Such a Fun Age(88)

Emira whispered, “Fuck,” and willed herself to keep walking.

“Mama? Mama, can you get mine for me?”

“Just a second, Bri,” Mrs. Chamberlain said. At the other side of the sidewalk, wearing an expensive beanie, a khaki trench coat, and booties that had tassels on the backs, Mrs. Chamberlain was squatting in front of two-year-old Catherine. “This zipper is stuck, isn’t it?” she said. Catherine yawned and licked a sucker.

Emira watched Briar come down off her tiptoes and take a look around. Behind her, two black nannies were pushing strollers with sleeping babies inside. Emira watched Briar go straight up to one, lift her hand, and pat the closest woman’s thigh. “Excuse me, nice lady?” she asked. “Can you please help me reach my pumpkin?”

The nanny seemed greatly amused, as if she hadn’t been called nice lady in years. She said, “Sure, which one is yours?” Emira wished that she’d walked up a little faster, that Briar could have called her the same name, that she could have talked to Briar without Mrs. Chamberlain, just one more time. And then she felt her heart crush even further into her stomach as Briar pointed up at a bright green pumpkin and said, “It’s dis one.”

Emira held her breath as she put her head down and walked around the nannies, Briar, Mrs. Chamberlain, and Catherine. She heard Briar tell the woman thank you, and Mrs. Chamberlain laugh and apologize for her daughter.



* * *



—

Deep into her thirties, Emira would wrestle with what to take from her time at the Chamberlain house. Some days she carried the sweet relief that Briar would learn to become a self-sufficient person. And some days, Emira would carry the dread that if Briar ever struggled to find herself, she’d probably just hire someone to do it for her.





Acknowledgments


My family, Ron, Jayne, and Sirandon Reid, have been a longtime source of support and encouragement. From Goosebumps to graduate school, thank you for keeping books in my hands, and allowing me to keep my bedroom door closed.

This novel came into being because of the razor-sharp eye and finishing power of my tireless agent, Claudia Ballard. Claudia, it has been a complete honor to see this project through with you, and it is a daily relief to be on your team. I’m so glad I met you first.

My editor, Sally Kim, inspires in me very cliché but nonetheless true sentiments such as You’re the one! and It was you all along! Sally, I’m indebted to your dedication to every line of this book, your effortless congeniality, and your faithfully calming email response time.

WME and Putnam are filled with wonderful people who unabashedly geek out over characters and plots, and continue to make my life easier every day. The biggest thanks to this unparalleled team, including Alexis Welby, Ashley McClay, Emily Mlynek, Brennin Cummings, Jordan Aaronson, and Nishtha Patel. Elena Hershey and Ashley Hewlett, please never leave me. Anthony Ramondo and Christopher Lin, thank you immensely for clothing this novel so beautifully. Sylvie Rabineau, thank you for championing this book and advocating so smoothly on my behalf. Gaby Mongelli and Jessie Chasan-Taber, I adore working with you and I just think you’re both so great.

I crafted the first chapters of this book in Arsaga’s coffee shop in Fayetteville, Arkansas (the one on Church and Center), and I couldn’t ask for a sunnier, quieter, more judgement-free zone. I completed this book at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop by means of the most remarkable gift a writer can receive: inspired stretches of space and time. Thank you to the Truman Capote Foundation for granting me stability as I found my way through the snow and these pages. And thank you to two incredible professors, Paul Harding and Jess Walter, who continue to guide me toward the truth of my obsessions. It’s a comfort to have your voices in my head, even when I am not in workshop.

Rachel Sherman’s work in Uneasy Street: Anxieties of Affluence was a brilliant source of inspiration, not just for this novel, but for how I walk through life. Thank you for capturing a complicated human experience, for leading with empathy in your studies, and for leaning into the uncomfortableness of American capital. I’m so pleased to have your name bookend this novel.

Part of writing is often finding part-time jobs. I’ve been so fortunate to have bosses who were first to acknowledge that my position was a means to an end, as well as lovely coworkers who made the hours go by quicker. A huge thank-you to Ingrid Fetell Lee, Ty Tashiro, Sarah Cisneros, Meg Brossman, and a whole slew of people at IDEO New York. Thank you, Lindsey Peers, for being a great boss at the best job I’ve ever had. You facilitated a space where I learned to problem-solve like never before, and you developed in me a lasting appreciation for the mirth of being a child on your birthday. So many thanks to all the mothers who trusted me with their children, particularly Lauren Flink, Jean Newcomb, Kalpana David, Mary Minard, Karen Bergreen, and Ali Curtis.

Sue and Chuck Rosenberg were always enthusiastic readers, great email writers, and endlessly flexible.

Ted Thompson’s notes on the first fifty pages were spot-on and honest. More importantly, they were kind enough to make me start over.

Deb West and Jan Zenisek kept me organized, and were always keen to celebrate the little moments.

My goal at Iowa was to find readers who I would keep far past graduation. This resulted in Melissa Mogollon, who spent hours in my living room ironing out backstory in exchange for Nodo sandwiches, and Isabel Henderson, who went line by line and downloaded the MTV channel so we could forget about writing. And in addition to letting me camp out in her kitchen for hours (“Am I being a bad host? Do you need more club soda?”) Claire Lombardo supplied detailed track changes that I went back to when I was feeling low. I’m so appreciative of this feedback and these friendships. You are somehow even more than the reason I came. (Claire, I’ll text you in five minutes.)