EMILY
This morning the breakfast was back to pastries, and after a bit of a scuffle over the limited number of cinnamon rolls, people stood about uncertainly, waiting to be told where to sit. I was too slow for a cinnamon roll, but I did snag a chocolate croissant, the silver medal of pastries. I got a cup of tea, too, because I had what Mom calls an emotional hangover from the previous evening. I’m sure you’ve had one: Everything is a little bit loud, you seem to have lost a few layers of skin, and tears are a distinct possibility. I think Mom has one, too; she and I have barely spoken, but not in an unfriendly way. Just in a not-speaking way that could go either way any second. Mom taught me that emotional hangovers need four things to dissipate: caffeine, sugar, space, and time. Sometimes she’s very wise; don’t tell her I told you so.
I walked over to Will. He’d snagged a cinnamon roll, of course, but he tore off a piece and offered it to me. I waved the croissant at him.
“How was the Rocky thing?”
“The steps? Surprisingly fun.” He lowered his voice. “It was a classic example of the gap between perception and reality.”
“How so?”
He grinned and leaned in a little closer. I could smell the hotel soap on him, as if he’d been in the shower with me not thirty minutes earlier.
“Well, in the movie, he runs up the whole flight of stairs, right, which is not what happened last night. People stationed someone at the top, sprinted up the last few, and then raised their arms for the picture.” He took a bite of cinnamon roll. “Although Sam and Casper decided to actually run the whole thing and Sam had to stop halfway to pull out his inhaler. Casper made it to the top in record time, then revealed the other school office he holds is secretary of the cross-country club.”
“Sam is . . . ?”
Will narrowed his eyes at me. “Sam is Falling Mother. Casper you already know.” He chewed. “We’re all actual people, you know. It’s not only you and Alice on the tour.”
I was surprised, and started to ask him what he meant, but Cassidy launched into her speech.
“Good morning, tourists!” (She’d probably come up with that in the shower and was clearly pleased with it.) “Here are today’s seating groups.”
Oh, fantastic.
Looking across the table at Alice, I realized a lack of eye contact was a constant for teenagers. It’s not that they won’t look at you, it’s that they have many other things to look at and, to be honest, they’ve seen you before.
When Cassidy put us together, there was a highly awkward exchange where we all pointed out we knew each other and therefore the avowed intent—getting to know new people—wasn’t going to work.
“But I pulled names at random,” said Cassidy.
“Right,” said Emily, “but we all know each other already. Can’t you pick again?”
Cassidy wasn’t having it. “But you’re friends.”
Infinitesimal pause while we all internally debated refining her definition, then realized we should have been rushing to confirm it.
“Of course,” I said, smiling at Dani.
“Good friends,” she replied.
“Well then,” said Cassidy, turning to deal with a nut allergy at table four.
“So, Alice,” I said, “are you enjoying the trip?”
She shrugged and flicked a glance up at me. “Sure. It’s better than school.”
I looked at Dani, and for the first time ever our eyes met in perfect mutual comprehension.
We both tried to engage the kids in conversation, but they weren’t having it, and as soon as possible they bounced away to talk to other kids, leaving Dani and me alone.
“More coffee?” she asked as she got up to refill her own cup.
“Thanks.” I watched her walk away, realizing I’d never seen her in sneakers before. She was still very tall, but somehow more human without the towering stilettos.
She sat back down. “My feet are killing me,” she said. “All that walking.”
I nodded, taking the coffee from her and smiling. “LA really makes you soft.”
“Who walks?” She laughed ruefully, “Turns out I’m only in shape from the ankles up. My feet are a mess.”
We sipped in silence.
Dani sighed. “Do you think your daughter likes you?”
I was surprised by the vulnerability implied by the question. “I’m not sure, I’ll be honest. Some days she’s lovely. Other days she treats me with utter disdain.”
Dani pursed her lips. “Yup. Me, too. If I’m giving her what she wants, Alice is totally lovely. But if I thwart her plans in any way—which is not hard to do these days—she’s so amazingly mean.”
I looked at her lovely face sympathetically. “Emily has thrown some truly amazing insults my way, I promise you. It was maybe even slightly worse a couple of years ago. Twelve to fourteen was pretty hideous.”
“At least you get to go to work.” Dani was gazing glumly into her coffee cup. “I could have kept modeling, but I wanted to give my girls the best start possible.” She flicked a glance at me, and tried to backtrack half a step. “Not that working full-time is a bad idea, of course.”
“Well,” I replied drily, “it’s a better idea than starving to death.”
She laughed uncertainly. “Mind you, I keep myself busy. I’m on three different committees at school, as you know, and I do a lot of philanthropy, of course.”
“Of course,” I replied, trying to remain neutral. In the past, Dani—and other moms like her, moms I thought of as professional mothers, who tackled parenting like a full-time career—had made me feel guilty for going to work. When emails went out calling for library volunteers, or chaperones for field trips, the same subset of parents would leap forward. Of course, they would say. I’m available. Happy to! Those of us who worked outside the house would be bummed out, briefly, but—and I’m being honest here—accompanying twenty-two fifth graders to the Natural History Museum isn’t my idea of a good time.
Now Dani looked at me. “You know, I thought I was doing the right thing, staying home with Alice and her sister. I thought it would be fun, and it was fun, for ages. When they’re little, when they’re cute and let you dress them up. But now it’s just a pain in the ass. Despite everything I do for them, they treat me like a combination chauffeur/ATM/punching bag, and it’s getting on my nerves.”
“Why did you come on this trip?”
Dani shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought maybe Alice and I would hang out, like we used to.” She laughed at herself. “I thought maybe if she was away from her friends, she’d have to talk to me.” She examined her acrylic nails, checking for chips. There weren’t any.
I nodded. “Same here. But it isn’t working out quite how I wanted it to. Not yet, anyway.”
Dani leaned across the table. “I’ve spent the last sixteen years doing everything for her, and she treats me like crap.” She eyed me. “Maybe if I’d been less available, she’d treat me with more respect.”
I shrugged. “I wonder if I’d been around more, Emily would be nicer to me.”
“Maybe if I’d been more disciplined,” said Dani.
“Maybe if I’d been less disciplined,” I replied.
Emily appeared suddenly at my elbow.
“I’m going up to pack up and get ready,” she said. “Are you coming?”
I nodded, but she turned and walked out without me. Dani and I watched her go, and then I turned to her and grinned.
“See? Pure charm.”
Dani laughed.