I Liked My Life(55)

“Time-out … first I have a question. Is there anything I could do that would result in you not paying for college?”

I run through the list of things that engulf parents’ nightmares: drugs, stealing, eating disorders, pregnancy. I carefully word my response. “No, I’ve committed to that, but there are things that could delay going.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Eve. Like if you need time to take responsibility for your actions. Or get help.”

“I’m not pregnant, Dad,” she says with a laugh.

“Jesus, Eve, this isn’t a fun game. What already?”

“I got a tattoo,” she blurts.

I hadn’t considered that possibility. “What? When? Why would you—”

“Three days ago. ’Cause last week I was at Rory’s mom’s funeral, and Rory was saying how after her father died she did something symbolic to help her move on.”

She crosses her arms as though that explains everything, when in fact it leaves me with more questions. I didn’t know Eve left the house last weekend, or that she was close enough with her math tutor to attend a family funeral. But I’m not about to get distracted.

“Am I missing something? That doesn’t equate to being seventeen and getting a tattoo. Is that even legal?”

“It’s small.”

“That’s all you have to say? It’s small? Damn it, Eve, it’s permanent.”

She tries again. “It’s symbolic.”

“So are lots of things that don’t come with a lifetime commitment. Christ. Did you stop to think about what it will look like when you’re my age? Or what you’ll tell your grandchildren?”

Her head slumps to her chest. We wait to see who’ll speak first. It’s a game I usually lose, but not this time. I’ve given this day all I have to offer. A full minute passes.

“It’s that quote you said Mom liked,” she murmurs. “About learning from pain.”

My daughter could earn a degree in surprising me. “You tattooed that quotation to your body? Where?”

“On the right side of my stomach, by my hip. I can hide it, even in a bathing suit, even in a bikini.”

I have her show me. It’s written in plain, black script. As tattoos go, it isn’t that bad. I try to keep a stern face, hiding my relief, but my second thought makes me laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“I’m picturing how it will balloon out unevenly when you’re pregnant someday.”

“Huh. I didn’t think of that.”

I point a finger at her. “That’s why you should’ve involved me beforehand.”

She bites her lower lip. “Am I in trouble?”

I read the quotation plastered to my daughter’s abdomen. If we could learn to learn from pain even as it grasps us. The answer comes to me. “No,” I say. “You’re the one that has to live with it. But don’t go showing it off like it’s cool. It’s not. And don’t do anything this over-the-top for a while. You’ve hit your reckless teenage behavior quota for the year.”

Eve produces a closed-mouth smile she learned from Maddy. It was my wife’s I-won-but-I’m-not-going-to-rub-it-in-since-you’re-being-a-good-sport face.

“Did it hurt?” I ask.

“Like a bitch,” she says, forgetting to filter. A hand flies to her mouth. “Sorry.”

I think back to the drink on the Fourth of July and shake my head. Maddy can’t kill herself and still make all the parenting decisions. “No, you know what, don’t be. Swearing was your mother’s battle, not mine.”

“Really?”

I don’t know why I chose to take a stand on this particular point. I backpedal slightly, “As long as it’s used intelligently relative to the discussion, I’m fine with it.”

“All right. I’ll intelligently swear my ass off from now on.”

I massage my temples. When will I learn to shut the hell up?





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Madeline

Watching, always watching, I’m reminded of a conversation I had with Meg about whether to become a stay-at-homer. It was what Brady wanted. Of his buddies from Harvard, he was the only one with a working wife. I admired his brain while we dated; it wasn’t until Eve arrived that I understood it was powerful enough to put me out of a job. I never intended to march in the footsteps of a mother I pitied at best, but Brady’s success and Eve’s neediness beat the ambition right out of me. I was certain I could avoid my mother’s weaknesses. Depression never had a grip on me, and alcohol was like a fun cousin I visited once in a while but never planned a trip around. That its tentacles are often invisible until it’s too late never crossed my mind.

Part of my hem and haw was that people counted on my effort to hit the annual number. Without me, my team wouldn’t get a bonus. My sister in her I-can’t-believe-I’m-younger-than-you voice said, “I find that arrogant, Maddy. Everyone is replaceable. People are, by nature, resourceful and resilient.” She was right. I left Viking, and yet people still found their way to stores across New England to buy over-priced refrigerators and ovens.

I wish the truth of her wisdom would show itself once again, but replacing a sales manager is different from replacing a primary parent. Brady is a bulldozer; he sees only what’s directly in front of him. For the past two months, with my persuasion, that’s been Eve, but now he’s craving a release, something of his own, and his attention has shifted to qualifying for the Boston Marathon. My ability to influence is waning. He’s a man obsessed. He has retreated inward, at the expense of our daughter who was just starting to come around.