I Was Told It Would Get Easier(29)
I shrugged. “I guess.”
She turned back to her screen. “I’ll email them that I’m away, which they should already know, for crying out loud, and deal with it when I get back.”
“What’s up with Valentina?” I asked. I don’t even know why I asked; I don’t really care.
Mom looked surprised. “Valentina? She’s up for partner at work, and I’m trying to help her get there, that’s all.”
“That’s very supportive of you.”
Mom looked quizzically at me. “It’s my job. She’s my mentee, I take care of her.”
“You’re her boss?”
“Not exactly, it’s different than that. I look out for her. I anticipate problems, I give her guidance, I lobby for her with senior people at work.” She frowns at me. “Like Angela was for me, remember?”
“Angela?”
“Angela was my mentor when I was younger.” She looks hazy for a moment. “I guess it was when you were very small.”
Why do I feel so annoyed about this? “So, Valentina is like your kid.”
Mom shook her head. “No, she’s another adult who’s professionally more junior than me.”
“But you make time for her. You listen to her. You answer her calls and emails. You think about her future.” Suddenly I was angry. “You treat her more like a daughter than you treat me.”
Mom waited a second, then clearly decided to take the bait. “That’s not true. She listens to me more than you do.”
“Because she’s paid to.”
“Or because she knows I know what I’m talking about and appreciates my advice.”
“She doesn’t know you as well.” Wow, that was a little harsh, Emily. I suddenly felt too tired to have this fight. I wish I knew why I lost my temper like this. I understand I’m a hormonal mess, that my brain is bathed in a soup of conflict, but it would be nice to be able to rise above it. “Never mind,” I said, shooting for conciliatory and ending up with huffy. “I’m going to watch a show and go to sleep.”
I put my earbuds in and pretended to be super focused on the screen. Luckily I don’t think Mom could see it from where she was, because she might have wondered why I was watching Monster Truck Rally with such commitment.
JESSICA
I had no idea what had just happened, but it seemed to be over. Why Emily was so interested in monster trucks was beyond me, though. I’m too tired and old for this. I decided to go to sleep.
Tuesday
Washington, DC, Baltimore, and Philadelphia
8:00 a.m.: Theme breakfast: Dreams!
10:00 a.m.: American University
Drive 1 hour and 4 minutes on the E3 College Coach—packed lunch included! (Please advise us of dietary restrictions, allergies, etc. E3 is a nut-free company!)
2:00 p.m.: Johns Hopkins University
Drive 1 hour and 43 minutes to Philadelphia on the E3 College Coach—snack included!
5:00 p.m.: Check into hotel in Philadelphia
6:00 p.m.: Optional group visit to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and a chance to run up the Rocky Steps and take photos! (Tag us and win a tote!) Note: The museum itself will be closed.
7:30 p.m.: Dinner at the hotel
Overnight in Philadelphia
8
JESSICA
The next morning E3 was hosting breakfast in the same small conference room as the day before, and according to the itinerary, there was a theme.
“A theme?” asked Emily, pulling on her socks. They might have been my socks; she was a little furtive about it.
“Yes.” I nodded. “Dreams.”
“Dreams is the theme?”
“Yes.” Not sure why she’s struggling with this, but I woke up ever so slightly hungover and she needs to stop asking questions. I felt as if a pillowcase had been filled with dirty socks and tied around my head, and if I didn’t get a cup of tea soon I was going to cry.
Emily reached under the bed for her sneaker and started untying it. Slowly. “Huh. I dread to think what teenage boys dream about. It could get pretty steamy in there.”
I frowned, wishing she would hurry up. “I don’t think they literally mean dreams. I think they mean it in the aspirational sense.”
“Okay.” Both shoes on now, Emily stood. “Shall we make stuff up? I could say I dream of being a jet pilot or a firefighter.”
“You could.”
“Or a mountaineer or fashion model.”
“Sure.”
She looked at me as I held the hotel room door open for her. “Are you feeling alright? You seem a little cranky.”
“I’m not cranky.”
“Maybe you’re hungry?”
I checked that the door was closed all the way. “I’m not hungry.”
“Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.”
Oh my god, I was turning into my daughter.
* * *
? ? ?
Instead of pastries there were bagels, and the chairs were different, arranged around small tables. People grabbed their breakfast and drifted to chairs, looking slightly nervous. Several of us looked a little worse for wear, which made me feel better, and the mom who’d fallen on the dance floor didn’t show up at all. Her son was there, still slightly red from the embarrassment of the night before, and I felt bad for him. If teenagers were anything like they used to be, it was going to take a while to live that down. Especially now, because it was permanently recorded and instantly shared, making a brief moment of shame something you had to live down over and over again. He’d probably said as much to his mother through the bathroom door as she’d thrown up, and I couldn’t decide whom to feel more sympathy for.