I Was Told It Would Get Easier

by Abbi Waxman

  “I guess. Are you still friends?”

  “Sure, for the kids. They were fourteen, ten, and six when she left. My eldest daughter went and spent time with her mom and got her head turned, unfortunately. She’s twenty now, we don’t see her all that much.” He sighed. “She wants to hang out with her cool parent, right, the one with the parties and the stylists.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “Sure, but when I was twenty, I didn’t hang out with my parents at all, so, you know. She texts. I know more or less what she’s doing.”

  “Is she at college?”

  He shook his head. “She takes acting lessons and models and vlogs, or whatever you call that.” He nodded over at Alice’s mom, Dani, who was sitting a little way ahead of us. “Like her daughter.”

  “Alice. She’s at school with Emily.”

  “Are they friends?”

  “I don’t think so, it’s hard to tell. Teen girls are like their mothers, friendly in person and vipers in private.”

  Chris laughed. “Yeah, having had teenagers of both genders, I can confirm the common wisdom that boys are less painful. They’re as touchy, and they’re bigger, so it’s like having a dark version of Big Bird hanging out in the kitchen, staring angrily into the fridge, but there’s less high-pitched door slamming.”

  “Emily never slams her door. She closes it firmly. At least, that’s her claim.”

  My phone rang. It was work. I turned to Chris. “I’m so sorry, I have to take this.”

  “Of course.” He politely turned away, and I answered the call.

  “Hi, this is Jessica.”

  “Jessica, what did you say to Ostergren?” It was John, and it was hard to tell if I’d messed up or won a medal. I felt my stomach drop a little, even though I hadn’t really entertained Ostergren’s offer.

  “I already told you. I suggested he ask for Valentina to be put on his account.”

  “Well, you clearly made an impression, because he actually asked for you.”

  “Huh. That’s surprising.” It wasn’t surprising, of course. I lowered my voice. “What a pity I don’t work for you anymore. Did you talk to the board?”

  “Not yet. But you’re not really going to quit.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He laughed. “You’re looking at colleges, right? You’ve done the math, you need this job.”

  I frowned. “Make Valentina a partner and put her on Ostergren’s account, John.”

  “He wants you.”

  “I’m not available, John. Unless you don’t persuade the board, in which case I can always leave and contact Ostergren from my new job.”

  “You’re too honorable to do that, Jess, it’s your Achilles’ heel. It’s what prevents you from being a truly great lawyer.”

  I rolled my eyes, a habit I’ve apparently learned from my daughter. “John, you’re not helping yourself here. Don’t call me again until you’ve spoken to the board.”

  He ignored me. “I’ve asked Eloise to send you the last five years of business for the account, so you can get up to speed.”

  I shook my head, not that he could see me. “No, John, send it to Valentina. Even if I stay with you, I’m not taking the account.”

  He was all charm. “Of course, just take a quick look-see.”

  “No, John.”

  “Fine, skim it while you’re away, and then we can talk it over next week.”

  He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so I said, “We’ll certainly talk it over next week, after you accept my formal resignation. Goodbye, John.”

  I hung up and banged my head on the window. I checked my phone and saw a massive file downloading into my email. I guess being a steamroller had helped John get where he was, but it was deeply irritating to be the road. Mind you, it would be good to look over the account, in case I decided to jump ship.

  “Problems at work?” Chris asked.

  I shook my head. “The usual crap.”

  He hesitated. “Did I accidentally overhear you quitting your job?”

  I looked at him. “Yes, but please forget you heard it.”

  “Does Emily know?”

  I shook my head. “It was a strategic threat.” I explained briefly, omitting all personal details.

  He looked at me. “No wonder you highly paid lawyers look so stressed. You’re fighting the good fight against injustice.”

  I laughed. “Is that why I’m so tired all the time?”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s because you have a teenager, and they come in while you’re sleeping and suck all the enthusiasm out of you. Like vampires.”

  “That explains the sleeping all weekend. Poor things.”

  Chris said, “Will’s younger brother James is twelve and hasn’t been seen before 2:00 p.m. on the weekends since last August.”

  “Emily sleeps all morning then gets up, prowls around the kitchen complaining there’s nothing to eat, asks to Postmates a chai from Starbucks, gets annoyed when I say no, then spends the rest of the day complaining she’s hungry while looking at her phone.”

  Chris laughed. “They’re really very rewarding, teenagers. They give a lot back.”

  “They’re appreciative, that’s what makes it worth it.”

  “Yeah, they notice all the little things you do for them.”

  “And they’re super helpful around the house.”

  “You never need to nag them.”

  Suddenly, Will and Emily appeared, swaying in the aisle of the bus.

  “I’m not sure you two hanging out is a good idea,” said Will. “I have a feeling you’re complaining about us.”

  “Not at all,” lied his dad. “Can we help you with something?”

  “Yes,” said Emily, looking at me. “We have free time this afternoon and we want to go to the aerodrome.”

  We both goggled at them. “I’m sorry?” I asked. “Is that a club or something?”

  Emily looked pointedly at me. “No, Mom, it’s an aerodrome.”

  I frowned at her. “You said that already. What do you mean?”

  She flicked a quick glance at Will, then spoke even more slowly. “It’s a place where there are planes, Mom, you know, like an airfield.”

  “Oh . . . an actual aerodrome.”

  Chris laughed. “Why do you want to do that?”

  “There’s a museum there, it looks cool.”

  I gazed at them. “You have the afternoon free and you want to go to an air museum?”

  Emily was starting to blush. God, I am so slow.

  “Yes, of course, that sounds awesome,” I said. “I’ll check in for us, and text you the room number. You guys can take off, so to speak, as soon as we get there.” I tried to nudge Chris, subtly, but he was way ahead of me and was pulling out his wallet.

  “Here, in case.” He handed over two twenties.

  “We had lunch,” protested Emily.

  “Yeah, but maybe you’ll get coffee or something.”

  “Or maybe there’s a gift shop.” I grinned at Will. “Emily loves museum gift shops.” I turned back to Emily. Possibly that had been too much information; she was now glaring at me.

  “Well, thanks,” she said. “I’ll text you later.”

  “Great,” I replied, trying to dampen my enthusiasm. God forbid they sense we’re happy they’re enjoying each other’s company; it will put them off immediately. “Don’t forget we’re having dinner with Helen.”

  “Great,” muttered Emily.

  “Great,” said Will.

  “Great,” echoed Chris, and we watched as the two kids move slowly away, clearly convinced we’d lost our minds. I turned to Chris.

  “Too enthusiastic?”

  “Possibly,” he replied. “But I think they’ve already forgotten we exist, so never mind.”
<
br />   EMILY

  My mother is the most embarrassing mother on the planet. Emily loves museum gift shops. Oh my GOD. Why not tell Will I kept my Pokémon cards in color-coded binders? Or list my Girl Scout badges, all twenty-five of them? Why not tell him about me getting my period for the first time on a plane back from Grandpa’s and having her stand outside the airplane bathroom giving detailed instructions on how to use a pad while the flight attendants stood guard? All I could say was Mom, I know over and over again, but it didn’t shut her up. That wasn’t traumatic at all. I considered blowing the aircraft doors so I didn’t have to walk back to my seat.

  We sat back down, and I looked out the window. He’s going to think I’m such a dork.

  “I like museum stores, too,” he said instead. “I used to collect those pens that have things that slide up and down inside them, you know?”

  “Floaty pens?” I was surprised. “I have like two dozen of those. I love them, too. My mom traveled a lot for work and she would bring them back if she found them. The best ones are made by a Dutch company called Eskesen.” Oh crap, I overgeeked it. I might as well go back and sit by my mom.

  “Yeah,” said Will, “they were the ones who solved the problem of leaking mineral oil.”

  He outgeeked me. Thank god.

  He continued. “My mom left when I was, like, ten, but before that she traveled for work and she would always bring back stuffed animals with the name of where she was, you know?”

  I nodded.

  “When I was little I thought it was awesome. I put them all together on a shelf, right? But recently I realized it meant she didn’t think about me at all until she was about to come home and scrambled to find something at the airport. One time she brought a T-shirt instead, and I said, They didn’t have any bears? She was confused because she didn’t even realize I collected them. She didn’t notice much about me at all.” He shrugged. “Which sucks differently now than it did when I was nine, but it still sucks.”

  “Do you see her a lot?”

  He shook his head and deflected the question. “Did you collect anything when you were a kid?”

  Oh god, this was going to be the end of it. “Uh, Pokémon cards?”

  He snorted. “Everyone collects Pokémon cards, that doesn’t count.”

  “In binders? In evolutionary sets? By date of release?”

  He laughed. “Okay . . . no, not everyone did that.”

  “I did.” Casper’s head popped up over the back of the seat in front. “Did you have any rares?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing super rare. Did you?”

  He grinned. “My mom collected Pokémon cards back in the nineties, so I have . . .” He lowered his voice. “A shadowless holographic first-edition Mewtwo.”

  “No way,” I said.

  “Way.”

  I laughed and turned to Will. “While we’re embarrassing ourselves, I was also a Girl Scout.”

  “I was a Boy Scout.”

  “I have badges.”

  He snorted. “I have all the badges.”

  I frowned at him. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  He grinned at me. “When we’re back in LA, you can come over and I’ll show you.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “You’re inviting me to come over and look at your badges?”

  “Yes,” he said, “because who can resist that level of suave?” His eyes were warm. I love a callback. We’re going to see each other when we get home. Why am I being such a nerd about this? I can feel myself blushing, but he is, too, so it’s cool.

  “You can come and see my Pokémon cards, too, if you like,” said Casper.

  “We will definitely do that,” said Will. “We both will.”

  We’re seeing each other at least twice. What is wrong with me?

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’ll bring mine, too, we’ll make a day of it.”

  For a minute I think I’ve gone too far, but Casper’s face made it worth it.

  Then Sam’s head popped up next to Casper’s. “Hey, did you guys hear about the scandal at Westminster?” He looked at me. “That’s your school, right? Do you know anything about it?”

  “No,” said Will, “what happened?”

  “Like, six kids got expelled for bribing some AP teacher to increase their AP score. They offered . . .” He paused and stumbled over it a bit. “B . . . blow jobs for multiple-choice answers.”

  “That’s not true,” I said immediately.

  “Aha,” said Sam. “So you DO know about it.”

  I shook my head. “No, I know there were only three kids, and oral sex was not part of it at all. I don’t know anything else, because I’ve been on the tour, right, but it’s not that big a deal.”

  “Because this kind of thing happens all the time at Westminster?” Casper sounded uncharacteristically sarcastic.

  I took a slow breath. “No, because it was only three girls. Suspended not expelled. Not actually cheating, just planning to cheat. No sex, oral or otherwise.”

  “But they’re still cheaters.”

  “Allegedly.”

  Will made a face at me. “And you said you didn’t want to be a lawyer.”

  19

  JESSICA

  We’ve arrived in Rhinebeck, which is nauseatingly picturesque. I could see Emily’s face as she got off the bus with the other kids, and could tell she was quietly blown away. This is the thing about West Coast kids, or maybe only mine: They’re really amazed by seasons. Literally, the first time we were in DC in the fall, I thought she was going to lose her shit over the leaves. She caught my eye and I grinned at her.

  “Pretty, right?”

  “Stars Hollow.”

  I smiled and nodded, although I’m not entirely sure what that is. She narrowed her eyes at me; I was so busted.

  “The town in Gilmore Girls.”

  “I know that.” I totally didn’t know that.

  “Folks,” said Cassidy loudly, saving me from having to prove it. “Gather around.”

  We dutifully gathered.

  “We’re going to check into the Beekman Arms, the oldest hotel in America. Such a treat for you history buffs! It was built in 1704, and George Washington drank here, as did Benedict Arnold. The argument that led to the duel between Aaron Burr and Hamilton started here.” She considered the group of disheveled and hungry parents and sped up her patter. “FDR was a frequent guest, as were writers and celebrities of all kinds.” She turned and led the way down the street.

  I turned to Emily. “Are you heading off? You have your phone?” Stupid question.

  She nodded. “I’ll text you later.”

  “We’re meeting Helen at seven.”

  “Here?”

  “No, someplace in town.”

  “Cool, later.” She turned to walk away, and I watched her and Will wander down the street, pausing to presumably synchronize phones or whatever. She looked up at him and smiled, and I knew I was literally the last thing on her mind.

  Which is as it should be.

  EMILY

  Rhinebeck is nuts. So cute. We walked for a bit, checking it out, and came across a totally awesome sweet shop.

  Two words: Pop Rocks.

  And not only Pop Rocks, but also all kinds of candy I’d never even heard of, and it’s not like we don’t have candy stores in LA, we totally do. It turns out we both love gummy candy, so, you know, there was some spending. Then, feeling mildly sick from gummy sharks, I suggested we go to the aerodrome.

  Sitting next to Will in the Lyft, which took, like, twenty minutes to come because apparently Rhinebeck only has three Lyft drivers for the whole town, I prayed he wasn’t going to bring up the cheating thing again.

  “This is nice,” he said, smiling at me, and it was. “The tour is a bit intense, right? I think it’s making my dad crazy.”<
br />
  I laughed. “My mom is already crazy, so I can’t say I’ve noticed any difference.”

  Will shrugged. “My dad worries I’m going to end up like my sister, I guess.”

  “What’s her deal?”

  We were arriving at the aerodrome. “She didn’t want to go to college, she wants to be an actor.”

  “Actresses go to college. Emma Watson went to Brown.”

  “Lupita Nyong’o went to Yale.” We got out of the car and started walking across the grass. Will continued, “But my sister went to Vancouver to hang out with our mom and vlog about her experiences.”

  I laughed. “She’s an influencer?”

  His face relaxed. “Only mildly.”

  “Do you want to be an actor?

  “Not in a million years.”

  “You want to be a programmer?”

  We had reached the visitors’ center, and Will held the door for me. “Programming will mean I always have work, and that’s a good thing.”

  We went in.

  “You’re very practical.”

  He let the door swing closed, and shrugged. “I guess.”

  “What if it doesn’t work out that way?”

  “Then I’ll do something else.” He took in the scene. “Wow, this was totally worth the trip.”

  The building was relatively small, but through the windows we could see plane after plane sitting on the grass, and vintage cars, and as I looked at Will, I could see his eyes gleaming.

  I giggled. “You’re an even bigger goober than I am.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” he said, heading to the airfield.

  * * *

  • • •

  After closely examining a dozen early airplanes, which was super interesting—if for no other reason than when Will was excited about something, it turned out he bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, like my grandfather—we went and sat on the grass and drank soda.

  “My mother is deeply against soda,” I said. “I never had Coke until I was, like, fourteen.” The grass was itchy under my hand, and the breeze was gusty and cold, but I was very happy to be where I was.