Life and Other Inconveniences(11)

Her shoulders shook. “I thought we were the same, you know? Like we weren’t in a rush to get into all that boy stuff and drinking and drugs. Annabeth was talking about trying E! We belonged to the Clean Edge Club! We founded it! But I guess they all quit and didn’t even talk to me about it, and, Mom, I feel like such a loser.”

Damn it! Why did girls have to do that to each other? The primal, maternal part of me wished I had those girls in front of me so I could slap their smug little faces. It seemed like no one’s adolescence was complete until a friend turned on them or, in this case, the whole group.

“You’re not a loser, Riley,” I said, hugging her tight. “You’re the best kid I know.”

“Said my mother. Sorry, I know you mean it, but that means next to nothing right now.”

Ouch.

When your child is little, you are their everything, able to solve just about any problem, make everything okay with a little talk or kiss or snuggle. Now I was impotent.

She sat up and wiped her eyes again. “So now everyone’s talking about summer, and guess what? Mikayla’s not working at the ice cream shop this year. Guess where she got a job? Genevieve London Designs, right there on Michigan Avenue. And when I said, ‘That’s my great-grandmother,’ Jenna gave me this look, then the three of them looked at each other, and I could tell they’d talked about this and they didn’t believe me.”

Clearly my fears had come to pass more quickly than I had expected. “I can say something to them if you want.”

“No! That would make it ten times worse! So now my summer will be spent totally alone. The three of them are planning a college visit to Purdue and Notre Dame, and guess who’s not invited? I’m the one who always wanted to go to Notre Dame!” She grabbed a wad of tissues and blew her nose. “Why do they have to be so mean, Mommy? What did I do wrong?”

The Mommy got me right in the heart. With her puffy eyes and red nose, she looked like she was about four years old.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart. They did. They’re treating you like crap because . . .” Yes, why? asked my therapist brain. “Because sometimes people can only feel good about themselves if they make someone else feel bad.”

“Well, it worked. I feel horrible. I wish I could just . . . go away. Go to sleep and never wake up.” Riley put her head in my lap, and I stroked her coppery hair, but my heart froze in terror. I read into everything, but an indirect statement like that could be a hint of suicidal ideation. Add to that a sense of isolation, stressful events and impulsivity, plus the rise of teenage suicide . . .

. . . and my family history.

Riley heaved herself up. “I have to study for finals. We were all going to get pizza at Jenna’s house and study there, but I guess I’m uninvited to that, too.”

“Well, their loss. You’re great in chemistry, and they aren’t.”

She gave me a damp, grateful look.

“Honey, I’m really sorry. I have to call their mothers.”

The grateful look fell to the floor with a nearly audible thud, replaced by more tears. “Thanks, Mom. In case I wasn’t enough of a pariah today. Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

“You know I have to, sweetie. They’re underage.”

“I know. Go. Ruin my life even more.” She yanked a thick book out of her backpack. “I have to study.”

I was dismissed.

Yes. Once upon a time, watching Animal Planet and eating late-night snacks with my arm around her could cure any blues my daughter might have. I ached for the days when I had the power to make her happy.

With a deep sigh, I went downstairs and called the girls’ parents. Got the expected response of “not my daughter!” followed by shock and fear. Each thanked me—we’d known each other for years now, but because of my oddball situation of living with my grandfather, being in college all through my twenties, working at the same grocery store where they shopped and, let’s not forget, being single, I’d never really become one of the group.

Like mother, like daughter.

I texted Jason that Riley was going through a bit of a rough patch with her friends, and he texted back immediately, soothing my heart a little.

I’ll call tonight. Or now. You tell me when.

Tonight is good, I wrote back. Thanks.

Of course! I love my girl! TTYS.

At least there was that. Riley adored Jason, though maybe that, too, had been waning in the past year. He came out twice a year for father-daughter time, and they did all the fun things I could rarely afford—saw The Lion King, went shopping, had dinner at swanky restaurants. Sometimes I was included, though less and less as Riley got older. But he never forgot her birthday and Skyped with her at least a few times a month.

When Riley had been conceived, Jason and I loved each other. She was not the result of a one-night stand or an unhappy relationship. But he wasn’t here, and he had two other children. And a wife, even if he was separated.

For the next two days, I waited to see how the friend drama would play out. Stalked Mikayla, Jenna and Annabeth’s social media. Just as Riley thought, they’d frozen her out. Snapchat showed pictures of the three of them with captions like Besties 4evah!!! and 3 musketiers. (They couldn’t even spell.)

Then came the redhead comments. Emma Watson looks SO MUCH better without that stupid red hair.