by Sloane Tanen
“What you’re really asking for when you ask for the good news,” Dan continued, “is for your family to entertain you. I would imagine that feels like a lot of pressure on them to perform?”
Hailey’s mom nodded and exhaled. Hailey narrowed her eyes. Why was she so relieved?
“That’s what we call a negative behavior pattern,” Dan went on. “It can be very destructive. What if there was something difficult your family wanted to discuss with you? Something that wasn’t good? What if your daughter Amanda had some bad news? Would that be okay, Marty?”
“Of course it would be okay. You think they represent the fucking Lollipop Guild? All I hear about is their problems. Is it so much to ask for a little good news once in a while?”
“That’s not fair—” her mom started, but Dan held a finger to his lips.
“Marty,” Dan said, “when you say, ‘Tell me the good news,’ it might give your family the impression that it’s not okay to have an authentic conversation.”
“Maybe I’m trying to focus on me right now. How’s that for authentic…Dan? Is that an eighty-nine-thousand-dollar-a-month feeling I’m allowed to have, Dan?”
“All of your feelings are valid. They’re real. They’re your feelings. Guilt is the gift that keeps giving, Marty.”
“Guilt?” Marty asked. “What do I have to be guilty about?” He rested his head on the back of the chair so that he was staring up at the ceiling. “Sweet, sweet Jesus. I give this one fifty K a year. I give my other daughter God knows how much money. What else can I do?”
Hailey made her eyes into slits. All her mom ever talked about was what a parasite her sister, Janine, was, but apparently she had been taking money from Grandpa all along too. What a complete and total hypocrite! Hailey glared at her mom, who made herself busy pretending not to notice.
“We’re not talking about money,” Dan said.
“We’re always talking about money, Dan. Trust me.”
“Okay. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Knock yourself out, Dan.”
Hailey knew that when her grandpa used a person’s name over and over, he was mad.
“Rather than it being about your feelings or their feelings or who’s failing whom, might we work on how you all interact together? In the end, it’s really about the dynamic of your family.”
“Ahh,” Grandpa Marty said, rolling his eyes. “The family dynamic.”
“So,” Dan continued, “if, for example, your daughter was having a tough time, it would be okay for her to share that with you? Is that a fair assumption?”
“Allow me a moment to meditate on the profundity of that question, Dan,” Marty said, ramming the palms of his hands against his eyelids. “Oooooohmmm…”
Hailey and Jaycee laughed nervously. Dan smiled at them but Hailey noted his beady eyes still lingered on Jaycee. Why did people ask if they were identical when they were obviously anything but? Hailey wondered. The slip of a difference between them made a mockery of her life. She was the less-than twin. If Jaycee weren’t always around making her look bad, she’d be considered pretty. She’d have a choice part in the school play. She’d be the one going out with Devon Pierce. He had said “Hi” to her first, when they started at Fair Hills Academy in September, before he’d gravitated, like everyone, toward Jaycee.
Jaycee smiled at Dan. That was totally inappropriate, seeing as she was going out with Devon. And Dan had to be at least twenty-five. Maybe even thirty. Hailey scowled at her sister.
“Hailey,” her mother said, looking at Hailey like she’d kicked a baby or something. “Are you with us?”
“Yes. God.”
“And Amanda,” Dan said, standing up theatrically, like he was about to perform a magic trick. “You seem very eager to please your father. I almost get the sense you are terrified of disappointing him?”
Her mom’s face was blotchy. Hailey clenched her fists and prayed her mother wasn’t going to start talking about sacrificing the job at Sarah Lawrence again. She hadn’t shut up about her selflessness since Grandpa had checked into rehab and she’d “finally” decided she had to “be in LA for him.” As if her mother had ever had any intention of moving to Yonkers! As if she’d survive one winter having to wear a parka! As if it weren’t totally obvious she’d just used the job offer as leverage to get a promotion at Fair Hills. Now she was head of the whole drama department! Only her mother could spin not taking a job she didn’t even want to her advantage.
Dan cleared his throat. “I guess what I’m getting at is that I’m noticing some codependency issues between you all.” Then to Marty: “I have to wonder if that tension creates a stress that causes you to either avoid your family or self-medicate.”
“Boy, Dan, you’re really getting at something weighty here,” Marty said, winking at Hailey. She smiled. One thing she liked about her grandfather was that he seemed to prefer her to Jaycee. Dan was out of his depth with Marty. He’d failed to get him to “have a dialogue” with the family. And the more Dan eyeballed Jaycee, the harder it was for Hailey to take any of this rehab bullshit seriously. Why should her grandfather listen to what a pedophile had to say? Besides, her grandfather was much smarter than Dan. It was hard to cheer on the dumb guy.
“Jaycee, why don’t you sing your audition song,” her mother suggested out of nowhere, like a crazy person. “I’m sure everyone would love that.”
“Are you kidding?” Jaycee asked. “Nobody would love that.”
Hailey knew Jaycee didn’t actually like being the center of attention. She was more of a quiet compliment collector, the kind of person who gradually stole the show and then acted all surprised that it had happened. Or maybe she really was surprised. But Hailey knew that putting Jaycee on the spot like she was a show pony was probably the worst thing her mom could do.
And anyway, hadn’t they just spent the past five minutes talking about how unhealthy it was that they all felt compelled to entertain Marty? Poor, frantic Mom, Hailey thought with delight. All you had to do was look at Grandpa’s expression to see that there was nothing he wanted less than to endure a Broadway serenade from his granddaughter, whose middle name Hailey would bet ten bucks he didn’t even know.
“Please, Mom,” Jaycee said. Hailey almost felt bad for her sister. Her mom’s desperation to be in good standing with Grandpa Marty was just sickening.
“Amanda.” Dan wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand. “This really isn’t—”
But Amanda had already begun clapping her hands to an invisible beat. Nobody was getting off this train. Jaycee squirmed as she made a tentative move to stand, buckling under the weight of their mom’s outrageous request.
Hailey looked at the slight twitch working the corners of her grandpa’s mouth. He was looking at Dan, triumphant.
“Sing!” Amanda cried.
Jaycee stood, cleared her throat, and launched into “The Legend of Miss Baltimore Crabs.” Right there in the room!
Is there anything more uncomfortable than being trapped in a small space while somebody is singing? Maybe if it were Barbra Streisand or Beyoncé, it would feel like an honor, but this proximity to Jaycee’s kind of talent was a punishment. Jaycee sounded crap without instrumental backing, while Hailey could sing a cappella in her sleep! Hadn’t she led their Varsity Vocals team to victory in middle school? Hadn’t she won the sixth-grade talent show with her mind-blowing rendition of “Hallelujah”? Jaycee was okay, but Hailey was better.
And as if the whole show-tunes-in-rehab situation weren’t bad enough, Jaycee started really getting into it, gesturing, swaying her hips, throwing an invisible baton in the air, and, for some unknown reason, singing in an over-the-top faux British accent. Her mom was smiling and bobbing her head. And then she raised her hands and started conducting the unfolding travesty! Dan looked on in fixed horror. At least that infatuation was over.
Hailey glanced at her grandfather. His knuckles were white from clutching the chair, and his head was down. His body wa
s quaking, but he was very, very quiet. She thought maybe he was having a seizure but then realized he was laughing. Jaycee croaked out the last, endless note with her eyes bulging from the effort and finally sat down. Her mom and Dan gave her a polite round of applause.
“Bet you could use a big fucking bag of heroin about now, huh?” Hailey asked. Marty unleashed a bark of laughter that shook his body so violently he looked inhuman.
“Hailey Loehman!” her mother shrieked ferociously.
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t even mean to say it out loud. It just came out!”
“That’s okay,” Dan said. He’d dropped his sanctimonious act now that he was also laughing. He tried to collect himself. “Humor is a terrific way to deal with feelings of discomfort and addiction.”
“You shut up!” Amanda snapped at him.
“I’m really sorry, Mom,” Hailey said. She glanced at Jaycee, who looked exhausted, like that singing frog from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. “That was just, like, so awkward.”
“C’mon, Amanda,” Marty said. “Give her a break. ‘Bet you could use a big fucking bag of heroin about now.’” He chortled to himself. “Christ Almighty,” he said, smiling at Hailey. “That was a great line.”
Amanda glowered at her father, an expression packed with thirty-five-plus years of similar humiliations.
After ten minutes, Dan finished his tedious wrap-up, and they stood to go. On the way out of the room, Grandpa Marty gave Hailey a real hug, pulling her in hard.
“Don’t let your mother give you any shit, Jaycee,” he whispered, mussing up her hair affectionately.
“It’s Hailey,” she said.
“That’s what I said.” He smiled and gave her another hug.
Janine
—Original Message—
From: Amanda Kessler
To: [email protected]
Bcc: [email protected]
Subject: With sincere apologies…
Dear Dr. Temple:
It is with great regret that I write to inform you that I will be unable to accept your offer of employment at Sarah Lawrence. Due to family circumstances beyond my control, I cannot leave California at this time.
I will, no doubt, look back at this decision with mixed feelings. I had so looked forward to shaping the Performing Arts program into a world-class institution for the dramatic arts. At the same time, the unparalleled opportunities available to my daughters at Bronxville Prep would have changed the course of their lives forever.
It is painful to close the door on such an opportunity. And yet, with nobody else to care for my father, I feel I cannot abandon him during his time of need.
With heartfelt gratitude for your faith in me and sincere apologies for any inconvenience I may have caused the administration,
Sincerely,
Amanda Kessler
Janine groaned as she stared at the computer screen. Her sister was such a bad writer, florid and overbearing. She was embarrassed. Had Amanda actually sent that letter to the head of Sarah Lawrence? I had so looked forward to shaping the Performing Arts program into a world-class institution for the dramatic arts. Seriously? You’re a fucking high-school drama teacher; Sarah Lawrence was doing just fine without you! Humility was never Amanda’s strong suit. She might as well have signed off Your brilliant martyr…
This was how Amanda communicated with Janine these days: She blind-copied her on e-mails. They weren’t directed to her but at her. At first Janine had thought Amanda was being economical with her time but she quickly realized her sister just wanted a virtual podium from which she could accuse Janine of failing to hold up her end of the familial responsibilities without giving her the opportunity to respond.
Still a brat, Janine thought, wondering that their relationship had always been so strained. Janine knew Amanda blamed her for some ambiguous offense that had occurred after their mom had died. But it wasn’t like they’d gotten along before that. It wasn’t like Janine could magically forget how mean her mom and Amanda had always been to her about her acting. Their obvious bewilderment at Janine’s unlikely success when Amanda was so clearly the pretty one had always chafed. Pamela and Amanda’s exclusive twosome had left Janine feeling like an outsider, even though her father had tried hard to compensate. After all these years, Janine continued to harbor an irrational resentment toward her mom and sister. It certainly didn’t help that Amanda was still angry with her, as if, when Janine had finally lost it back then and left the show and then LA, she had done it just to annoy Amanda. Her sister’s self-absorption was almost funny.
Janine had sewn this narrative together, but she always got caught on the same loose stitch. Amanda had been only twelve at the time of their mom’s suicide. Could Janine really blame her for anything? At twelve, Amanda was just old enough to understand that the parent who loved her most was gone but still too young to process all the creepy stuff that Janine chewed on to blunt her feelings about her mom’s death—her boyfriends walking around naked, their bare bodies oiled up with Bain de Soleil, joints dangling from their mouths; the token copy of The Feminine Mystique buried under dog-eared issues of Cosmopolitan and Hustler on her mother’s night table; their mom sleeping for days on end or not sleeping at all. Janine was pretty sure Amanda didn’t remember any of that stuff. Or if she did, she’d whitewashed it, summoning Carol Brady to clean up Betty Draper’s mess.
Janine thought Amanda was the lucky one. Amanda could pretend the way they’d grown up was normal. She could grieve in a way Janine never could. Yes, Janine should have emotionally supported her little sister more than she had, but how? They’d always been adversaries, not friends, and Janine herself had been only fifteen when Pam died.
She considered not responding to the e-mail at all or just sending a quick reply saying Thanks for keeping me in the loop. Of course that would infuriate Amanda. Janine had promised herself that she wasn’t going to call her this time. Ever since they were kids, Janine had been the one who apologized, regardless of who was at fault. If this was how her sister wanted to communicate, so be it.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: With sincere apologies…
Hi, Amanda:
Wow. Sorry to hear you aren’t taking the job. It sounded like a great opportunity, and based on the contract you e-mailed me from SLC last month, the salary was certainly generous.
Am I to assume that your copying me on this latest letter was meant as some sort of attack on my character? It feels that way. Copying me on e-mails as if I’m an attorney rather than your sister is getting kind of weird. So let’s try and be honest with each other, okay?
I’m not planning on coming back to Los Angeles. I know Dad is in rehab at Directions again. I got the receipt you obviously (and inexplicably) asked Gail to e-mail me. He called me too. He sounded good.
I came out the first two times he went to rehab (in Oregon and in Arizona), and, as you know, it didn’t make a difference. All he really wanted was a vacation from his family. He wasn’t interested in getting clean then and I don’t think much has changed. If anything, I think he checked himself in now so that you wouldn’t leave. Amanda, if there is one thing I’ve learned in therapy, it is this: If you don’t draw boundaries, people will bleed all over you.
You know I love Dad. I think the best thing you could do is take the job. He has Gail, and either he’s going to get his act together or he’s not. Your presence is irrelevant. I don’t mean to sound harsh but Dad will continue to “need” you as long as you make yourself available. You are a crutch and I think removing yourself would be good for him.
I am confident that, in his more lucid moments, he would want you to fulfill your dreams. If your dream is teaching at Sarah Lawrence, I really think you should take the job. If your dream is keeping an eye on Dad’s finances while proving your loyalty to I don’t know whom, then do that. Either way, Dad will be fine. He alway
s is. It’s you I’m beginning to worry about.
With love,
J.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: With sincere apologies…
FUCK YOU
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: With sincere apologies…
It’s nice to hear from you directly. How are things?
Janine knew Amanda wouldn’t respond again. She seemed incapable of real communication. Janine took out a pencil and paper and pushed Kitty Fisher off her lap. She was due at Kayla’s apartment in two hours and wanted to finish her drawings.
Janine was feeling almost confident about the cartooning class. It seemed like everyone wanted to partner with her for the ad assignment. Over the past few weeks she’d come to understand that while most of the students had drawing skills, she had something else. She was a good satirist and had a natural way of turning a phrase. Even Ms. Louie had taken a shine to the bite in Janine’s deceptively innocent cartoons. “Your self-doubt speaks to the collective,” Ms. Louie had said, and Janine had had to excuse herself before she cried in front of everyone. If other people could relate to her insecurity, she wasn’t alone. For the first time in ages, Janine didn’t need to apologize or feel ashamed. She could be proud of her emotional scars. Maybe learning cartooning was a dumb idea, but her attraction to it made sense now. Making the dark stuff funny helped defuse it.
And Janine was making friends without having to lie about who she was. Though it wasn’t likely she was going to be a career cartoonist (her drawings still looked like something the mother of a six-year-old would display on the fridge), her curtained world was opening onto something larger.
Janine was surprised at how nice Kayla’s apartment was. It was not only big but stylish, in an all-I-need-is-a-tapestry-and-this-six-hundred-dollar-teapot sort of way.