I Was Told It Would Get Easier(9)

Somehow an entire family had gotten ahead of me at the line for trays, so I was able to watch Emily go through the metal detector and wait for her stuff. A cute guy smiled at her, but I don’t think she even noticed. She’s very pretty, but in a way that apparently isn’t fashionable right now: She has her own eyebrows, her own hair color, her own cheekbones and freckles, and in general she’s more Hepburn than Kardashian. It’s all very well that I know Audrey’s a better choice than Kim (no offense, Kim). Emily needs to know it, and it doesn’t seem like she does.

When I got to the gate, I headed to the desk to try to change our seats. I’d thought Emily was right behind me, but when I looked around, she was nowhere to be seen. I remembered she’d muttered something about Starbucks. The checkin agent didn’t look thrilled to see me, but then again, I was probably either the first of many or the last of many, and I would pace myself, too.

“Yes, hi,” I said, with what I hoped was the right blend of friendliness and efficiency. “I was wondering if it was possible to change seats? My daughter and I aren’t sitting together, not really sure why, my assistant made the reservation”—assistants, seriously, what can you do?—“and we’d really like to be together on the flight . . .” I trailed off and showed the agent the little square code thing on my phone screen.

The agent, who looked like she didn’t care if a walrus made the reservation, scanned the phone and gazed at her invisible screen.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we’re fully booked. Your best bet is to wait until you’re on the flight and ask the attendant if he or she can help you swap with someone.”

“Has everyone checked in?”

“No, not yet.”

“So there may be empty seats anyway?”

The woman looked at me and then at something to my left.

“We’re not together?” It was Emily, who had arrived holding an enormous cup colored pink and blue in stripes. Honestly, does she know nothing about glycemic load or bladder capacity? I’d be willing to bet she’d spend longer photographing that than she would drinking it.

“No,” I said, hoping she’d back me up and guilt the gate agent into pulling strings.

“It’s not a problem,” she said instead, the little traitor. “It’s not like we’re never going to see each other again, we’re going to be constantly together for seven days.” She smiled at the gate agent and added, “It’s probably a good thing.”

Instead of being cool, I said, “Don’t you want to sit with me?” and even I could hear the telltale inflection of hurt feelings.

Emily couldn’t, apparently, because she shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh.”

Emily started to turn away. “Mom, it’s not a big deal, I’ll see you at the other end.” Then she walked away and slid down a wall to sit on the carpet, putting in her earbuds and pulling out her phone. Already sitting separately.

I turned back and saw the gate agent looking at me properly for the first time. Fantastic, now she thinks I’m one of those mothers who helicopters even while on an actual airplane.

Instead the woman handed me a fistful of drink vouchers, and said, “I have a teenager, it’s delightful. Have a drink on me.”

I smiled uncertainly, worried she was about to offer me some advice from her secure spot in the future of my life. Sometimes this advice is the best (Oh, yes, my four-year-old did that all the time, you don’t need to book a therapist, shampoo the rug) and sometimes it’s useless (Oh, you should never bribe your kids with M&M’s, they’ll get addicted to sugar and die an early death).

However, the woman merely lowered her voice and said, “Good luck. Have a nice trip!”





EMILY


I was waiting in line at Starbucks when my phone started blowing up. Texts from Ruby, Sienna, Francesca . . . “Call me.”

“What’s up?” I called Sienna first.

“Dude,” she said, sounding stressed, which is so not her vibe. “Mrs. Bandin called Lucy’s parents and now her dad is flipping out.”

Lucy is a junior, but she’s in a different friend group. “On a Sunday? What for? Why?”

“No one knows. Lucy’s not saying. And I heard Bandin called Rosalie Sumner’s parents, too. What the actual frick?” She paused. “You know those girls, right?”

I swallowed. “I’ll call you back.” I hung up and smiled at the Starbucks woman, despite the fact that I felt like throwing up. “I’ll have the Unicorn Frappuccino, please.”

“What size?”

I was on autopilot. “Venti, please.”

I called Sienna back, trying to keep it together. “Hey. Yeah, I know them, we do stats together.”

“What do you think happened?”

“No idea. Did she call anyone else?”

“Ruby said she called Becca’s mom.” This was more serious. Becca was in an adjacent friend group. I knew Becca pretty well.

“Wow,” I said, the sounds of the airport bending and stretching around me as I walked mechanically back to the gate. I could see my mom standing at the desk and headed towards her. Don’t say anything . . .

“I gotta go, plane’s leaving soon. Text me.”