I Was Told It Would Get Easier(22)

“I’ll have coffee and a pastry,” I said. “What do you recommend?”

The waitress looked at me and probably wanted to suggest cutting back on the baked goods, but instead said, “People love the donuts. They’re baked.”

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll take one of those.”

“Me, too,” said Emily.

“I thought you said you weren’t hungry?” I asked innocently. Why do I do that? Why must I always comment? I knew she was hungry, I’d maneuvered her into eating, why couldn’t I leave it at that? No, I have to make a point.

“I changed my mind.” Emily smiled up at the waitress. “I’ll have an iced coffee, too, please.” She didn’t seem annoyed by my comment, but she dropped her smile once the waitress glanced away. Honestly, I feel like a spy in my own life sometimes, trying to figure out what’s going on using tiny clues, body language, menu choices.

The waitress nodded, looking towards the door as the rest of the tour group came in. Damn, now Emily wasn’t going to tell me anything. Well, at least I got her to eat something. Despite my close call with ruining the moment, I took a second to fist-bump myself for my masterful ninja parenting. In some ways Emily reminds me of bosses I’d had when I was younger, the kind of out-of-date leaders who needed to think an idea was theirs before they could accept it. I’d quickly learned to propose something after lunch when they were at their most genial, to act mildly confused when I made a mistake and hope their avuncular bullshit sexism would kick in. Emily is like that; her interest in something wanes in exact proportion to the interest I express in it. It’s probably a law of nature. Someone should fund a study.

“Do you mind if we join you?”

We looked up to see Will, the boy from the tour, with his father. He was the one who’d spoken.

“Not at all,” I said, doing that thing where you shift your chair a little bit, indicating your willingness to make room.

Will smiled at Emily and she smiled back, and I could see she thought he was cute. It was the same smile as the one she wears when she shows me an outfit she already knows looks awesome. I love that smile. That smile gives me hope she knows how wonderful she is, rather than doubting herself. But it comes and goes.

The boy sat next to her, and I realized he was a full head and shoulders taller than she was. I wondered anew at the enormousness of teenage boys. They go home the summer after sixth or seventh grade and come back in the fall seventeen feet taller. Having never had a son, I usually imagined that the kid’s poor mom comes in one morning, drops her tray (she’s carrying one in this imaginary scene; go with it, okay?), and screams to discover her son is barely fitting in his bed. She flies to get a crowbar to help him get up, then rushes to Target to buy everything three sizes bigger. It’s probably not that sudden, but it seems that way to me.

The boy’s father smiled at Emily. “So, you’re Emily, right?”

“That’s right,” Emily said.

“And you’re Jessica,” the man said to me, proving that he may not have gone to college but he certainly outstripped me in the name-recall contest. “I’m Chris, and this is Will.”

I smiled at him and said, “I remember from this morning.”

There could have been an awkward silence at this point, but as both Chris and I could see the kids liked each other, we bounced the conversation along like a doubles beach volleyball team headed for the regionals.

“What are you thinking of studying at school, Emily?” Chris asked, his clear green eyes regarding my daughter steadily.

Emily blushed slightly. “I’m not sure, maybe engineering?”

“Oh,” said Chris brightly. “You like building things?”

Emily said, “Well . . .”

I jumped in, again unable to help myself. “She always did, you should have seen the Lego cities she built. She likes fixing things, she was the classic take-it-apart-to-see-how-it-works kind of kid. Engineering would suit her down to the ground.” I suddenly realized I’d interrupted Emily, and turned apologetically. “Not that you need to decide right now, of course.” Emily was still smiling, but her eyes warned me that I’d come dangerously close to embarrassing her. I subsided.

Chris looked at his son. “Will was like that, too, but now he wants to study computer science.”

Will grinned at Emily. “I hear the internet is going to catch on.”

“You think?” She smiled back.

Suddenly Chris said, “You know what, you two should move to another table, otherwise it’s going to get overcrowded once the food arrives.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” I said, “and then we can show each other pictures of you two when you were small, which would be painfully embarrassing for you if you had to sit through it.”

“Definitely not into that,” said Will, looking at Emily. “I had a haircut in fourth grade that would be social suicide if anyone saw it.”

Emily nodded. “I dressed like Dora the Explorer for three months straight in second grade, and she has pictures.”

Will grinned. “They don’t realize the power they have.”

“Yes, we do,” said his dad. “Go sit somewhere else so us adults can actually have a conversation.”