I Was Told It Would Get Easier(13)
“Ten bucks my mother suggests we ‘hang out’ in the next thirty seconds.” Alice still has my number, of course, and this is the thing with her: Her power lies in making you feel like the most amusing, important person in the room. She’s also capable of being a total and utter bitch, of course, but she’s a born politician: If she thinks you might be useful later, she’ll only shoot to wound.
“I’ll take that bet,” I say.
“Oh my goodness, the girls should definitely hang out on this trip!” her mom said loudly. “And then we can escape and have some catching-up time!”
“See?” texted Alice. “Ten bucks.”
“Double or nothing,” I wrote. “My mom is about to lie and say she’s been meaning to reach out.”
“That’s a great idea,” my mom said. “I’ve been meaning to reach out, but I didn’t realize you were going to be on this trip. We should have flown together!”
“Damn,” texted Alice.
“We were in business class,” Alice’s mom said casually. “My husband flies so much for work we had miles for miles, if you know what I mean.”
I could tell from Mom’s face she was remembering why she didn’t hang out with Alice’s mom. Mom hates it when people show off. However, she’s pretty good at politics herself, so she said, “How lovely,” which is her way of saying, You’re an asshole.
Then she looked at me and I pointed at the pastries, giving her an out. She got it and said, “I’m going to run and get something to eat, can I bring you anything?” And Alice’s mom said she’d had a green smoothie after her workout, and my mom said, “That’s fantastic,” which is another phrase she uses when she lies. Then she turned and headed in my direction, and I hunted around for a muffin with lots of chocolate, because Mom might be annoying at times, but she’s still my mom, and out in the world we’re a team.
JESSICA
A young woman with the kind of complicated reverse fish-tail braid that I could probably learn to do on YouTube, if I had three hours to spare and fourteen extra fingers, stepped to the front of the room and smiled around brightly.
“Welcome, Los Angeles Tour Group,” she said, with a surprising level of barely suppressed joy. “Please find a seat, and can I have everyone’s attention?” She was maybe twenty-four, and I guessed this was her first job out of college, and she was determined to nail it. I examined her carefully made-up face, her bright eyes, her pantsuit and coordinated blouse and thought how proud her mother must be. That long blond hair must have been a delight to brush out and braid when this girl was ten, but one day she’d stopped letting her mother do it, and started bringing home Cs and uninspiring boyfriends, and her mother lay awake like I do. But it all worked out, and now this young woman gets up in the morning and brushes her teeth and combs her hair all on her own and sets out in the cold morning to do her work. I was suddenly filled with sympathy for her, as I am for all young people. It’s a little bit hideous, that first part of adulthood.
The tour group stopped milling about and sat on the half-upholstered seats, which made exasperated puffing sounds as we sat down. I looked around and realized the whole room was essentially padded, with thick carpet and walls that appeared to have been covered with linen. Earth tones predominated. We could have been there to discuss literally anything, the room was so neutral: world peace, necrophilia, the splitting of the atom . . . I could faintly smell chlorine from the pool on the floor below, and the occasional distant sound that could have been playing or drowning, it was hard to tell. It was enough to distract me, like when a group of parents are sitting near a pool where kids are swimming and every so often your heads all turn at once to make sure the screaming is good screaming and not the kind of screaming that requires one of you to jump in fully clothed. Anyway, I wasn’t feeling 100 percent relaxed, let’s say that.
“I’m Cassidy,” said the young woman, turning and writing her name on a large pad propped on an easel. She put a heart above the i, which I thought was a nice retro touch.
“I’m the coordinator for this tour, so remember my name and reach out to me for anything you need.” She turned again and added her number to the board, and we all dutifully entered it into our phones, even though I knew I would forget to take it out once the tour was over and would occasionally go through my phone and wonder who the hell Cassidy was and why I had her number. I could feel Emily fidgeting next to me, presumably dying to be on her phone, and pulled some origami paper from my purse. She’s a whiz at origami.
Cassidy beamed around and said, “Really, text me for anything. That’s what I’m here for. You’re all familiar with the itinerary, of course, but I’m going to go over some details and fill in some gaps.” I decided Cassidy had probably had too much caffeine. “We’re starting today at Georgetown.” She began handing out large envelopes. “Here’s your Georgetown packet. You’ll receive a packet for each school, to help with your evaluation process.” She smiled around again, and for a moment I imagined her up until 1:00 a.m. the night before, exhaustedly putting pieces of paper into envelopes until the sharp sting of paper cuts made tears roll down her photogenic young cheeks. I did the math: ten families on the trip, eleven schools, one hundred and ten individual packets. I opened my phone again and put dauntless tour guide next to her name. Never forget.