I Was Told It Would Get Easier(50)
“Why don’t you like her?”
I made a face. “Because she’s not a nice person, she’s mean to you, she’s a narcissist and a power-mad queen bee.” I paused. “Apart from that I’m sure she has many sterling qualities.”
“Not really.”
“Well, there you go.” I watched the Pennsylvania countryside sliding by. We passed a classic red barn, a man walking a cow back into it on a rope, presumably leading his best farming life. He was unaware of our passing, and for all I knew he was filled with concern about his own kid’s entrance into college, but it seemed more likely he was thinking about his cow. Not getting her into college but getting her into the barn. Often when I’m driving around, I look at other people and wonder about their lives, about how we all go about our day with our minds swirling with hopes and plans for disaster, unaware of everyone else’s concerns. It made me feel better, knowing I was one of many, because most of the time I feel very much on my own.
I’d made that choice, of course. When I’d found out I was pregnant, which was a surprise, I’d immediately known I wanted to keep the child. The guy in question was not a candidate for marriage, and although we’d been dating for a few months, it was simply a mildly pleasant liaison. We liked the same movies, enjoyed chatting about inconsequential things, amused each other in bed, but . . . nothing beyond that. He wasn’t quite as smart as me, I wasn’t quite as good looking as him, and neither of us had a desperate urge to couple up at all costs.
When I told him the news, he was completely on board with my keeping the baby as long as I didn’t expect him to do anything about it. He didn’t want kids, didn’t want to share custody, didn’t want to babysit, didn’t want any of it. That was fine with me. I was nearly twenty-nine, didn’t see any opportunity for marriage in my future but had always wanted to have kids—or kid, at least—and didn’t want to wait any longer. I hadn’t been tapping my foot, impatient to get pregnant, but once it happened I felt completely confident I could handle the baby.
And I was mostly right, because although babies are a lot harder than they look on TV, they are still only babies. I gazed lovingly at my daughter’s jawline, so much firmer than it had been at six months, but still adorable. She turned, caught me looking, and raised a single eyebrow before rolling her eyes. It’s just as well parents get a decade of cute and cuddly children before they turn into teenagers, otherwise humans would have died out long ago.
Then we hit traffic, and Emily got hungry, and the packet of gum I had in my bag was apparently the wrong kind of gum, and suddenly I wished I were anywhere but on this bus. I’d even have traded places with the cow on a rope.
EMILY
You’d think the tour people would provide a snack; it’s kind of bullshit. My mom usually has nuts or something, but she had nothing but crappy gum. I knew I was hungry and it was making me bitchy, but knowing it is useless. My mom telling me I have low blood sugar doesn’t raise my blood sugar, and if she told me one more time to chew some gum, I was going to get off the bus, possibly without even asking the driver to slow down. I gazed out the window: Maybe one of those four thousand cars standing between me and food had a sandwich in it.
Honestly, Mom drives me up the wall sometimes. If I complain I’m hungry, she points out other kids are starving, as if the fact that they’re hungrier than me means I’m not hungry at all. That’s not how it works! If she came in and told me to clean my room, and instead I told her about hundreds of other rooms that were far messier than mine, I can assure you she wouldn’t say, Wow, you’re right, I should be grateful for what I have.
Then Will appeared, smiled at me, said hello to my mom, and asked me if I’d like to share a Twix. We’re getting married next week.
JESSICA
Oh my god, The Boy showed up and offered my furious daughter some chocolate. There goes her virginity.
Then she and Will went off to sit with the other kids, and I leaned my head gratefully against the window and tried to work out what I’m feeling. I’ve gotten used to describing my state as “tired” and letting it go at that, but lately I’ve noticed other adjectives have been pushing forward. Sad. Frustrated. Confused.
Dani suddenly plopped into the seat next to me. “Can I join you?”
Seeing as she was already sitting, I didn’t think I could say no, but at least I could rely on her dominating whatever conversation she had in mind. The worried Dani of breakfast seemed to be gone; this was the usual Dani, casually expensive clothes, layered necklaces, contoured bone structure. That Dani.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask . . . do you have a plan for college?”
I frowned. “How do you mean? Do you mean like a savings plan? Like a 529?”
Dani flicked a glance over her shoulder and lowered her voice further. “No, I meant an actual plan of attack. For getting in where you want. You know the school always plays it straight, but there are ways to make it easier.”
“Make what easier?” I was clearly missing something.
She looked at me with raised eyebrows, clearly resetting her assessment of my intelligence. “Getting into college, Jessica. It’s not an even playing field, you know that.”
“I guess. I haven’t thought about it that much.” This was a lie, of course, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of knowing how freaked out I was.