JESSICA
I left Emily in the lobby to reunite with her friends, and headed up to the room. I’m not sure why, but for some reason we were given a suite, and I spent a few minutes marveling at how big the bathtub was. Whenever I’ve stayed in New York before, I’ve always been surprised by how small they can make a hotel room and have it still count as a room and not a closet. But this time they clearly threw caution to the wind.
I called Frances and told her everything. She was pleasingly horrified, impressed with Emily’s bravery, and delighted I’d gotten my nails done.
“About time,” she said. “Your hands remind me of the school nurse, all those years ago. Incredibly clean and sensible.”
“Isn’t that a good thing, in fingernails? I’m not a model, I’m a lawyer. I’m supposed to radiate reliability and competence.”
“Well”—her voice was dry—“you certainly do that.”
Emily walked in. She did not look good. I made a quick goodbye and hung up. “What’s the matter?”
She shook her head. “Will thinks I’m a snitch and now we’re not friends anymore.”
She started to cry. “I’m always the good kid, the reliable kid, and sometimes that sucks so badly. I want to be the fun kid.”
I gathered her into a hug, and she let me. “Baby, you are the fun kid.”
“No,” she said, wiping her soggy face on my sleeve, making me glad I hadn’t changed for dinner yet. “I’m the kid who stands by the side and laughs at the fun kid. I’m not even a toady sidekick, I’m just one of the background kids. I don’t get picked first or last, I get picked somewhere in the middle. I’m ordinary. In twenty years when people look at school photos, they’re not going to remember my name. I’m going to be that kid who did school paper, or who won the stupid penmanship thing. I’m going to be nameless.”
She was working herself up. I decided to let her blow off steam.
“And I’ve even ruined my safe spot in the crowd by snitching on my friends, so now I’ll be remembered as the girl who snitched. Th . . . this is going to be my defining high school moment.” She was starting to hyperventilate a little.
“No,” I said, “you’re going to be the girl who was questioned by the FBI. That’s much more fun.”
No dice. No laughter setting available. Emily shook her head, sniffed, and stepped back. “No, I told Will the truth and he called me a snitch and walked away.”
I watched her turn away, and asked, “Will he tell everyone?”
“No,” she said, wise with experience. “But eventually everyone will know, because that’s how information works. It leaks to one person, then trickles along to another, then everyone knows.” She sat on the desk chair, looking around for the first time. “Why do we have such a big room?”
“Baby, the people who know you will understand . . .”
She was annoyed suddenly, smacking her palm on the desk, deciding anger was more comfortable than sorrow. “Mom, it’s not about the people that know me. It’s about everyone else, don’t you get it?”
“Well, I . . .”
“And what do you know about it, anyway? You barely pay any attention to my life. The only reason you know about this is because the freaking authorities got involved.”
“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.