Acts of Violet(60)
“Which is great, but there’s even more you can be doing.”
Just what every parent loves to hear.
“Natural hair dyes are worth looking into, and you could recycle more than paper and plastic.”
Et tu, Sally? She holds back a laugh at my murderous glare.
“That’s right. There’s a company where you can send foils, gloves, dye, and even hair scraps to recycle,” Quinn preaches in between bites of her grilled cheese and tomato. “Plus, how awesome would it be to have a Certified Sustainable Salon?”
“So awesome I can hardly stand it.” I spear a chunk of grilled chicken, wave my fork at my husband, and make a big show of chewing the meat.
Gabriel sighs and turns back to his burger. “I actually think Quinn’s on to something.”
“Because it would be a smart marketing move, too, right? See? Dad knows what’s up.”
When did our little girl develop business savvy?
“It would be good for the salon, and it would be nice to leave you with a planet that’s a little less of a trainwreck. Even if our lineage must end with you,” says Gabriel, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. “Though I’ll never understand why you care so much about Earth’s future if you have no plans to extend its population.” He takes a light touch with the subject but welcomes any opportunity to sway Quinn in favor of having children one day.
“Slow down, breeder. You seriously gonna guilt trip her like that?” Sally’s doll eyes go even wider.
It’s not like we want Quinn to follow our route of early unplanned pregnancy—but she’s been adamantly opposed to the idea of having kids since middle school. Hard not to wonder if it’s a subconscious response to my life choices. I mean, sure, she’s my greatest accomplishment and I do hope she changes her mind when she’s older (but not too old). At the same time, Violet got hassled by our mother for not settling down early like I did, even as her magic career was taking off. I never want Quinn to feel diminished that way.
“Just because I don’t want to procreate doesn’t mean I shouldn’t want to leave a positive mark on the world,” Quinn scoffs. “Sally has no kids and she’s all kinds of happy and fulfilled.”
“A-fuckin’-men.” Vehement nods from Sally.
My daughter can’t resist another dig. “Plus, Aunt Violet didn’t have kids and look how much she accomplished.”
I swallow hard. Gabriel won’t meet my eyes but links pinkies with me under the table. “Violet didn’t have children, but that doesn’t mean she never wanted them,” I point out.
“Maybe for like five minutes when she was with Benjamin, but she obviously came to her senses,” Quinn shoots back. “Why else would she dedicate a whole chapter in You Are Magic to railing against people who use kids as an excuse not to form their own identities?”
Ah, yes, that little gem. I was so proud of my sister when her first book came out. Then I read it and felt like I was being slapped in the face for two hundred pages. That chapter was particularly rough. The way Violet admonished people who claim to be selfless by sacrificing everything for their children, when they’re actually cowards who selfishly divert their own dreams onto their children because it’s easier than pursuing those dreams directly. Leave it to someone who’s never raised a child to claim there’s anything easy about it.
Besides, I didn’t divert my dreams so much as adjust them. I had to forgo the hope of working in a hospital for the reality of my mother’s salon, but I still get to apply my scientific curiosity to coloring hair, and I offer people a different kind of caregiving. I never pushed Quinn to live out my dreams. On a whim, I did get her a chemistry set when she was eight, but when she turned the plastic vials and beakers into miniature flower vases, Gabriel and I marveled at her evolving persona and bought her a child’s gardening kit, letting her run with her own passions. So, screw you, Violet.
Gabriel gives my pinkie a squeeze and jumps into the fray. “Did Violet have strong opinions when she wrote that book? Sure. But opinions can change. Look at how much you hated the color brown when you were a little girl. Now you’re all about the earth tones.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore, and Aunt Violet wasn’t one either when she wrote the book. Beliefs about procreation aren’t the same as having a favorite color. So if you’re waiting for me to wake up one day and decide I’m now all about having babies, that’s not gonna happen.”
“Nobody’s pressuring you to procreate, Queenie,” Sally says. “Your folks just can’t help being biased about it because they had a stellar kid like you.”
A reluctant cease-fire follows and our booth falls into uncomfortable silence.
I break it by sneezing into my salad.
From either side of me, my husband and daughter reach over and pull my ear, one upward, one down. “Both of you? Seriously?” I ask. “You do realize how ludicrous these superstitions are, right? I mean, there is no rational connection to whistling indoors and losing money. And no logical reason to tug on somebody’s ear when they sneeze.”
“Only if you’re thinking of someone who died,” Quinn says.
“Or death in general. Otherwise, it would make no sense,” my husband adds with a wink.
“Gabe, you’re not even Russian. Don’t you have any crazy Filipino superstitions you can adopt instead?”