I Was Told It Would Get Easier(58)

Meanwhile, my mom was hanging out with her new best friend, Will’s dad, whose name I can’t remember, and it’s too awkward to ask Will now. They were sitting on a bench, not even pretending to listen to the tour guide, drinking Starbucks and laughing.

Will was being nice to me, though. We were half listening to the tour and half whispering about books we’ve liked.

One hundred and nineteen people liked my post about Princeton looking like Hogwarts.





JESSICA


Chris and I didn’t even attempt to follow the guide around Princeton. Honestly, they should have taken the one or two kids who might possibly attain Princeton, maybe the geology kid, maybe that one girl who literally hasn’t spoken all week so far but who always has her nose in a book, and let the rest of us sleep in.

And I was hiding from Emily, who was almost certainly getting her period. I wished we were getting along better; I could have definitely used a hug.

“Did you guys make up last night?” asked Chris. We had come to rest on a bench, sipping coffee and, you know, hanging out.

“Sort of,” I replied, “but she’s still pissy, as you saw at breakfast.”

He shrugged. “Will’s not talking at all, which works for me. Sometimes it’s easier to say nothing than to keep saying the wrong thing, which appears to be my special gift.”

“Mine, too,” I said. “I’m particularly good at knowing something is probably the wrong thing to say, biting my tongue for a while until the silence becomes really tense, then blurting it out anyway. The timing is like putting spin on a baseball, it adds an exciting layer of unpredictability.”

Chris laughed. It had been a long time since I’d made a man laugh, and I laughed, too, feeling like a regular human being for once, rather than simply my daughter’s antagonistic binary star.

He turned and looked at me. His eyes were dark green, and I suddenly realized I found him very attractive. He said, “I also like to ask questions that Will doesn’t want to answer, and offer advice he already knows. Do you do that?”

“Of course,” I replied, tipping up my Starbucks bag and hoping for crumbs. “I have this fantasy that one day Emily will come up to me and say, Hey, Mom, the other day I found myself in a situation I hadn’t anticipated, and the advice you gave me three years ago suddenly popped into my head. I was able to handle myself perfectly, and I wanted to say thanks. I always feel prepared, thanks to your thoughtful guidance.”

We both hooted with laughter. I glanced up and saw Emily and Will standing a hundred yards away, staring at us.

“Don’t look now,” I said, “but they’ve spotted us.”

Chris grinned and waved at his son. “Their expressions suggest concern.”

“Only that we might embarrass them.”

“We should at least try.”

“We should,” I said.

Chris pulled out his phone and opened his music app. “Are you ready?” he said, showing me his screen.

“Oh, for sure,” I said, getting to my feet.





EMILY


Oh my god, my mother has lost her mind.

She and Will’s dad suddenly stood up and started doing this weird dance; they put one arm out in front, then the other, then they put them on their shoulders, then . . . and this was when I started to feel a little light-headed . . . they put them on their hips and started wiggling their butts around.

“What the actual freak are they doing?” I turned to Will, who had his arms folded and his eyes narrowed.

“It’s called the Macarena,” he said. “My dad loves to embarrass me.”

“Is it a thing?”

“It used to be a thing, like, a hundred years ago.”

I could hear distant tinny music and realized they had a song playing on a phone. They were still dancing.

We both turned away and started walking.

“Did that just happen?” said Will. “Or did we drop acid at breakfast?”

“I had Cheerios.”

“Well, on behalf of my father, I apologize.”

“One, my mother was equally as bad, and secondly, no need,” I said. “Parents are weird AF.”

“They say and do whatever they want.”

“Totally selfish.”

“Narcissists.”

We walked for a bit. Then Will said, “Why didn’t we film? It would have been a classic post.”

“Like a natural history show where they re-create the mating of the dinosaurs?”

He laughed. I like his laugh, and I like making him laugh. “That’s a little harsh. Your mom isn’t old.” He paused, unsure. “She’s still pretty. She looks like you.” He paused once more, then: “Wow, I am incredibly suave.”

My turn to laugh. “You are.”

“I’m like . . . someone suave who I can’t think of right now because I’m too busy being suave.”

“That cartoon skunk? He’s very suave.”

Will looked at me. “Pepé Le Pew?”

“Probably,” I said, not sure if I ever knew the skunk’s name. “The one who always gets paint on a cat and falls in love.”

“Yeah.” Will turned to keep walking. “He’s very suave.”