I Was Told It Would Get Easier(28)

Eventually, inevitably, one of the parents fell, and Cassidy declared our evening over. We walked back to the hotel, which was only a few blocks, and most of us were pretty sober by the time we reached our rooms. I’m not going to say all, but most.

“Did you have a nice time?” I asked Emily as she climbed on the bed fully dressed and settled down for some serious phone time. She pushed her shoes off her feet without untying them, which explained why she needed new ones so often. I decided to chalk up her inability to undo laces to parental failure, and let it go. I was too tired to nag.

“Yes,” replied Emily, already flipping through her feed or watching porn or whatever it was she was doing. It suddenly reminded me of those kids at school who would curve their arms around their work if they thought you could see it; all this looking at screens no one else could see was as defensive and slightly aggressive. Don’t look at what I’m looking at; it’s not for you. No sooner had I had this thought than Emily turned her screen around to face me and grinned.

“Oh my god, check this out.” It was a baby animal of some kind—I couldn’t really tell from the bathroom door—maybe a bear? It had its head stuck in a bucket and people were trying to help it. Eventually it popped off and the baby—it was a bear—rolled over backwards several times before loping off into the woods.

“So cute,” said Emily, turning the phone back.

I gazed at her for a moment, watching her mouth curve up into a smile at whatever she was looking at, and felt that certainty of love that lives in your bones, an awareness you would give your life for someone and not regret it for a second. I remember reading to her at night, her little body settled in my lap, the smell of her hair and her tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb. Back then I was the one introducing her to everything, the one gatekeeping her experience of the world. Now I’m no longer necessary, my daughter doesn’t want a mediator and, in fact, was sharing new information about the world with me. Without Emily I’d never have known baby bears could get their heads stuck in buckets, although I probably could have surmised it.

Suddenly, just as I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, Emily looked up at me. “Did you have a good time, Mom? At dinner?”

I was surprised. “It was fine.”

Emily frowned. “Only fine? What did you guys talk about?”

“You guys, of course. What else is there to talk about?” I turned away and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. “The part where that other mom did the robot was pretty funny, largely because I thought you kids were going to die of embarrassment.”

I started getting ready for bed, wondering if Emily was even listening.





EMILY


I couldn’t hear Mom’s voice any longer; she was running water in the bathroom. I have no idea what she really thinks anymore. She used to be so easy to get along with, all my friends loved her, she was generally agreed to be the cool mom, the one who made cookies on the weekend and didn’t care if you cursed. She was tired a lot, and worked all the time, but when she wasn’t working, she would take me to museums and buy me toys and we’d go to Disney or the beach . . . but in the last few years, she’s changed. She’s not anxious, exactly, just more . . . pinched. I wish there was a way to pause your life so you could stay in the good bits. Nine had been perfect. I could have stayed nine forever.

I had a load of good photos from tonight, including some potentially viral gold. I managed to capture the moment when that kid’s mother moonwalked herself right off her own feet, and I was far enough away that you can’t tell who she actually is. No need to ruin someone’s life because his mom can’t look where she’s dancing.

My mom came out of the bathroom, dressed in one of her many comfy nighties, smelling of face cream and a hint of toothpaste. This is how she would smell at night when she read to me; I remember it so well. Her lap was the comfiest place in the world, not that I could fit in it anymore, plus that would be weird. When she heads out to work in the morning, she smells of perfume and makeup, moving fast and taking her coffee to go. But at night she smells of roses and mint and seems to have all the time in the world for me. For a moment I got the crazy idea to ask her to read to me and opened my mouth to ask.

The phone rang. She looked at the screen, and answered. “Hey, Valentina, what’s up?”

I watched her for a moment. When she’s working her face changes. She gets focused, interested. Whenever she looks at me she looks tired, resigned. I guess I’m less fascinating. Perhaps I should sue someone or attempt a complicated corporate arbitrage of some sort.

Well, don’t respond at all, she said to Valentina, who’s this woman at her office I’ve never met, but who seems to be Mom’s work daughter. It doesn’t matter if we’re in the middle of something, if Valentina calls, Mom gives her her full attention. I’m not jealous; whatever gave you that idea? Mom was still talking on the phone: Wait him out, let him come to you. Be busy whenever he tries to reach you, tell your assistant to intercept your calls and tell him you’re unavailable.

Eventually, Mom got off the phone, then tapped at the screen for a moment.

“Why is your school calling me?” she asked. “I’ve missed three calls today.”

I froze.

“Wait,” she said, “I know. It’s fund-raising time again. They want a check, and because I’m on a college tour, I am raw and fearful and open to persuasion.” She grinned at me. “They are professional sharks, your school, I have to hand it to them. Your tuition is bigger than the library budget of some small towns, but they’re never too shy to ask for more.”