I Was Told It Would Get Easier(75)

“Well, you could have told me.” If she’d wanted to, but she didn’t, said the voice in my head.

“When? In the three minutes you’re home every day? I guess I could have sent you an email. Or asked your assistant to pass along a message. Like that time I got her to email a permission slip to school because you were in a meeting.” She pulled her leg up under her, curling like a snail.

Her tone was so scornful, I recoiled. “That was one time.”

“I’m such a huge disappointment to you.”

I was stung, and sad that the comfortable closeness of the nail salon had apparently dissipated. “That is completely untrue. I’m incredibly . . .”

Her face got redder. “I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t have a patent, I don’t have a million followers, I don’t plan to go to an Ivy League, I don’t want to be like you, and you hate me!”

I stood up and reached for her. “Baby, I don’t hate you, how can you think that?”

She rolled the chair back, out of reach. “I know it! The other day at dinner with Grandpa you didn’t even notice I was gone for, like, twenty minutes.”

I frowned. “What?”

“I was in the bathroom and lost track of time and when I got back you were chatting away, probably about your fabulous Valentina.” She made a frustrated gesture. “She’s the daughter you wish you had, right? A fancy, supersmart, really ambitious woman like you.”

“Um, well, first of all, she’s too old to be my daughter, and . . .”

“I’m speaking metaphorically!” She stood up again, nearly tipping the chair. “I’m mediocre in every way, compared to Alice, compared to Valentina, compared to you, Mom! I’m a total fuckup, and you’re ashamed of me.”

“Emily Burnstein, watch your language . . .” This argument was getting completely out of control. “Now sit down and take a deep breath.”

Amazingly, she sat, this time on the bed. I went to sit next to her on the bed but thought better of it. I pulled the desk chair around and sat facing her.

“Listen to me. From the moment you were born, you’ve been the very best thing about my life. Yes, I work hard, because we need to eat and because I love my work. I won’t apologize for that. But you come first, you’ve always come first, and no one and nothing on earth even comes close to how much I love you, and marvel at you, and am blown away by you every single day.” I leaned closer. “You’re completely your own person, Emily, you’re not like anyone else, and I wouldn’t want you to be. Least of all like me. I’m boring.”

She sniffed. “You’re not boring.”

“I am. I follow my little path, putting one foot in front of the other.”

“You’re strong.”

“I’m inflexible.”

She smiled, a little bit. “You’re passionate.”

“I’m opinionated.”

“You do what’s right.”

I shook my head. “I do what’s expected of me.”

“Not lately. You’re ready to throw your career away for a principle.” There was a silence. She hiccupped a bit. “I’m sorry I swore.”

“It’s totally fucking fine.”

She laughed. “I’m jealous of Valentina.”

“I noticed that.”

“She sees you more than I do. Everyone in your dumb office sees you more than I do.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “What if I leave home and you don’t even notice?”

My vision spangled, too. “What if you leave home and don’t even miss me?”

She stood suddenly, and sat in my lap. She said, in a strangled voice, “I miss you already, Mom.”

I wrapped my arms around her. “I miss you, too, baby.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you more.”

It was at that precise moment my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at it. It was my boss, John. I turned it to show Emily, then powered off the phone and threw it on the bed.

We sat there for ages silently. It was a big, pathetic mess of tears and dripping mascara, but neither of us wanted to be anywhere else at all.





25





JESSICA


Once we’d both calmed down, we got dressed and headed out to dinner at Robert and Amanda’s house. I’d suggested to Em we stay in the hotel and order room service, but she wanted to go.

“I love Amanda’s place. Besides, I haven’t seen Chloe in years.”

I closed the hotel room door and headed down the hall. “I’m not sure Chloe will be there, isn’t she still in school?”

“It’s spring break, remember? She might be there.” Emily was visibly pulling herself together. She reminded me of my mother when she did this. My mom was the queen of the quick recovery. She frequently broke things or attempted something she shouldn’t have (like replumbing the country house on her own, at seventy) and Things Happened. But she would always survey the damage, wipe whatever needed wiping, and shake her feathers back into place.

Onward and upward, she would say. And onward and upward she would go. I suddenly missed her, that sharp sudden inhalation of cold air, the slice of memory lodging in my throat.