I Was Told It Would Get Easier(84)

“I’m helping them,” added Alice. “I’m doing their social media.”

I stared at her. “Since when do you like geology?”

“Since diamonds.”





JESSICA


After a somewhat exhausting breakfast, most of us headed up to Columbia anyway. Cassidy was never heard from again, but I like to keep her number in my phone as a memorial to a fallen college admissions soldier.

Emily and I seem to have established a new . . . something. Relationship is putting it too strongly, as I managed to irritate her twice already this morning by asking her if she was hungry, but somehow the tension between us has lessened. She made some friends, she had an adventure, and I feel like maybe I didn’t ruin her life by working all the time, which is a relief. I mean, maybe it wasn’t ideal parenting, but you know what? After spending a week with a dozen other parents, I realize there is no such thing. Cheesy, maybe, but true nonetheless. We’re all doing the best we can, for ourselves, for our kids, for the whole shebang.

Walking around the Columbia campus, I suddenly realized Helen was right: I could go back to school myself. Why not? The point was, one phase of my life was coming to an end, but only that one bit. The rest was still my oyster. I could stay in my current job, I could move to Baltimore, I could move to New York, I could go be a sheepherder in Ulaanbaatar, if Ulaanbaatar is an actual place. (I googled it: It’s the capital of Mongolia. You probably knew that.)

It’s time for a new plan. Or maybe no plan at all.





EMILY


Columbia was a lovely campus, and I could see Mom was enjoying showing me everything. I feel like I know her better after this trip: the young woman she used to be (thanks to the weird ex-boyfriend), the friend and student (thanks, Helen), the young adult (Amanda and Robert), and I already knew what a good mom she was. She might have been at work all the time, but she was happy, busy, and I never thought she wouldn’t put me first if she had to. And I learned to handle myself, so, you know, that’s good. I guess this part is coming to an end, the kid part, but it’s not the end of everything.

“Mom,” I said, swallowing nervously. “Can we sit down a minute?”

“Sure,” she said, heading over to sit on the edge of the fountain in the center of the main quad. “What’s up?”

I took a deep breath. “Mom, I don’t think I want to go to college at all.”

She looked at me and tried out a smile. “What do you want to do instead?”

“I’ve been thinking about technical school.”

She frowned. “Is that community college?”

I sighed. “No, Mom, it’s a two-year college that teaches actual skills. I want to be a cabinetmaker.”

“A what now?”

I smoothed my hands on my jeans. “Mom, do you remember Grandma’s lathe?”

She nodded.

“I loved that lathe. I loved the smell of sawdust. I loved making things. Grandma taught me everything she knew about building stuff, because she loved it, too. But when she was my age, a woman couldn’t really become a carpenter, or a welder, or a plumber, or whatever. It wasn’t done. Now it is.” I squeezed her hand. “You taught me I can be anything I want to be. You have work that you love, that makes you happy. I want that, too. I want to make things.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

I spoke again. “Mom, if I’m qualified in a skilled technical field, I will always have work. I was talking to Will’s dad about this, he has a friend who’s a steamfitter . . .”

“When did you have this conversation?”

“After breakfast the other day. Why is that important?”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s a steamfitter?”

“Someone who installs the heating and venting systems in large buildings, working with the architect, you know? His friend has a company that makes millions of dollars a year. He always has plenty of clients. And he still has a life.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Mom, I know this is something people like us don’t usually do, but it really appeals to me.”

She was still quiet. Mulling it over, maybe. Or panicking.

“Are you worried what your friends will say?” I asked, feeling sick suddenly. She was ashamed of me. “I realize it’s not very fancy, it’s not something you can show off about . . .”

Finally, she spoke. “Emily Elizabeth Burnstein, do you think I give a single shit about what other parents think?”

“Uh . . .”

“Well, maybe I have at times, but you know what? I want you to find a life that works for you, and the fact that you’ve worked out what that might be is the best news I’ve heard all year.” She pointed at me. “Emily, you are awesome, and I look forward to ordering a dining table, or whatever it is you end up making.”

Will and his dad walked up, and my mom said, “Hey, Emily wants to be a cabinetmaker.”

“Cool,” said Will’s dad. “Will wants to go to Caltech.”

Will looked sheepish. “I want to stay close to home, and also, you know, Casper and I are starting our business.”

“West Coast is the best coast,” I said.

“True story,” said Mom. “Do you guys want to blow off NYU and go to the Natural History Museum instead?”