Best Behavior

by Wendy Francis

  “Oh, honey,” Carol says. “I’m so sorry you have to endure this.”

  “Endure what, Mom? I’m here to enjoy my children’s graduation, just like you. Though you’re right it could be a little cooler.”

  “Not the heat, her!” Carol practically hisses in Lily’s direction. “As if she belongs here.” Her mother rolls her eyes aggressively.

  “Oh, come on, Mom, that’s old news. Roger can do whatever he pleases.” Meredith is trying her level best to downplay the awkwardness of the day. Of course, she’s not thrilled that Lily is here! But she certainly doesn’t need her mother reminding her every few minutes.

  Carol grunts. “You hit the nail on the head, sweetie. Lily is sure to be old news in a few years.” She waves a hand in the air. “She’s fungible, just like the rest of them. Soon enough he’ll be chasing some other young skirt.”

  Meredith has to stop and think what fungible means before correcting her mother. “I’m pretty sure we say ‘woman’ now instead of ‘skirt.’” Exchangeable, she thinks. That’s what fungible means. Last night, she admittedly lost her balance for a minute. When Roger strode into the banquet unexpected—unrehearsed!—her vision of how the evening would unfurl vanished in a poof! But she’d recovered, channeled her inner calm, and managed to act pleased by the fact that he’d made it to the twins’ banquet after all. What a pleasant surprise! she’d said while a host of other emotions went skating through her mind. But then she had another glass of wine, watched Roger fumbling for an empty seat, and felt herself softening. He was the kids’ dad after all. He had every right to join their table. The only thing wrong with his being there was that he hadn’t intended to come in the first place.

  Before she has a chance to reapply her sunscreen, Roger and Lily are heading over to say hello, and Meredith braces herself for the impact. Will it be an impact of asteroid proportions or only meteoric? she wonders. Summoning all her strength and grace, Meredith stands to greet her ex-husband and his new wife, who, it must be said, looks as if she could be his daughter.

  “Hi, Roger. Hello, Lily.” Kiss-kiss. She tries not to smoosh the well-endowed breasts wedged between herself and Lily when they lean in for an embrace. “You look lovely, Lily.” Meredith doubts that Lily’s generation invokes descriptors like lovely. Probably hot or dynamite would be more appropriate, but Meredith wants the upper hand here. They have met only a handful of times, and under different circumstances, Meredith would be impressed by Lily’s chutzpah, her youthful ambition and the fact that she has built a substantial following for herself on Instagram and Twitter. Not bad for a little girl from a tiny town in Kentucky. But since she is Meredith’s replacement, Meredith is reluctant to admire anything about her.

  “Thank you, you too,” gushes Lily. “Congratulations. You must be so proud of the twins.”

  Okay, thinks Meredith. Not bad. At least you’re acknowledging I’m the one who should be proud here, not you. Still, seeing Lily here is a bit like spotting a snow leopard in the Australian outback—she’s both exotic and misplaced, her heels as sharp and narrow as a paring knife. She’d blend in much better up onstage with the graduates. Her dress resembles a summer sky, blue with bold splashes of white along the waistline, and her skin radiates a maddening dewy glow. Meredith does a quick mental calculation of how much Botox must be tucked into Lily’s wrinkles until it dawns on her: Lily is thirty. It’s not fillers that lend her perfect skin its luminosity.

  It’s youth.

  So what if Lily is almost young enough to be Meredith’s own daughter or Dawn and Cody’s sister? This is the new modern family, Meredith understands. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that standing next to Lily has the instant effect of making her feel frumpy and matronly, as if she’s the person everyone is counting on to provide water bottles and snacks. Because, bless her heart, there’s no way Lily can fit anything practical into that cute little straw clutch of hers. Her hair is pulled up in an elegant bun while Meredith can feel hers corkscrewing in the humidity, and her topaz earrings dangle seductively (Meredith’s pearl studs probably look like the imposters they are, purchased at Marshalls on clearance). And then there’s Lily’s exquisitely tanned bare shoulders, which seem to cry out for a jacket, a shawl, something to cover them. Roger must catch Meredith staring because he drapes an arm around Lily’s shoulders protectively.

  Georgie comes over to pump Joel’s hand, though neither of Roger’s parents makes an effort to say hello. Not surprising, Meredith thinks. But how rude! She struggles to recall when they were last all together, probably at the kids’ high school graduation in New Haven. Everyone went out to dinner at Zinc downtown, and she can still hear Roger’s dad complaining about the food, which was, by the way, out-of-this-world delicious: shrimp Cobb salad, fresh seared salmon, farm-raised chicken marsala. “If I’d wanted ‘farm-to-table’ food,” Harry said haughtily after they’d tried to explain the guiding principle behind the restaurant, the freshness of its local ingredients, “I would have stopped at a farm.” Afterward Roger had quietly packed himself, his parents, and Georgie into the car and headed back up to Boston.

  And Meredith’s relationship with her former mother-in-law can only be described as chilly, verging on frozen. In Edith’s eyes, Roger can do no wrong. Though Meredith has never put the question to her, she harbors a suspicion that Edith partly blames her for the dissolution of their marriage. Maybe if Meredith had done more to keep Roger engaged, more interested in their marriage, she can hear Edith saying, then his eye would have been less likely to wander in the first place. Edith heralds from the 1950s martini-at-the-door, lipstick-wearing generation. Meredith knows this, but it doesn’t make her former mother-in-law’s condemning stares any less piercing. Maybe, Meredith sometimes imagines her retort, if you’d done a better job of teaching your son about loyalty and respecting women, things would have turned out differently.

  “Georgie, how nice to see you.” Carol takes his hand now. “Good of you to fly out all the way from London. Are you enjoying it over there?”

  “Absolutely!” His enthusiasm, like his voice, fills up space. “It’s a good living. I’ve got a little place where I can wake up in the morning and see Big Ben out my window. Nothing like it.” Ever since his hedge fund needed a new London manager a few years ago, Georgie has worked across the pond. Meredith suspects there’s nothing “little” about Georgie’s place, but his modesty is a nice contrast to the typical Landau family bravado.

  She leans in for a hug. “Georgie, it’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming. The kids are over-the-moon excited to see you.”

  Suddenly a trumpet call cuts through the air, and the rest of the crowd disperses to settle into their seats as a vast sea of blue, the graduates in their caps and gowns, gathers at the back of the courtyard. Finally. Meredith’s stomach does a small flip, and Georgie quickly excuses himself to rejoin the family. As the graduation march of “Pomp and Circumstance” commences, Joel grips her hand. “Ready?”

  She nods. Ready.

  Already the graduates are beginning to make their way toward their seats in slow, deliberate steps, as if they’ve been instructed not to rush upon penalty of death. Cody and Dawn, she knows, will fall somewhere in the middle of the pack. She digs her phone out of her purse, toggles over to the photography icon, and waits until at last she spies them in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. When the twins pass by, she snaps photo after photo, while Joel and her mom shout out Congratulations!, the kids beaming back at them. They look so happy, Meredith thinks. So proud. And, ouch. So grown-up.

  After the entire class is seated, the assembled families settle into their chairs again, and Dean Halberstam takes the podium to offer welcoming remarks. Meredith’s mind wanders to a faraway place, a summer when they hosted an exchange student, Mateo, a sixteen-year-old from Barcelona. Cody, only fourteen at the time, spent the entire summer in Mateo’s thrall, shadowing him and wanting nothin
g to do with her or Dawn or Joel. The farther away, the better. This is a bit how it feels today. Bittersweet. And, even though she understood it was just a stage for Cody back then—like thumb-sucking or the first day of kindergarten—it stung a little more than those early passages, felt less like an occasion to celebrate and more like an event to lament. Even then, she could feel her hold on her boy slipping away.

  Dawn and Cody sit about five rows up. Like their classmates, they’ve personalized the tops of their caps: Dawn’s has rainbow fingers spread in a peace sign and Cody’s sports the Bolton football mascot, a bullfrog. Meredith works to focus on the class valedictorian, who’s introducing this year’s commencement speaker, a bespectacled Boston philanthropist and businessman. The unassuming, slight man takes the stage, and Meredith is momentarily relieved that it’s not her ex-husband up there, also a local philanthropist and businessman.

  “Graduating class of 2020!” their speaker bellows, and cheers float out over the air. Meredith wonders if the rest of the audience is as surprised as she is by the delightful baritone that pours out from this diminutive man. “You might think I’m here today to talk about success as you go forward in life.” More cheering. “You might think I’m here to give you tips on how to get ahead in the real world. The grown-up world? Am I right?” Shouts of “Yes,” and even “Amen” rise up. It’s true, Meredith realizes now: his delivery resembles that of a Sunday morning preacher. His soft laughter carries over the microphone, as he pushes up his glasses and stares out over the crowd. “Well.” He pauses. “You would be mistaken.” And there’s a smattering of laughter. He knows he has their full attention now.

  “Because I am not here today to talk to you about success, about getting ahead. No sir, no ma’am.” Meredith catches Joel’s glance, his eyebrows elevated on his forehead. “To the contrary, I’m here today so I can tell you how to fail.” A hushed silence is punctuated by a few twitters. “In fact, that’s what I’m calling my speech today—How to Succeed in the World by Failing. That’s a little unusual, coming from a commencement speaker who’s supposed to inspire you. But let me tell you something. There is more than one way to learn. And I’m not talking about books—although, parents, let me assure you that your children have learned plenty from all those books you’ve bought them over the last four years, and they thank you.” Applause from parents and kids alike.

  “But in real life, folks, I’m here to tell you—you’re going to fail. And I don’t mean getting an F on your history test or losing the championship football game. I mean real life failures. Some of them are going to be so small you’ll hardly notice them, and others are going to be so gigantic, you’ll question whether your head is still screwed on straight. Every one of you will be confronted with different challenges. And every one of you will fail at different things, at different times.

  “But you know what? That’s okay. Because you’re going to get through it, whatever it might be. And you know what else? Those failures are necessary. Just like your successes, just like the love your parents shower on you, just like three square meals a day—those failures are the very things that make you who you are.”

  Meredith is enthralled by the slightly unorthodox message and hopes the kids are listening, Cody especially. A raindrop freckles her arm, and she scans the sky. A few more drops ping on her program, expanding circles of dampness, and she waits—but there’s nothing more. Mercifully, the rain holds off while their speaker carries on for maybe fifteen more minutes, his voice crescendoing over the crowd, and then, as the audience begins to shift in their seats, he starts to wrap up, as if on cue.

  “I’d like to close by sharing two quotes with you. One is from Thomas Edison.” It’s so quiet she can hear the thrum of crickets, the croak of a frog. “When he was busy inventing his light bulb, Thomas Edison said, and I quote, ‘I have not failed. I’ve just found ten thousand ways that won’t work.’” Laughter and applause ripple through the crowd. “The last quote I’ll share with you is from the great Winston Churchill, who once said, ‘Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.’ Now I want you to think about that and remember it as you go forward in the world. Remember that. ‘Success is stumbling from failure to failure with no loss of enthusiasm.’ There are going to be plenty of failures in your life. Expect them. Count on them. Understand that they are a way to figuring out what works—and what doesn’t. And Class of 2020? Don’t ever lose your enthusiasm. Because you are surrounded by love, you are surrounded by people who want to help you succeed. Even if it means you have to fail ten thousand times. Congratulations, Class of 2020. You’ve made us proud!”

  The audience leaps to its feet for a standing ovation. He has managed to pull off a rousing speech in scorching temperatures. There are fist pumps from the students, and more than a few parents share knowing nods. The man has a point, Meredith thinks as they sit back down, and better he deliver this particular message than they do.

  Despite the threat of an occasional rain cloud, the sun has continued to blaze overhead, and she notices now that the back of Joel’s shirt sports a sweaty imprint in the shape of a butterfly. The poor guy must be dying. But Joel cuts a glance her way, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Diploma time!”

  Meredith laughs and takes a swig of warm water from her bottle. When she goes to set it down on the ground, though, she spies something moving out of the corner of her eye. Since her chair sits right on the aisle for easy picture-taking, it’s only natural that she would notice it first. A tiny frog. At least she thinks that’s what it is. She watches it hop its way across the manicured grass where the students paraded earlier and holds her breath, waiting to see if it will continue up to the podium or into one of the rows where the families sit. She’s about to point it out to Joel when suddenly, there’s another one, about a foot away. Or maybe it’s a toad? Its skin, a fluorescent green, is flecked with miniature black spots. Beady eyes dot each side of its head. “Uh-oh.” Joel sees it, too. It’s only a matter of time before—

  And that’s when a woman a few rows ahead shoots straight up, shrieking, “Frog!” As soon as she says it, dozens—perhaps hundreds—of frogs are suddenly leaping all around them, between people’s feet, over chairs, a few even hurtling through the air above their heads. “It’s an infestation!” cries Carol. “Of frogs!”

  Meredith and Joel glance at each other with the same instant realization. These aren’t just frogs. They’re bullfrogs, of course. Bolton bullfrogs. In fact, a few even seem to be painted in the school colors of blue and white. Meredith tries to avoid being attacked while also providing a body shield for her mother. Dean Halberstam, attempting for calm, intones into the microphone, “Everyone, it seems we have a bit of a situation on our hands. I’d encourage you all to stay calm while we take a short intermission and, um, deal with these frogs.”

  “Hideous!” Carol cries and shakes one from her foot. Meredith is trying her best to help, but somewhere in the midst of the pandemonium, it hits her: how absolutely funny this is. Who would have thought they’d be deluged with frogs? It’s a great prank, no, the perfect prank. She flops onto her chair, which is blessedly frog-free, and breaks out laughing. Before long, Joel joins her. Her mother stares at them as if they’ve both lost their minds. “What is wrong with you two? This isn’t funny!” Which only makes them laugh harder.

  The senior class, who apparently has orchestrated the entire ruse, darts around trying to catch the slippery creatures while congratulating one another. Meredith has no idea how the kids managed to sneak all the frogs into the ceremony at the last minute, but if their desired result was complete chaos, they’ve certainly achieved it. Even the parade leaders, in their floppy Bolton hats, have joined the audience’s amphibious pursuit. It’s pretty clear, though, that catching dozens of frogs will be impossible, and so people begin chasing them out of the courtyard entirely. “Shoo! Shoo!” yells a young woman in the row ahead.

 
Finally, after several more minutes, Halberstam resumes the podium and encourages everyone to take their seats. While there still may be a few frogs afoot or “ahop”—he attempts to joke—he hopes for the sake of the Class of 2020 that the remainder of the ceremony, namely, the awarding of the diplomas, may go on. If there’s an errant frog or two hopping around, please, he urges, do your best to ignore it. I assure you they’re harmless.

  Joel leans over and whispers “ribbit” in Meredith’s ear, and she has to cover her mouth with a hand to suppress the giggles. Then, shhh. He points to the stage, as if she needs reminding that Cody’s and Dawn’s moment is almost upon them, and she works to pull herself together. Until finally, she hears the names she’s been waiting for.

  “Cody William Landau, Phi Beta Kappa,” announces Dean Halberstam, and Meredith inhales sharply while her only son strides across the stage, shakes hands with the dean, accepts his diploma, and poses for a photo before heading off the stage. The audience is clapping so hard that she can barely hear Dawn’s name when it’s announced next. Before she knows it, Cody has descended the platform, and Dawn glides up for her turn.

  “Dawn McKenzie Landau, cum laude.” Meredith claps and claps for her little girl who walks across the stage, her posture erect after all those years of ballet, to collect her diploma. She poses with the dean for a photo and then appears to float off the stage. Meredith’s hands sting but she doesn’t care. She keeps clapping as a cavalcade of images flashes before her. The countless battles over homework. The years of ballet lessons, broken pointe shoes, and football games. The visits to the emergency room when Cody got a concussion on the field, and another when Dawn broke her arm after flying over her bike’s handlebars. The time when six-year-old Cody asked if she “painted her face on,” or when nine-year-old Dawn told her that she “looked skinny for her age.” The dozens of teachers’ conferences, the SAT prep, the college essay, the phone calls home late at night because one kid needed help on a paper or a lift home for the weekend. The bold dash of Cody into the end zone in this year’s championship game. Dawn’s turning her grades around senior year. After a whole raft of emotions, both joyous and despairing over the past twenty-one years, today Meredith feels only gratitude and pride.