by Abbi Waxman
“You’re the worst mother in the world.”
“You’ve ruined my life.”
“I’m never going to forgive you.”
“I hate you.”
I took another big sip. “And my favorite, I didn’t ask to be born. Thrown in the face of parents since the dawn of time, and still number one around the globe.”
Chris took the vape pen from Dani and inhaled deeply. “They’re so fucking immature.” He exhaled. “Mind you, we’re no better. I say the same shit back to them my mother said to me: You treat this place like a hotel.”
“Would it kill you to say thank you?”
“Are you going out dressed like that?”
“In my day, music had a melody.”
“You shouldn’t care what other people think about you.”
“You’re an ungrateful bitch with pores the size of Poughkeepsie.”
There was a pause as we both turned to Dani, who took another deep drag and exhaled.
“Only me then?” She shrugged. “Oh well.”
EMILY
Mom came back in while I was falling asleep, and we had the other conversation we have a lot.
She says: I’m sorry, sweetie, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.
I say: It’s okay.
She says: I get really frustrated.
I say: It’s okay.
She says: I worry about you, and I know I shouldn’t.
I say: It’s okay.
Then there is often a pause and she says: You’re still mad at me?
I say: No, it’s okay. It’s fine.
And at that point it goes one of two ways. Either she isn’t over it, in which case we fight again, or she is, in which case she’ll look at me for a long time, sigh, and go away.
That was how it went just now, and even though she can’t actually leave the room, we were lying in bed next to each other, totally alone.
Thursday
New Jersey
8:00 a.m.: Theme breakfast: Passions!
10:00 a.m.: Princeton University
Drive 2 hours and 30 minutes to Rhinebeck, New York, in the E3 College Coach! Packed lunch included!
2:00 p.m.: Check into hotel in Rhinebeck
2:30–6:30 p.m.: Free time!
7:00 p.m.: Dinner at the Beekman Arms—the oldest inn in the US! (three courses and two glasses of wine included)
Overnight in Rhinebeck
17
JESSICA
I woke up this morning determined to do better today. Whatever that might mean. Today would be a day of peace and Zen self-awareness. With hopefully some empty time to google Ostergren’s firm and think about his offer. I wasn’t interested in the job, but I was interested in the salary. College would be easier to afford, especially if Emily didn’t pick one of the many excellent Cal State colleges, as I repeatedly suggested.
I faced myself in the mirror and wondered why I don’t look more like my mother. She had been a beautiful woman, though smoking had ruined her complexion before it destroyed her lungs. Not beautiful in the haughty, supermodel way Dani Ackerman is, but in the soft, friendly-eyed, natural way Emily is. Both beautiful and appealing. The kind of face you want to come out of a coma and see . . . I shook my head and started washing my face. I was apparently still more than half-asleep, and I could hear Emily stomping around in the bedroom, getting dressed. She has my mother’s stubbornness, too, along with the long lashes that hid it. Everyone thought my dad was the big shiny guy, heading out the door each morning smelling of aftershave and polish, off to do battle with the government or for the government, whichever it was that day. And he was—he was awesome. But my mom was the one who kept it all going, calling out goodbye to him from where she sat in the kitchen, either smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper, or folding origami and reading the newspaper, depending on when this memory was happening. My dad had opinions, he had knowledge, he had experience in the world. But she had the real strength.
Emily banged on the door. “Hey, Mom, did you fall in?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I’m stuck in the toilet and you’re going to have to make it through the day without me.”
Then I pulled the door open.
“Disappointing,” said my daughter, passing me. “That picture would have gone viral in no time.”
* * *
• • •
This being a different hotel, the breakfast was in a different room. Windows, this time, which was an improvement, and a cooked breakfast, which wasn’t. I mean, you’d think it would be better, right? Eggs and all that jazz? But we were back in a big circle for some reason, and eating scrambled eggs on a plate on your lap is harder than it looks, and the need to coordinate hands and mouths while also talking and not making fools of ourselves was more than most of us could handle.
Cassidy was unbowed. “Sorry, we’re all together this morning, apparently there’s a conference of veterinarians monopolizing all the small tables in the hotel.” She hesitated. “To eat off, hopefully, rather than examine on.” She helped herself to fruit salad, speared each piece expertly in between questions, and generally appeared to be having the time of her life. I sincerely hope that isn’t the case, because she can’t be more than twenty-four, and life holds more joy than cut fruit in a roomful of customers.
“So, this morning we’re going to talk about passions. What motivates you all? What makes you excited to think about the future?” She looked at Casper and smiled. “Apart from geology.”
“I like math, too,” he volunteered. “And fractals.”
“I like sports,” said a large kid who’d never spoken before. I mean, he’d probably spoken before, but not to us. See, I’ve been awake less than an hour and I’m already struggling.
“Any particular sport?” asked Cassidy.
He nodded. “Yeah, football. And baseball, hockey, basketball. And soccer.”
“Wow,” said Cassidy encouragingly. “And those are all sports you hope to pursue in college?”
The kid was confused. “Well, yes, of course.”
“Are you hoping for a scholarship? Which sport is your strongest?” She tipped her head slightly. “You look like a football player to me.”
The kid frowned at her. “No, I don’t play any of them. I watch them. And, you know, fantasy league.”
“Oh.”
“So, yeah, I can definitely see myself continuing that in college.”
“Right, of course.”
The kid grinned, happy to have contributed to the conversation, totally unaware he’d confused our fearless leader. But Cassidy rallied. “Anyone else have a sport they love?”
One kid liked tennis and was hoping for a scholarship.
Another kid said he was thinking of putting rowing on his application because his college counselor said colleges love rowers.
“But do you actually row?” asked Cassidy.
“No, of course not. Where would I row? The LA River?” (Sidenote: The LA River is badly named. The only thing that reliably runs between its banks are homeless people evading the police.)
Cassidy frowned. “So how can you put it on your application?”
“I was going to put it under ‘Interests.’ I am interested in it.”
She gazed at him, opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again.
Emily put her hand up, which nearly made me spill my coffee.
“This is a dumb subject,” she said. “I have no idea what I’m passionate about. When I was eight I was into Pokémon and My Little Pony. I loved that stuff. I collected the toys, I had millions of cards, it was a whole thing. Now there’s nothing that really blows my mind, and my ideal day would be grown-ups not asking me questions about my future.” She shrugged. “Can you be passionate about not being passionate?”
“There’s nothing you
can see yourself doing in the future?” Cassidy had put on her serious, encouraging voice.
“Not in the way you all mean.” Emily was irritated, which didn’t bode well for the rest of my day. “Besides, I don’t see a lot of adults following their passion. Most of them work, sure, but they’re not super happy about it.” She turned to Casper’s mom. “Are you following your passion?”
Casper shook his head and spoke before his mom had a chance. “Bad choice, Em, she is literally living her dream life every day.”
His mom smiled. “I write code in my sleep then go to work and do it for real. Sorry.”
Emily turned to me. “You’re not happy at work. You’re not following a passion.”
I wondered if faking a stroke was an option, as there was nothing I wanted to do less than have this conversation again.
“I like my work,” I said. “I get to help people, it’s challenging.”
“But are you passionate?”
I shrugged. “I was passionate about things when I was your age, and working is easier when you love what you do, but even something you love contains hours and days of repetition and grind. It’s only on the internet that everything is easy.”
Emily looked at Cassidy. “See what I mean? Work is not life. Work is how you pay for food. You should ask us the kind of life we want to live instead.” She started counting on her fingers. “I want a job I can forget at the end of the day, where I don’t work weekends, where I make enough money to live on my own and have a garden. Wouldn’t it be better to start there? There must be hundreds of jobs like that. Work isn’t supposed to be your life . . . Your life is supposed to be your life.” She fell silent. Then she said, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m hungry.”
She got up and went to get breakfast. All the parents turned to me, and I shrugged. Teenagers, my shrug tried to say. What can you do? They’re vain and self-obsessed, but then they hit on the truth with a hammer so big all you can do is hope the reverberations don’t kill you.
EMILY
I made a total idiot of myself at breakfast. This trip was giving me a headache. I wished my mom and I were getting along better; I could have really used a hug.
Princeton is a dream, like something out of Harry Potter. There is no way I’m getting into Princeton, be real. I think a sadist put the tour itinerary together: It’s like pulling up to a homeless guy and handing him flyers for luxury open houses. Why not take us to colleges we might actually get into? I’ve never even seen inside a community college, which is much more my speed.
I was totally getting my period. I wanted to eat chocolate and roll myself in a blanket like a burrito.
Meanwhile, my mom was hanging out with her new best friend, Will’s dad, whose name I can’t remember, and it’s too awkward to ask Will now. They were sitting on a bench, not even pretending to listen to the tour guide, drinking Starbucks and laughing.
Will was being nice to me, though. We were half listening to the tour and half whispering about books we’ve liked.
One hundred and nineteen people liked my post about Princeton looking like Hogwarts.
JESSICA
Chris and I didn’t even attempt to follow the guide around Princeton. Honestly, they should have taken the one or two kids who might possibly attain Princeton, maybe the geology kid, maybe that one girl who literally hasn’t spoken all week so far but who always has her nose in a book, and let the rest of us sleep in.
And I was hiding from Emily, who was almost certainly getting her period. I wished we were getting along better; I could have definitely used a hug.
“Did you guys make up last night?” asked Chris. We had come to rest on a bench, sipping coffee and, you know, hanging out.
“Sort of,” I replied, “but she’s still pissy, as you saw at breakfast.”
He shrugged. “Will’s not talking at all, which works for me. Sometimes it’s easier to say nothing than to keep saying the wrong thing, which appears to be my special gift.”
“Mine, too,” I said. “I’m particularly good at knowing something is probably the wrong thing to say, biting my tongue for a while until the silence becomes really tense, then blurting it out anyway. The timing is like putting spin on a baseball, it adds an exciting layer of unpredictability.”
Chris laughed. It had been a long time since I’d made a man laugh, and I laughed, too, feeling like a regular human being for once, rather than simply my daughter’s antagonistic binary star.
He turned and looked at me. His eyes were dark green, and I suddenly realized I found him very attractive. He said, “I also like to ask questions that Will doesn’t want to answer, and offer advice he already knows. Do you do that?”
“Of course,” I replied, tipping up my Starbucks bag and hoping for crumbs. “I have this fantasy that one day Emily will come up to me and say, Hey, Mom, the other day I found myself in a situation I hadn’t anticipated, and the advice you gave me three years ago suddenly popped into my head. I was able to handle myself perfectly, and I wanted to say thanks. I always feel prepared, thanks to your thoughtful guidance.”
We both hooted with laughter. I glanced up and saw Emily and Will standing a hundred yards away, staring at us.
“Don’t look now,” I said, “but they’ve spotted us.”
Chris grinned and waved at his son. “Their expressions suggest concern.”
“Only that we might embarrass them.”
“We should at least try.”
“We should,” I said.
Chris pulled out his phone and opened his music app. “Are you ready?” he said, showing me his screen.
“Oh, for sure,” I said, getting to my feet.
EMILY
Oh my god, my mother has lost her mind.
She and Will’s dad suddenly stood up and started doing this weird dance; they put one arm out in front, then the other, then they put them on their shoulders, then . . . and this was when I started to feel a little light-headed . . . they put them on their hips and started wiggling their butts around.
“What the actual freak are they doing?” I turned to Will, who had his arms folded and his eyes narrowed.
“It’s called the Macarena,” he said. “My dad loves to embarrass me.”
“Is it a thing?”
“It used to be a thing, like, a hundred years ago.”
I could hear distant tinny music and realized they had a song playing on a phone. They were still dancing.
We both turned away and started walking.
“Did that just happen?” said Will. “Or did we drop acid at breakfast?”
“I had Cheerios.”
“Well, on behalf of my father, I apologize.”
“One, my mother was equally as bad, and secondly, no need,” I said. “Parents are weird AF.”
“They say and do whatever they want.”
“Totally selfish.”
“Narcissists.”
We walked for a bit. Then Will said, “Why didn’t we film? It would have been a classic post.”
“Like a natural history show where they re-create the mating of the dinosaurs?”
He laughed. I like his laugh, and I like making him laugh. “That’s a little harsh. Your mom isn’t old.” He paused, unsure. “She’s still pretty. She looks like you.” He paused once more, then: “Wow, I am incredibly suave.”
My turn to laugh. “You are.”
“I’m like . . . someone suave who I can’t think of right now because I’m too busy being suave.”
“That cartoon skunk? He’s very suave.”
Will looked at me. “Pepé Le Pew?”
“Probably,” I said, not sure if I ever knew the skunk’s name. “The one who always gets paint on a cat and falls in love.”
“Yeah.” Will turned to keep walking. “He’s very suave.”
There was silen
ce for a while as we wandered around the campus. It was gorgeous; they should be filming a promotional video right now. We walked under a tree that confetti’d us with blossoms, and the light was gorgeous and there was a warm breeze, and I said, “Well, I think you’re pretty suave.”
Will stopped. “And now that word sounds funny.”
“Suave,” I said, nodding. “Yup, no longer sounds like a word at all.”
Will smiled at me. “You’re very pretty.” He paused. “I realize I didn’t ask for consent there, but I was making a factual observation.”
“Can a compliment be a trigger warning?”
Will shrugged. “So many things can be, I lose count.” He stepped towards me. “Can I kiss you?”
I said nothing for a moment, because right at the worst moment, I’d lost the power of speech, then he went on. “I’d like to place my hands on your shoulders and lean in and put my mouth gently on your mouth, and then maybe touch your hair, which has been driving me crazy for the last few days.”
I nodded. “You’re good.”
And it was.
18
JESSICA
And it’s . . . back on the bus! Chris and I sat next to each other, and I’m not even exaggerating, we had the best conversation I’ve had with a man in years. I had forgotten how intoxicating it can be, meeting someone you have chemistry with. I felt giddy.
Not that the subject of the conversation was all giggles. At one point we ended up talking about his wife.
“Is she your ex, actually?” I realized that sounded pushy and tried to backtrack. “I mean, you know, legally?”
“Looking for a fee?” Chris said, but he was smiling. “Yes, she’s my ex. She got overwhelmed, she had her own thing, you know, she was an actress.” He managed to say it without sounding judgmental, which was impressive. “She got offered something good and went off to Vancouver for three months to shoot it. It got picked up, so she stayed in Vancouver for a while and . . .” He stared out the window for a moment, then back at me. “You know the story, everyone does.”
