Laura & Emma

by Kate Greathead

  “You’re up late,” Martin said, clearing a path to reach them.

  “Likewise,” Laura said.

  Martin yawned. “Actually just starting my day.

  “Need help bringing them up?” he asked once all the chairs were in the hall outside his door.

  “That would be nice,” Laura told him.

  As they waited for the elevator, Martin said, “I hope I didn’t disturb you with that whole dancing-corpse business that other time in the elevator. Sometimes my mind goes to dark places.”

  Laura smiled and shook her head to dismiss his concern, but Martin continued in this vein.

  “I get depression,” he told her. “Part of my trouble following through with things.”

  Laura wasn’t sure how to respond to this. She offered him a neutral expression and a nod, in what she hoped conveyed compassion and nonjudgment.

  “Is your new job night hours?

  “Fixing voting machines,” she added when Martin looked unsure of what she was referring to.

  “Oh, that was just a three-day gig.” He yawned again, and then asked, brightly: “Know anyone looking for a banjo teacher, or a juggler for kids’ birthday parties, or a really awesome screenplay about a guy who wakes up one day and has completely forgotten what language is so he has to find other ways to communicate?

  “It’s a comedy,” he added.

  Suddenly the walls that had contained Laura’s irritation collapsed. She looked in his face and saw a fragility. He seemed more like a boy than a man, idealistic, full of foolish expectations of what his future would hold. She couldn’t see his life unfolding accordingly, and it broke her heart to imagine his disappointment. She thought of him as an old man, and then of his mother holding him as a baby—and she couldn’t bear it.

  Laura shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t, Marty, but I will certainly keep an ear open.”

  The elevator arrived. They loaded the chairs and rode up.

  “Wait, how long have I had these chairs for?” Martin asked as they stepped into Laura’s kitchen.

  “Don’t worry,” Laura told him. “It’s just been me, so it hasn’t been a problem.”

  “But when did I borrow them?”

  “Maybe the beginning of October?” Laura said, though she knew it was really the end of September.

  “That’s over a month!” Martin shook his head in remorse. “Goddamn, I feel like a jerk. A big fat fuck.”

  “Don’t say that,” Laura said. “No, you aren’t.”

  “Laura, I want you to promise me something.” A serious look came over Martin’s face. “If something like this happens again in the future, you have to say something.”

  Laura smiled and shook her head to reassure him.

  “I mean it,” he said. “Speak up.”

  She smiled again.

  As Martin stepped out the door to wait for the elevator, she said, “My mother had depression.”

  Martin nodded thoughtfully.

  “It’s funny, because no one knew it. When she died, all the condolence letters talked about how she was the happiest person they knew. Joie de vivre. Life of the party. Lit up a room.”

  The elevator arrived.

  “Bipolar?” he asked, sticking his hand over the sensor to keep the door from closing.

  “I believe she was diagnosed with that at some point,” she said. “We don’t really name things in our family.”

  Martin grinned. “Let me guess, you’re from the Midwest?”

  Laura shook her head.

  “Sorry,” he said. “That’s kind of an insult.”

  Laura considered this. “I don’t know why you say that,” she said. “The people I’ve met from the Midwest I’ve liked very much.”

  “Thanks,” Martin said. “I’m from St. Louis. What about you? Where’re you from?”

  “East Sixty-fifth Street,” Laura said. “Between Lex and Third.”

  Martin looked surprised. “You don’t seem like you grew up in New York City.”

  Laura had been told this before; she never knew if it was a compliment or not.

  “Born and raised,” she said. She thought about adding “seventh-generation,” as Nicholas was fond of telling people, but thought it would sound obnoxious.

  After locking the door behind her, Laura brushed her teeth, put on her nightgown, and got into bed. She read for a bit, turned off the light, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  THERE WAS A WORD FOR it—the anxious thoughts of the predawn hours. It was an old English word that no one used anymore, and, having recently learned it, Laura had already forgotten what it was. It began with a U and the rest of the letters were strange. Uticare. Something like that. Nevertheless, it comforted her—the mere fact of its existence many centuries ago—to think of waking up in the middle of the night and being unable to fall back asleep as less of a unique affliction than a universal thing. Part of the human condition.

  Tonight she’d gotten out of bed and been standing by her bedroom window at the precise moment the Empire State Building went dark. It surprised her that in all her years of being awake at this hour she’d never witnessed this event. As a child, Emma had often wondered and asked about this. The light on the top of the Empire State Building, when did it get turned off? Whose job was it? Did he sleep in the Empire State Building?

  I don’t know . . . I’m not sure . . . I’m afraid I can’t answer that.

  Laura had always imagined it went off in a blink, but it was a gradual dimming. And when it was done she continued to stand by the window looking out at all the other buildings, which were mostly dark, except for a spattering of illuminated windows. She thought of the people who were still up and wondered what they were doing.

  Laura returned to bed and drifted off to sleep for another hour, and this time, when she woke up to the clanking of pipes and the hiss of the radiator, she could see nothing out her window. Just a blank canvas of a color there was no word for. A metallic pink mixed with gray.

  There was a flutter in her chest, as there always was upon spotting the season’s first snowflakes, but this was more than the typical debut flurry. It was coming down hard; it was sticking.

  Laura put a turtleneck on over her nightgown. Then she put on three pairs of kneesocks. A trick she’d learned as a child: if you put on three pairs of socks and went outside in the freshly fallen dry snow, your feet didn’t get cold and it felt like walking barefoot on a beach.

  As she passed by her bookshelf on her way out of the bedroom, she saw the tin box in its usual spot. She paused, took a step back, and picked it up.

  She went to the kitchen, opened the door, and stepped out onto the terrace.

  Laura had never handled ashes before. They were more tangible than she’d expected. She thought they would be like powder—that all she’d have to do was uncurl her fingers, and the wind would whisk them away in a whispery, vaporous tendril, as it was doing to the snow. But these ashes were chunky and uneven, like what you’d find in the bottom of a fireplace or charcoal grill.

  She flung a handful over the railing. She scooped another handful, and another.

  Soon she was clutching an empty tin. She had expected something more out of this moment; for something dramatic, whimsical, or amusing to happen, or for the ashes to float upward to the heavens. That Bibs did not make herself known during the scattering of her ashes, that they unceremoniously sank to the street, seemed to confirm the fact that she was really gone.

  When Laura turned to go back in, the door wouldn’t budge.

  She pushed harder. It still didn’t open.

  She pushed and pushed, thrusting her full weight against it. But it remained stuck, as often happened in the hottest and coldest weather.

  The windows were all latched shut and it was impossible to shatter double-glazed windows. The man who’d installed them had proudly demonstrated this to her as proof of their superb insulation.

  She tried with her legs, gripping the railing for support, her k
icks becoming more frantic as they continued to fail.

  People didn’t freeze to death on penthouse terraces in Manhattan. Eventually the snow would peter out and the yuppies of the Parkview, Normandy Court, or the Monterey would wake up and look out the windows and see her; she would catch the attention of a pedestrian, or the pilot of a traffic helicopter—someone would notice her and recognize that she needed assistance.

  There was a ladder leading up to the roof. It would increase the chances of being seen.

  She climbed up.

  Laura had never been on the roof before. It felt unsafe. There was no railing; it was not a place people were supposed to be.

  Now she was scared. She turned to go back down the ladder, but she wasn’t sure what direction it was; the snow had thickened and she’d become disoriented. She couldn’t see where the roof ended and the sky began. The visibility was so bad she could be anywhere: a ski lift in Vermont, a mountain in the Alps, halfway to the moon—where rogue particles barreled aimlessly through the soft, white violence of infinity.

  She stood there, shivering, stomping her feet, waving her arms above her head. But it was in vain. How could anyone see her? She could barely make out her own hand before her.

  She stopped waving. But she had to keep moving to stay warm.

  Keep moving.

  This couldn’t be it.

  Could it? It would be so ludicrous.

  No, it couldn’t be it. It wouldn’t be fair to Emma.

  Oh, Emma.

  A gale inflated the skirt of her nightgown, stinging her bare thighs.

  The unusual hush of the snow-padded city, broken by the grating echo of a plow.

  She thought of Martin, of all people.

  “Candooskey,” she whispered.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled. Then she drew another, deeper breath, and held it for longer. Deeper, longer, she kept practicing, until she had a sense of the limits of her capacity.

  When her lungs were swollen with air, Laura, shrouded in snow, cupped her hands around her lips and opened her mouth as wide as it would go.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am deeply indebted to the writing program at Wesleyan University and the Warren Wilson MFA Program for Writers. Of the many wonderful teachers I’ve had along the way, a special thanks to Dr. Mahoney and Mrs. Rice of Hastings High School, and Elizabeth Bobrick. Thank you to Diana Spechler. Amy Williams and Marysue Rucci, I am so lucky to have you. Thank you to Zack Knoll, Amanda Lang, and the wonderful team at Simon & Schuster. Thank you to the Moth. I would also like to thank my grandfather Bobby; my parents, Christy and Scott; and my sisters, Frances and Molly, for their love and encouragement. And finally, thank you to Teddy, for showing me a place to hang my bags.

  This reading group guide for Laura & Emma includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and an author Q&A. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.

  Introduction

  Laura is born into old money on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. She lives her life purposefully and practically until a one-night stand with a stranger. In a turn that surprises her entire family, she announces her plans to have the child that she tells them was conceived with the help of a Swedish sperm donor.

  Enter Emma, who grows to be Laura’s frank, independent daughter who sometimes craves her mother’s emotional attention, and sometimes despises Laura for her consistent obedience to the unwritten rules of WASP society. In Kate Greathead’s debut novel, she walks you along with Laura and Emma, year by year, as they encounter their own privilege, sexuality, and the death of loved ones in the late eighties and early nineties of New York City. With a cast of characters who pop in to reveal something new about the protagonists, Laura & Emma is a deep story about a mother and daughter—two odd ducks who don’t quite know what to do with each other. As the city’s landscape changes around them with the passing years, so do Laura and Emma, both struggling to settle into the expectations they have of motherhood and daughterhood. Over a decade and a half, we see a nuanced and beautiful rendering of the bittersweet and poignant episodes that populate their life.

  Topics and Questions for Discussion

  1. On pages 112 and 113, we get a glimpse of Laura’s dismissive attitude toward sex. How do you think that influences Emma’s burgeoning sexuality throughout the book?

  2. Privilege and the awareness of it are a recurring theme in Laura & Emma. At several points, Laura tries to explain what privilege is to Emma (for example, page 100). Have you ever been in a situation where you’ve wanted to explain privilege to children? How does that situation change when they’re part of your family? Did your parents ever have a conversation like this with you?

  3. Laura quietly questions her sexuality throughout the book. On page 111, the metaphor describing the mysterious, lurking fisherman taking off—“the wake of his boat unzipping the water like the back of a dress”—seems to imply a level of desire on Laura’s part. How did you understand Laura’s need—or lack thereof—for intimacy throughout the novel?

  4. On page 124, Laura realizes Dr. Brown is offering Emma something “that she hadn’t been offered as a child, and was hence unequipped to provide herself.” What do you think Dr. Brown is offering, and does Laura ever discover how to give it to Emma?

  5. In the episode Laura has with her brother Nicholas (pages 160–170), she appears jealous and lonely. However, Laura has led a very solitary life for the most part. Why is she suddenly so eager for her brother’s company at this juncture?

  6. On pages 197 and 198, there is a brief flashback to one of Laura’s teachers appearing to sexually harass her. In the scene, Bibs is excited that Laura has been invited over to the older male teacher’s house, and “insisted she wear lipstick and carry a comb in her pocketbook.” What does this say about Bibs as a mother? Why do you think she let Laura go into this situation? What effect do you think this encounter has on Laura’s impression of men and her feelings toward them? Finally, do you think views of sexual harassment have changed since the late eighties and early nineties?

  7. After her death, Laura discovers that Bibs went to group therapy for her depression. On page 183, Laura is momentarily panicking that she has lost Emma, and thinks, “Without Emma there would be no point to anything.” What does this say about Laura’s character? Why do you think the author included this?

  8. Analyze the first paragraph on page 242 (beginning with “In first grade” and ending with “a shade lighter than what surrounded it”). This paragraph seems like an interruption in the narrative flow. Why do you think the author chose to put it there? How do you interpret it based on the passages before and after?

  9. Laura is a very pensive character—constantly evaluating her surroundings and reflecting on them, even if she doesn’t often explore her own thoughts or emotions. On page 164, Emma has a longer reflective moment, similar to ones her mother has had throughout the book. In what ways do you think Emma is like Laura, and in what ways is she drastically different?

  10. Woven among the scenes of Laura & Emma are hints of Laura’s possible homosexuality or bisexuality. However, it is never resolved or identified. Why do you think the author chose to do this?

  11. The last significant relationship Laura has in the book is with her neighbor, Martin. Why do you think she connects with him (and he to her)?

  12. What do you make of the ending? What do you think will happen to Laura? Why did the author choose to end on this note?

  Enhance Your Book Club

  1. Author Kate Greathead is a nine-time Moth StorySLAM champion. As a group, listen to her performance of “One Woman’s Trash.” After you listen through her performance, discuss how you think her writing reflects her StorySLAM storytelling. How do they impact each other, and how are they different?

  2. The city of N
ew York is almost its own character in Laura & Emma. Before you meet for your book club, have those of you who have visited New York collect their impressions of the city, including the years they were there. If anyone has lived in New York before, have those people wait until the end of the discussion to share their memories of New York. Include a detailed map of the city with the boroughs included, and point out favorite and memorable spots. Compare the impressions between those who have visited the city, lived there, and those who have never been. How do your ideas about the place differ?

  3. Laura as a character seems to have difficulties in social interactions, no matter the social class of the people she’s interacting with (for example, the party game scene on pages 104–105). Take a version of the Myers–Briggs test as a group, answering the questions the way you think she would. Read through the final results and discuss whether you think they are accurate or not? Would understanding her personality type and how she relates to others make Laura better off?

  A Conversation with Kate Greathead

  Q: You write Laura’s character with a bit of sympathy, and a lot of frankness. What inspired her character?

  A: As a reader, I’ve always been interested in protagonists who are not obvious heroes/heroines. The protagonist of Evan S. Connell’s Mrs. Bridge was an inspiration—not so much the specifics of her character, but the manner in which she is portrayed. Laura is very different from Mrs. Bridge, but I wanted to depict her with the same tender yet honest scrutiny as Connell did. In life, I’ve always been fascinated by people like Laura. They are not the first ones you notice in a room; there’s a self-conscious reserve and inhibition that holds them back. And yet you can tell there’s a complicated interior life. Laura’s a bit of a wallflower, the daughter and mother of much more charismatic, outwardly colorful individuals, but I think she’s ultimately more interesting. Just because she doesn’t let it all hang out doesn’t mean her bags aren’t packed.