JESSICA
Helen was my first roommate at college, and we’ve mostly stayed in touch. She was a philosophy major, and we bonded over our mutual love of argument. She tended to be discursive and curious, whereas I favored facts and irrefutability, which is why she became a professor and I went to law school. I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, and even that last sighting had been a brief overnight when she came to UCLA for a conference. However, Helen is easy to spot.
“Wow,” said Emily, “that’s Helen?”
Helen is six feet two inches tall. At college, she and I developed a drinking game based on how many times men called her an amazon or asked her if she played basketball. (For those of you who have tall friends and want to play, your friend takes a shot for amazon, you take a shot for basketball; it’s a drinking game, not chess.) I thought she was joking at first, but then I saw it in action. It’s like they see a woman over five ten and the word amazon falls out of their mouth, quickly followed by some reference to dunking. A social scientist would probably have a name for it, but we called it unimaginative.
Helen also has very dark skin and cheekbones you could rest a tea tray on, but I was willing to overlook her beauty and focus on the fact that she inexplicably loved me as much as I loved her. We have that friendship where you see each other once a decade and pick up where you left off.
“Is it possible this is the child Emily?” Helen stood to greet us, extending her hands to Emily and causing a man at a table nearby to drop a cherry tomato. “I understand the laws of both biology and time, but surely you’ve grown faster than recommended?”
Emily laughed, as dazzled as everyone always is. “It’s me, I promise.”
Helen clasped her hands for a moment and then smiled at me. “You created a beauty, Jessica Burnstein, no doubt about it.” She turned back to Emily. “Please tell me you want to study philosophy.”
Emily shook her head. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”
“Maybe you could major in something else and minor in philosophy?”
Emily smiled. “I really don’t know what I want to do.”
“Well then, philosophy is perfect!” She turned to me. “The whole point of it is wondering.” She grinned. “Although your mother always preferred to be definite, it was her only flaw.”
“It still is. She loves to be right.”
I glared at them. “Let me head this off right now, this is not a ‘let’s gang up on Jessica’ dinner.”
“It’s not?” said Emily. “That’s disappointing.”
We ordered and Helen asked Emily the basic questions all adults ask teenagers: where she went to school, what was her favorite subject, did she play any sports, what books she enjoyed, and so on. I realized Emily was right; adults do ask interview questions all the time. But, this being Helen, she moved on pretty quickly to do you believe in God, what is the meaning of existence, and what was Emily’s point of view on the question of free will.
Then the food arrived.
“So, Jessica, what’s the latest with you? Are you running your firm yet?” Helen was speaking with her mouth full, which was an old habit I was pleased to see she hadn’t grown out of. She needed to say what she had on her mind, and food in her mouth was no good reason to hold off.
I shook my head. “Not yet, and maybe never.” I was obviously not going to mention the Valentina thing while Emily was there. Or the Ostergren thing. Or anything, in fact. Emily seemed stressed enough already. “I love the law part, the managing lawyers part . . . not so much.”
Helen nodded. “And you, Emily? Do you think you’ll take a corporate route through life?”
Emily shook her head. “I really doubt it. I don’t enjoy thinking in confinement.”
Helen laughed and clapped her hands. “Excellent, a free thinker.” She smiled at me again. “Well done.”
I shrugged. “She came out that way. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Not true,” said Emily surprisingly. “You raised me to question everything, especially the status quo.”
“I did?” I frowned. “No wonder you won’t do what I tell you to.”
“But that’s the point, I am.” She grinned. “You told me to never blindly accept authority, so I don’t.”
“I probably should have thought that one through a little more,” I said. “Perhaps all that emphasis on independence and self-determination wasn’t the smartest strategy.”
“No, it was,” said Helen, suddenly more serious. “I’m telling you, I see more kids these days who need to be told their next step all the time, it’s incredibly sad. We weren’t like that.” She looked at Emily. “Your mother was the least compliant person I ever met.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean if someone told her she was supposed to do something, she wouldn’t do it, not until she was certain she would have chosen it for herself. It was, I’ll be honest, a tiny bit pathological.”
I frowned. “That is completely untrue.”
“See what I mean? Oppositional.”
“I did everything my coach said. I turned in my work on time. I’m really not sure what you’re referring to.”
“You did what your coach said because you knew it was right, and you turned your work in because you didn’t want to flunk classes. However, if one of us said you should cut bangs, or wear a different jacket, or stop sleeping with that terrible guy you had such a thing with, you wouldn’t do it.”
“Oh my god, not David Millar.” Emily was amused. “We saw him the other night, he was creepy.”
Helen clapped her hands again. “Yes! I had totally forgotten his name. Your mother was obsessed.”
“Oh please, like you didn’t have a semester-long fling with a certain . . .”
“Person who will remain nameless.” Helen grinned. “We all made mistakes, which is what you’re supposed to do in college. I wore Rosie the Riveter overalls all the time also, which was a far bigger crime.” She lowered her voice. “Students these days have less fun, and dress like office managers. It’s really kind of depressing. And it’s not like philosophy majors are going to head off to high-paying philosophy jobs that make it easy for them to pay off their student debt, so when I look out across the lecture hall, it’s hard not to feel like I’m part of the problem.” She smiled. “Of course, then we get into a spirited debate about the nature of reality, and I see their brains lighting up, and I remember why college was invented in the first place.” She shook her head at Emily. “Don’t feel like college is the only way to go, life is much bigger than that.”
I sputtered an interruption. “Hey, I’m having a hard time selling her on college, please don’t make it worse.”
Helen looked seriously at me. “Really, Jess, I’m not joking. It’s not like it was when we went; it’s expensive, it’s hard, it’s much less light-hearted, kids get shot, get assaulted, get bored, and walk out saddled with a level of debt that means they have to strap on a number and enter the rat race right away.” She sighed. “It’s enough to make you yearn for revolution.” She shook her wrist full of bangles, making several men’s heads whip around instinctively.
“So why don’t you quit your job?” Emily asked.
“And abandon them completely?” Helen laughed. “I love my students. I love the way they think, the way they approach centuries-old debates with fresh ideas. I know a lot about philosophy, and people say it’s a pointless subject, but I swear I see human thought changing in front of my eyes every day. In the two decades I’ve been teaching, opinions and attitudes have evolved and altered and swung back and forth, and I have a ringside seat.” Her eyes were gleaming, and she suddenly reached across the table and took Emily’s hand. “Debating the nature of life is part of the human condition, it’s the most beautiful thing.”
There was a pause, then Emily said, “Well, I can see why you got tenure.”
Helen laughed, then said, “Thanks, but don’t forget, I’m spectacularly unqualified for anything else.”
Mom’s friend Helen is a trip. I had a teacher like her in elementary school, who made me actually excited at the thought of coming to school every day, who seemed delighted to hear what I had to say. But they’re rare.
I drifted off and thought about Will. When I’d gotten back to the hotel room to get ready for dinner, Mom did the most pathetic job of wanting to know all about my afternoon and at the same time not wanting to ask. It was almost painful to watch, and in the end I’d said I had a good time and left it at that. It would be weird to talk about my romantic life with her, especially as she really doesn’t have one.
While she was in the shower, I’d finally texted Becca. I’d hesitated for an awkward amount of time; it was time to get over myself.
“Hey,” I texted. “Sorry I’ve been AWOL, I’m on this college thing.”
Long pause. Great, she hates me. Wait, three dots, then: “I know. Did you hear?”
“Yeah. What happened?” Pause. “Really. I heard various versions.”
“It’s simple. Lucy told her mom, her mom told the school.”
I frowned. “Did Lucy say that?”
“No, that’s my theory. She’s not saying anything. Her mom took her out completely. She gone, dude, she never even replies to my texts.”
I thought about that for a moment.
“Your parents freak?”
“Totally. Not sure they weren’t mostly mad I got caught, they freaked out more when I told them I was failing the class.”
I heard the shower turn off.
“Gotta go. Sorry.”
“Later.”
Now, sitting in the restaurant with this amazing woman who’d done everything right, and my mom, whose entire raison d’être was doing the right thing, I realized there was no way I could ever explain to them what Becca and the others had done. They would never understand. I was completely alone.
But, like I said, Helen was a trip.
After dinner we all headed back to the hotel, and while Emily went up to the room, Helen and I decided to have one more drink in the hotel bar.
Helen gazed around. “It’s amazing to think how many people have had a drink with their friends at this place. Hundreds of years of regrettable incidents.”
I laughed. “Centuries of false promises and hookups that changed the fate of nations.”
“Or led to pox of one sort or another. There were several centuries of drinking here before penicillin was discovered.”
“True.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then Helen said, “So, what’s really going on with you?”
“How do you mean?”
She tipped her head back and regarded me thoughtfully. “I mean I assume there must be more going on than what you can say in front of your child. If it’s all PG, I’m very disappointed.”
I shrugged. “I threatened to quit my job in order to ensure sexism-free workplace practices.”
“Wow. Way to bury the lede.”
“I may not actually have to quit. It wasn’t exactly an idle threat, because I will quit, but hopefully not.” I explained, not leaving out anything. Helen can be trusted.
“Glad to see your rebellious streak is still alive and well.”
I grunted. “No one was more surprised than me.”
“Did you tell Valentina?”
I shook my head. “Too much pressure.”
“So basically you’ve only told me?”
“And Chris, this guy on the tour.”
Helen raised her eyebrows at me. “Cute?”
I nodded. “Yes, but Emily is interested in his son, and there is no way on God’s good earth that I am doing any kind of mother-daughter father-son dating thing. Too weird.”
“You’re a good mom.”
“Because I won’t date her boyfriend’s dad? Wow, you have a low bar.”
The room was cozy, and I was starting to feel a little sleepy. A fire was burning, hundreds of years of dirt dimmed the walls; it smelled of brandy and centuries of smoke.
“I also got offered a job in Maryland.”
“Doing what?”
“Windsurfing for charity.”
“What?”
“As a lawyer of course, Helen, what else?” I laughed. “After fifteen years at the same job, never even thinking about changing, I suddenly threaten to quit and get a job offer in two days. Plus, David Millar hit on me to a nauseating extent, there’s a hot dad on the tour, and . . . it’s overwhelming.” I picked at a napkin. “I am not happy right now.”
Helen laughed at me. “Just to increase your confusion, I think you should go back to college. We’re always looking for mature students.”
I made a face. “I’m a mature student? Ugh.” I drank more wine. “No, I have a plan and I’m sticking to it. Quitting notwithstanding.”
Helen was skeptical. “Describe your supposed plan.”
I leaned back in my chair and counted off on my fingers. “First, get accepted to the California bar, check; move to LA, check; get a good job; put Emily in an excellent elementary school; get a reliable babysitter; work my ass off to pay for the school and the babysitter; get Emily into Westminster; make partner so I can afford Westminster; get Emily through middle and high school without her getting arrested, pregnant, or addicted to methamphetamines; get her into a good college; get promoted so I can afford the good college; keep working my ass off to pay for the whole four years; help her get a good job; then go out into the backyard, dig myself a big hole, and sit in it.”
“Wow,” said Helen. “That’s quite a detailed plan.”
“Yup. You know me, I like to achieve my goals.”
“When did you come up with that plan?”
“When the second line appeared on the pregnancy test.”
“And you haven’t deviated from your plan for the last seventeen years?”
I shook my head.
“Jesus, Jess, what happened to you? When we were in college you were stubborn, sure, and yes, you liked a goal, but since when did simply sticking to a plan become the goal?”
I’d possibly had too much to drink for this conversation and said so. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to explain, the wine is making me tired.”
Helen clicked her tongue. “You wanted to be a Supreme Court justice, remember? We all sat in the student union and watched RBG’s confirmation. She was a freaking alum, you were all I’m going to be the second female Columbia grad to ascend to the Supreme Court, and I’m taking my gold medal with me. You were so certain.”
I laughed. “Well, so much for that, then. No medal, no Supreme Court . . . two for two.”
Helen ordered another round of drinks, which was probably ill-advised. “Did you go back to archery? Last time I saw you, in LA that time, you said you were thinking of picking it back up.”
“Yeah, still thinking.”
“Do you miss it?”
I shrugged. “Sure, but it could only be a hobby. It’s not like I can compete anymore.”
“So? Would you encourage Emily to only do things she was good at? Isn’t it fun to get better at something? Did I tell you I took up cooking last year?”
“No. Really?”
“Yes, really. I’m terrible at it, but I’m learning. I also took up ballroom dancing, but I didn’t enjoy it AND I was terrible at it, plus it always resembled a giraffe dancing with her baby.” She laughed. “I met a nice guy, though.”
“A baby giraffe?”
She nodded. “Yeah. We have fun, nothing serious.” She leaned forward. “When did you stop having fun?”
I stared into my drink. “I don’t know. Work used to be fun, Emily used to be fun, but lately neither is exactly a barrel of laughs.”
“Well, then your current plan clearly sucks. I’ve got no idea why you’re sticking to it so religiously.”
My phone pinged, and I turned it over. “It’s Emily, she’s saying good night.” I smiled at Helen. “I’ve stayed up later than my teenager, that’s a first.”
“Good. Shake it up.” We looked at each other, then she said, “But now, I expect, you’re going to bed, too, so you can kiss her good night.”
I stood up. “Yup. Way past my bedtime.”
Helen stood, too, and we hugged. I wondered if I felt like a baby giraffe and asked her the question I ask every time I see her. “Are you still glad you never had kids of your own?”
She nodded. “I get a new class of kids every year, when on earth would I have had time for my own?” She was serious for a moment. “Besides, actual children grow up and go away, whereas mine arrive fully grown and are much better at staying in touch.”