bonding conversation over breakfast was enough to bring me into her secret inner circle? I was definitely overthinking this, as usual.

  Dani snorted. “None of them know anything, they’re idiots. Alice is going to USC, we’ve already laid a lot of groundwork, but it wasn’t like we gave her much choice.”

  I was surprised. “Alice strikes me as the kind of kid who doesn’t like to be told what to do.”

  Dani shook her head. “She doesn’t like it, but in this case our interests aligned. Lots of influencers go to USC, apparently.” She smiled at me. “But anyway, if you need help, let me know. I’d be happy to introduce you to my friend. He knows everybody. There are back doors everywhere, and all you need is the right key.”

  “Are you talking about cheating?”

  She looked horrified and amused at the same time. “Jessica, wash out your mouth. Of course not!” She lowered her voice again. “I’m talking about taking advantage of the existing holes in the system. It’s not illegal to know people, right?”

  I shook my head.

  “And some kids need more help than others.” She suddenly sucked in her breath. “Oh my god, I completely forgot, did you hear about what happened at school?”

  “No.” I remembered those emails from the head of eleventh grade and felt mildly guilty.

  “They suspended several juniors for cheating. Or rather, planning to cheat. On their APs.”

  “Really? Is that even possible?”

  She laughed. “Of course, anything’s possible. Not sure what their plan was, exactly, but their parents weren’t involved, so I doubt it was that good.” She looked at me. “How are Emily’s grades?”

  I frowned at her. “Emily’s grades are fine, she’ll be able to get into college.”

  “A good college?”

  Man, she was pushy. “Well, probably not an Ivy, but a good school.”

  She shrugged. “Well, things have changed since your time. My husband’s personal assistant has a degree from Yale, and she’s fetching coffee for a living. He told me over a third of their interns this year are Ivy League graduates, and one of them has a master’s in chemical engineering.”

  I frowned at her. “And now she’s an intern at a movie studio?”

  Dani got to her feet. “I guess chemical engineering wasn’t as glamorous as she thought it would be.” She stepped into the aisle of the bus and looked down at me. “So nice to talk, Jessica.”

  I smiled and lied. “Yes, lovely.”

  “Let me know if you want to meet my friend.” She paused. “I think you’re so brave, letting the future take care of itself.” She smiled at me. “I think it’s my job to take care of my daughter.”

  I said nothing, letting that piece of bullshit settle in my heart and watching her sway to the front of the bus. I guess she forgot she showed me her soft insides that morning. Then I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window, suddenly exhausted.

  * * *

  • • •

  We finally arrived in Princeton, and Cassidy apologized for the traffic and told us we had fifteen minutes to change for dinner if we wanted to.

  “Are jeans okay?” asked Chris.

  Cassidy nodded her head. “Of course, it’s a math-themed restaurant. I simply thought some of you might need to freshen up after the journey.”

  “I brought a special T-shirt,” I heard Geology Boy say to Emily. “With three thousand digits of pi on it.”

  “Awesome,” replied my daughter, with apparent sincerity. “I wish I’d thought of that.”

  “Oh,” said the boy, “I have one with Einstein, Alan Turing, Ada Lovelace, and Grace Hopper crossing Abbey Road, you know, like on the Beatles album cover. You can borrow it, if you like.”

  There was a pause, and then Will, who was standing next to her, said, “Wait, can I borrow it? It’ll be too big for her, but I could totally rock it.”

  The boy—his name is Casper, I remembered, brain like a steel trap—looked thrilled to share with Will, who was definitely cooler than he was, in the way teenagers view these things. But Emily frowned up at Will and shook her head.

  “No, he offered it to me first.”

  Casper got excited. “It’s okay, I have another one, too. I have one with a really nice unit circle on it, you can borrow that, if you like.”

  Emily asked, “What’s a unit circle?”

  And, I kid you not, Casper appeared surprised she didn’t know and said, “It’s the circle of radius one centered at the origin in the Cartesian coordinate system in the euclidean plane.” (In the interest of honesty, I had to go look it up on Wikipedia to make sure I got it right.)

  Emily said, “I thought you said you brought a special shirt, like, a single shirt. Are all your shirts math related? I thought you liked geology?”

  Casper looked confused. “Yeah, I have those, too.” He unbuttoned his flannel shirt to reveal a T-shirt that read “Geologists know their schist.”

  At that point I turned and went into the hotel. Emily could handle this one on her own.

  I checked in and went to the room and then called my sister. She’d texted me earlier that she had news, and I wanted to hear both it and her voice. Our outsides might be very different, but our insides are as thick as thieves.

  Lizzy sounded happy to hear my voice. “How’s it going? Is Emily being nice?”

  “Well, she’s ignoring me.”

  “Sort of the same thing.”

  “Is it?” I stretched my neck and wondered if it was too late for a cup of coffee. Probably; the last thing I need is another night lying in bed rehearsing conversations I’ll never actually have. “We saw Dad last night. You’ll be impressed to hear I didn’t argue with him about anything.”

  She laughed. “Was he weakened by illness? How was the old fart?”

  I grinned. “Fine. The same. Did you realize Mom missed her career? I had no idea.”

  “I wouldn’t say she missed it. Who said that? Dad?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She didn’t miss advertising. She joked about wanting to be a plumber, remember? It wasn’t a thing women did, back then, not that they do it much now. She loved fixing things, she loved doing it herself. She missed her workshop in the country, she talked about it a lot when she was sick.”

  This was a thing between us, a thing w
e didn’t talk about because there was nothing to say. When Mom was dying, my sister went back to DC to take care of her. I came as often as I could, but Lizzy stayed. My dad was working, and someone needed to be with Mom. They’d discontinued treatment, and Mom was on a lot of pain medication, and the two of them sat together in the dining room that had become a hospital room, and talked. At the time I’d had a kid in school and was working seventy hours a week; I couldn’t have been there. But I regretted it more and more. Regret is one of those emotions that outpunches reality: Even if you 100 percent could not have done things differently, it still pops up and takes a jab.

  “She always did love fixing a toilet,” I said, smiling. Then I changed the subject because this one hurt. “How was your day?” I imagined my sister sitting at her kitchen table, piles of homework being held down by one of her family’s two elderly, constantly sleeping cats. She had long, dark hair, and sometimes when she was working it would drape across a sleeping cat and you couldn’t tell where it ended and the cat began. I’d asked her once if she dyed her hair to match the cat, and she’d simply said she would no more dye her hair than she would dye the cat, and laughed at what a daft question it had been. Lizzy isn’t like me; she doesn’t care about getting older.

  “It was okay. Teddy has strep, Paul had a callback, the other two did nothing shocking or remarkable, so, you know, a win.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “Changed all the bedsheets.”

  “You know how to party.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “What’s the callback?”

  “Ad for beer.”

  “National?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  Emily walked in and threw her bag on the floor. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Aunt Lizzy. Do you want to talk to her?”

  Emily sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the TV remote. “No, say hi and tell her I love her.”