Emily
THE NEXT MORNING, Emily stripped in front of her bathroom mirror to see if she was showing. Her boobs were ridiculous, that was for sure, but she couldn’t tell if her stomach was big because of the baby or because she hadn’t been able to take a dump since she arrived at her parents’ house. She had gotten into quite a routine for this: 10:00 a.m. like clockwork in her office bathroom after eating a banana and drinking a cup of hot black tea. It was so predictable, she was fairly certain even Linda knew about it. Outside of those precise conditions, there was no way she’d be able to go. She couldn’t shit on weekends unless she made herself a particular smoothie of pineapple, mint and parsley. David thought this was for her skin, and she didn’t correct him.
She turned around to check out her stomach from the other side, and she heard a splash. Her elbow had tipped her makeup bag off the sink and into the toilet. She screamed as she saw her precious Tom Ford lipstick sinking to the bottom of the toilet bowl.
“What the hell?” Lauren was outside the bathroom door. “Emily, are you okay?”
“All my makeup is ruined!”
Lauren opened the door. She saw the makeup in the toilet and shrugged. “Just rinse it off.”
“Rinse it off? Are you kidding me? First of all, eyeshadow can’t be ‘rinsed off’ because it’s a powder and the whole point is not to get it wet. Second, it’s all contaminated now!”
“Contaminated? Come on. You, David, Matt and I are the only ones who have been using that toilet.”
“It’s still contaminated. Just because I have sex with David doesn’t mean I want to coat my eyelashes in his poop germs.”
“A cell phone has more germs on it than a toilet seat.”
“There’s no fucking way that’s true. You’re just like those people who say a dog’s asshole is cleaner than a human’s mouth because it sounds too crazy to be true, so it must be true.”
“I’m serious! And it’s not a dog’s asshole being cleaner than a human’s mouth, it’s a dog’s mouth being cleaner than a human’s mouth. And it is true.”
“Dogs lick their own assholes, so that’s definitely not true.”
“Okay, fine, Emily. Do you want to borrow my makeup for the rehearsal dinner?”
Emily sighed. “No. You only wear bright and dark colors, and I like the neutral look, plus...please don’t get offended by this, but it’s unsanitary to share makeup.”
“With your own sister?”
“What does that have to do with anything? Just because you’re my sister, you couldn’t ever possibly have a skin infection or be a carrier of MRSA?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fine. I’ll drive you to Sephora. You seriously need to learn how to drive, by the way. This is fucking dysfunctional.”
* * *
They had been driving for a few minutes before Lauren spoke up. “Well, I feel like I have to bring up the gorilla.”
“What gorilla?”
“Oh, right. The ‘eight hundred pound’ gorilla. I try not to involve weight in the idiom because it’s yet another microaggression against people of size.”
“Okay.”
“Obviously I don’t want you telling Matt about the bartender.”
“I wasn’t going to. Are you going to?”
“Sure. Because he’s my keeper and he needs to hear every detail of what I do sexually.”
“Well, yeah, kind of. You cheated on him.”
“You really shouldn’t judge. What’s worse—me having consensual sex, which will never affect Matt if he doesn’t find out, or you keeping a pregnancy a secret from David?”
“Those things are not at all comparable. It’s not like I spermjacked him.”
“What the hell is spermjacking?” Lauren was so annoyed she almost ran over a squirrel. She swerved at the last second to avoid it, causing Emily to feel the need to throw up again.
“Jason told me about it. It’s basically when a woman wants to score a ‘high-value male,’ as he puts it, so she pokes a hole in the condom or tells him she’s on birth control when she isn’t.”
“What a crock of shit. Pickup artists think women are so diabolical because they’re sociopaths themselves.”
“Yeah. They probably do heinous things like cheat on their partners without remorse.”
“You know what? That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m doing you a fucking favor and all you’re doing is being a misogynistic hypocrite.” Spit shot out of her mouth and sprayed across the windshield.
“Misogynistic? You really think I would have a different opinion about this if you were a man?”
“It’s not about your reaction to it. It’s about the policing of women’s bodies. There is no historical precedent for policing men’s bodies, so when you criticize a male cheater, you aren’t reinforcing centuries of oppression.”
“That’s insane.”
“I don’t care what you think is insane.”
“Then why the hell did you bring this up in the first place?”
Lauren sighed. “Maybe because I was hoping to start a dialogue on exactly these issues. I wanted you to understand all the political and social factors that went into what I did with Will.”
Emily closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “Let’s just buy some makeup.”
When they got to Sephora, two sales associates greeted them: a pretty woman in her early thirties with dark brown skin, vibrant red lipstick and black hair in a sleek ponytail; and a short South Asian man with spiked hair wearing blue eyeliner.
“Welcome to Sephora!” the man said. “How can we help you? We have a plethora of age-fighting foundation in our Clinique section.” He directed this pitch to Emily.
“I need new makeup for my rehearsal dinner. I dropped all my makeup in the toilet by accident.”
“Well,” he said. “If you’re just looking to replace your basics, I am happy to direct you to some of our highest-rated brands.”
“We’re on a budget,” she said.
“Now we’re on a budget?” Lauren said. “After the cost of your dress?”
“The dress is important to me. Please, just quit it. You keep nagging me about the dress.”
“Well, I’ll stop when you stop judging me for every damn thing I do.”
“I get it,” the man said. “Weddings are stressful for everyone!”
“Especially us,” Lauren said.
His face softened and he smiled. “Wow. You guys are adorable. You make the cutest couple.”
“We’re sisters,” Emily said. “Are you kidding me?”
“Why are you so offended by the suggestion?” Lauren asked. “You think there’s something embarrassing about being a lesbian?” Emily recognized the look on her face. She would have to be careful not to accidentally dangle any more argument bait in front of her for the rest of the day.
“Of course not! I’m just...not.” She was particularly afraid of being homophobic in front of the presumably gay male Sephora sales associate, but she knew Lauren would be quick to remind her that “tons” of straight men wore eyeliner and worked at Sephora. It would be a repeat of the “tons of straight men wear thongs” disaster of 2010.
“Sorry about that,” said the female sales associate. “Don’t listen to Eddie. He has no filter. Let us know if you need anything while you shop.”
They ventured farther into the store. Women huddled around the tiny mirrors, applying goopy, used-up samples of sparkling lip gloss to their chapped lips. Emily never understood the people who used the samples on anything other than their wrists. Either they were all trying to inoculate themselves against the flu, or their understanding of germs was that of Medieval peasants.
“The smell in here is sickening,” Lauren said. “I’d be careful if I were you. Perfume can be toxic, and you’re breathing for two now.”
“I thought you were here to help. You’re just making me anxious.”
“Sorry. These places make me anxious. Did I tell you about the time I got PTSD when Mom made me wear makeup for cousin Alyssa’s bat mitzvah? Speaking of which, was Alyssa invited?”
“No. Nick and Susan probably think our entire family is dead.”
“Whatever, Alyssa voted for Obama twice—I don’t need her in my life.”
Emily turned to look at Lauren and raised an eyebrow, wondering whether she should even bother addressing that comment. Finally, she gave in. “Are you a Republican now?”
“No. I only vote third-party. The lesser of two evils is still evil.”
“Okay.” She paused for a second, remembering the overwhelming smell of perfume in the store. “Wait, Lauren, is perfume really going to kill my baby?”
“It’s not a baby, Emily, it’s a fetus. Don’t buy into anti-choice propaganda.” She fiddled with a Kat Von D black lipstick for a second before getting bored and moving on to a blue eyebrow pencil.
“Yeah, but I’m keeping it!” Emily watched as a middle-aged woman with her teenage daughter rubbernecked at their conversation. Emily lowered her voice. “Can we put the politics aside for one second? I’m about to get married, I’m pregnant and nobody knows, and you just told me that perfume could kill the baby!”
“It won’t kill it,” she angrily whispered back. “I’m just saying, it’s not healthy. In fact, I’d be suspicious of makeup in general. All the parabens.”
“What? I’ve been wearing makeup daily and God knows how long I’ve been pregnant. Oh fuck, this baby is definitely messed up now.”
“Calm down, you’re probably fine. But if you’re actually concerned about all this, just stop wearing makeup. It’s not like you need it.”
“I need it more than anyone, Lauren. I’m one of the few people in this cruel world whose acne phase and onset of aging manage to coexist. Fuck, now my own vanity is going to kill my kid!” Emily felt her heart rate increasing, her hairline sweating. At this point, she didn’t care who stared at her or laughed at her. This was just like the time she saw a man at the airport using a laptop next to an outlet without charging it. Only a suicide bomber, in her estimation, wouldn’t take advantage of a scarce airport outlet. She had frantically called the airport police, completely unconcerned about how crazy she might have seemed. She was saving lives! Who cared that he turned out to be a harmless businessman? On some level she was at least raising awareness.
“Hello, ladies.” Emily turned around and saw a young, heavyset makeup artist wearing the all-black Sephora ensemble. Her beige face was matte and completely drawn on. She had dark hair pulled back in a shiny top knot, and highly arched eyebrows that made her look like the love child of Kim Kardashian and Ursula from The Little Mermaid.
“Hey,” Lauren said. “We’re in kind of a hurry, so—”
“I just wanted to let you know we are offering free makeovers today. What are you two looking for?”
“Makeup for my rehearsal dinner tonight,” Emily said. “And then for my wedding tomorrow. I accidentally dropped all my makeup in the toilet, and things are just—” She couldn’t help it. She started to tear up. She tried to breathe deeply to postpone the tears, but she could feel them rolling down her cheeks. “This whole week has been so messed up. My parents are probably getting divorced, and I’m pregnant and the father doesn’t know yet, and the baby is going to die because I’ve been wearing all these parabens.”
The woman looked slightly aghast, then rearranged her face into a smile. “Look, honey,” she said. “No shame in drama. We all have drama. Just the other day my fourteen-year-old half sister started cyberbullying me on Twitter, and up until then I didn’t even know she existed.”
Lauren turned to Emily and began rubbing her back. “Calm down about the parabens. Just relax and get the free makeover. It’ll save time.”
“We can do a free makeover for both of you, by the way,” the makeup artist said.
Emily shrugged. “May as well. Lauren, you okay with this?”
“I guess. I could always use the experience for a blog post. Seems like they’re looking for more obvious, easy-to-digest feminism over at Cunt.”
“Excuse me?” the makeup artist asked.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, okay,” she said. “Let me get Eddie to do her makeup and I’ll do yours. What’s your name?”
“Lauren.”
“I’m Dominique.”
Dominique instructed Lauren to sit on a black canvas director’s chair while Eddie came over to do Emily’s makeup. He smiled and placed his hands on either side of her face. “I am going to make you look hot!”
“I just want something that covers up my blemishes. I don’t want to look too crazy.”
“No worries, girl. I get what you’re saying. Mature skin tends to look best with a liquid foundation as opposed to powder, so I hope you don’t mind if I stick to that. When I’m done with you, you won’t look a day over thirty. Now close your eyes.”
With her eyes closed, Emily began to feel her anxiety crawling back into her brain. “Say, you wouldn’t know anything about the chemicals in makeup, would you?”
“Uh...maybe, why?”
“I’m pregnant and I’m just not sure what makeup is safe to use...you know, for the baby.” That question was innocent enough. Nobody could conclude that she was doing anything but being reasonably cautious.
“Oh, girl, I don’t know. How far along are you?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know.”
“Girl, go to a doctor! You need to know!”
“Why? Why do I need to know?” She was sweating again.
“You want to make sure it doesn’t have any birth defects, obvs. If you’ve been drinking—”
“I have been drinking! What, are you trying to tell me I’ve killed the baby?”
“I think we’re done here,” Lauren said.
* * *
“Girls, you’re going to be late!” Marla called upstairs. Emily and Lauren came down the stairs, dressed for the rehearsal dinner. “My God, what happened to your faces?”
“We got makeovers at Sephora,” Emily said.
“You wouldn’t need all that eyebrow powder if you didn’t overpluck so much.”
The front door opened. It was Steven.
“Don’t mind me,” he said sullenly. “I just need to get my suit.”
“Oh yes, Steven,” Marla said. “Tell us not to ‘mind you’ when you come in here unannounced looking like a hobo. The least you can do is trim your beard. Photos are forever.”
“Hey, Dad,” Jason said. “Stay for a beer. We can all head over together.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m just going to get my suit.”
“This is classic you, Steven,” Marla said. “Avoiding criticism even when it’s long overdue.” Her bracelets jingled against each other as she made a sweeping gesture with her hand.
Steven stopped on his way to the stairs. “Can you elaborate on what criticism is so ‘overdue’?”
“Well, obviously, your narcissistic tantrum needs to be addressed. You’ve completely humiliated Emily on her wedding week.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Emily said. “I mean, Dad, I wish you were staying in the house, but I get why you left.”
“Marla, don’t involve the children in this,” he said, ignoring Emily. “They’re too young to process any of this.”
“I’m twenty-eight, Dad.”
“Yes, Emily, I’m aware, but your brain technically only reached maturity three years ago. And this situation is a lot more complicated than you think.”
“Mom cheated on you with Dr. Leibowitz. That’s pretty much it, right?”
Marla sighed. “Emily, it’s more complicated than that. I have a lot of unresolved anger toward my father and Aunt Lisa, and I can’t say I completely dealt with...never mind.”
“Never dealt with what?”
“The Cold War.”
“What?”
“You of all people should understand. Knowing that Khrushchev was ready to destroy us every second of the day really impacted me in my formative years. It’s no wonder that years later I subconsciously sought out a strong, masculine presence who reminded me of my own distant father, while I was married to someone who—no offense, Steven, I’m sure even you would agree with this—is extremely passive.”
“I’m done with this,” Emily said, throwing her hands up and seconds later realizing she had adopted that tic from Marla. “Nobody in this house takes responsibility for anything.”
Lauren pulled Ariel onto her lap. “Emily, you are the last person who should be criticizing anyone right now. We literally just went through this.”
“Okay, fine. I take it back. Leave me out of this.”
“What is she talking about, Emily?” Marla asked. “Lauren, what are you talking about?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’m not going to say shit. Because I’m a decent person who respects what other women do with their bodies.”
“Holy crap!” Jason said, putting his beer down on the counter. “Emily, did you spermjack David?”
“No,” Emily said. “Let’s just drop it.”
“I have no clue what’s going on anymore,” Steven said. “I’m getting my suit.”
“You’re not really here to get your clothing,” Marla said. “You’re here to make a big, passive-aggressive scene. So you know what? You got your scene. Are you happy? Emily is completely humiliated right now.”
“You know what? Forget it,” he said. “I’ll just wear this to the dinner.” He motioned to his short-sleeve collared shirt and khakis, then went to the door to leave. “See you at the rehearsal dinner, kids.”
He left, slamming the door behind him. Or trying to. The door didn’t close properly and swung back open a few inches. Moments later, Steven reached in awkwardly and closed it.
“Okay, I’m calling a therapy session,” Marla said. “You kids have barely even been trying. So I have to take this even more into my own hands. It’s therapy time.”
“You can’t do that,” Emily said.
“Yes, I can. I’m paying for your wedding and God forbid I also give you free therapy, I really am horrible, aren’t I?”
“It’s not free therapy, it’s just your new way of being able to lecture and guilt us without criticism.”
“Without criticism? Ha! I’ve been getting nothing but criticism this whole week! That’s what I get for raising you kids to be outspoken. Maybe I get what I deserve after all.” She looked at the floor sullenly.
“Okay, fine,” Emily said. “You want therapy, Mom? Well, I resent that you cheated on Dad and had an unethical relationship with my psychiatrist that confirms my suspicion that I can never trust anyone.”
“That comment carries racial undertones,” Lauren said. “If you use the ‘I can’t trust anyone’ excuse as a way to perpetuate your inherent biases, then—”
“Oh, shut up, Lauren.”
“Mom,” Jason said. “I have a slightly different take on you cucking Dad.”
Marla looked perplexed. “Jason, I don’t know why that should bother you, and I think your father would argue I didn’t do that nearly enough. That was a big problem in the beginning of our marriage. Very mismatched sex drives, and styles.”
“Oh my God, Mom,” Jason said, covering his face with his hands. “I didn’t say fucking, I said cucking.”
“Well, I have no clue what that is. I don’t have time to keep up with all your idiotic start-up lingo.”
“He’s talking about cuckolding,” Emily said.
“That’s actually a valid kink for a lot of people,” Lauren said. “And queening.”
Emily shot daggers at her. “Yes, because that’s totally the subject we’re on.”
“You know what?” Marla shouted, silencing all three of her children. “First of all, all of you need to start taking responsibility for how messed up you are. Perhaps it was my fault to introduce you to the world of psychology so young. It made you all completely incapable of taking responsibility for your own hang-ups. You’re all officially far too old to be blaming your mother for your problems, and definitely far too old to be blaming each other.”
“But you still blame Aunt Lisa for—” Lauren started.
“I wasn’t finished, and Aunt Lisa is hereby a banned topic because you have no insight into how toxic she is. As for Abe, I was wrong to have an affair. Yes, I was wrong. But until you three have been married to your father and dealt with his constant condescension and aggressive boredom, you can’t talk. Do you realize how many times I had to listen to him going on and on about Samurai culture while simultaneously giving zero credit to my own academic and professional achievements? Jason, you yourself admitted you cheated on Christina solely because she aged and you were bored. And Lauren, I think we all see how little you respect Matt. I’d be shocked if you made love to him even once a month. I may have cheated on your father but at least I love him, in my own way, and I do respect him both as a husband and as an academic. And Emily—you mean to tell me you have no secrets with David? If you don’t yet, you will.”
Emily stared into her mother’s glassy brown eyes and couldn’t bear to imagine how transparent she must have looked in that moment. If Marla didn’t know about the pregnancy, she at least knew Emily was the type of person who would hide something that important. Which made her no better than her mother.
“I think I made some good points today,” Marla said, with the casual tone of a therapist wrapping up a normal session. “These sessions have been so helpful for all of us, don’t you think? Anyway, are we all ready for dinner?”