Are We There Yet?

by Kathleen West

Julienne laughed. “You can see I’ve prioritized openness with our feelings,” she said. “Therapist’s kids and all.”

  Evelyn grinned. “Did you know I’m a therapist, too?”

  “That’s another thing that’s weird,” Miguel said. He grabbed a brownie and took a too-big bite. It reminded Evelyn of Teddy.

  “What’s your position in soccer?” Evelyn asked, knowing already that he was a left wing. She’d memorized every detail of Julienne’s descriptions—soccer, student council, the theater productions Laura had worked on as part of the props and set crews.

  “Left wing.” Miguel spoke around his full mouth. Evelyn could see Rafael’s instinct to correct him for talking while chewing, a slight lean forward and an intake of breath, but he resisted. Good work, Dad, she thought to herself. Parents had to limit their corrections to appropriate moments. Telling Miguel to keep his mouth shut in front of Evelyn would have only embarrassed and alienated him. Patrick, Evelyn thought, could take note.

  “My other grandson is a striker.” As she said it, she felt her heart rate accelerate again. She hadn’t shared nearly as many details about her existing family, after all, with Julienne. She hadn’t even told the names of Alice’s children. But now, with these kids in front of her, open and accepting despite the awkwardness, Evelyn could see that more omissions would only impede her relationships.

  She anticipated Miguel’s next question, and decided before he could speak that she’d answer it: “He plays on the premier team for Elm Creek Soccer Association.” She glanced at Julienne. Her daughter’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s twelve. Seventh grade.” She grabbed her mug.

  “The Elks!” Miguel said. “That team is pretty good.”

  “Oh yeah? I usually go to a bunch of the games. Maybe I could go to some of yours, too?”

  “I’m fourteen,” Miguel said, “so I follow a lot of those U13 guys on Instagram, even the kids from Elm Creek. What’s your grandson’s name?” He laughed. “I mean, your other grandson.”

  Evelyn held her breath, fighting tears. She wanted to scoop up these kids and erase the years of separation. She glanced at Julienne to check whether she, too, felt the joy and wistfulness that had overcome Evelyn, but she couldn’t quite read her expression. She smiled at Julienne reassuringly. She patted Laura’s knee. Her granddaughter had pulled her stool up as close to Evelyn’s as she could get it.

  “Teddy,” Evelyn said, her voice clear. “Teddy Sullivan.”

  * * *

  “IS ADRIAN AT school?” Evelyn asked Alice the next morning. She could hear the echo of speakerphone and imagined her daughter sitting at the helm of her Volvo. “Are there other people in the car?”

  Evelyn had been nervous to dial, worried that today’s ask would be the stressor that tipped Alice over the edge. “I’m alone, Mom.” Alice sounded exhausted, just as Evelyn had feared she would.

  “Are you okay?” It seemed an inadequate query, and yet the most salient she could think of.

  “I don’t know.”

  Evelyn had felt guilty telling Alice she couldn’t help the night before. She hadn’t even gotten Alice’s SOS text until she’d grabbed her phone to find a photo of Teddy and Adrian to show the Martíns. As she waited for Alice to say more, Evelyn picked at her fingernail where the mauve polish she’d gotten after a lunch date with Julienne had started to peel. A half-moon shape of the lacquer came away between the tips of her fingers, leaving a naked spot near her cuticle.

  “It’s just, Teddy’s reputation.” Alice sounded hopeless. “He did this other thing now. Made a stupid comment on social media and—”

  “Who cares what other people think of Teddy?”

  But of course, Alice had always cared about public opinion. Evelyn knew this. Appearances, after all, had become her daughter’s life’s work as an architect and interior designer. Alice’s desire to impress had seemed inborn. She’d collected only accolades all through middle and high school, cultivating her teachers’ and peers’ impressions of her. Alice herself had affixed the “Notre Dame Mom” sticker on the back window of Evelyn’s old Subaru the same day the acceptance came in. The Notre Dame architecture dream had been pure irony, Evelyn marveled, as Alice didn’t even know her mother had started at the very same school, transferring away only when her pregnancy mandated it.

  “It’s hard to be a pariah,” Alice said. “Even you’d agree with that, right? It’s hard to be a delinquent?”

  “He’s not a delinquent.” Evelyn pictured her grandson. Even during this blip, she could see his inherent sweetness.

  “We started therapy,” Alice blurted. Evelyn wondered if she’d meant to tell her, or whether she’d just happened to call her in a weak moment. She felt pleasantly surprised by the news. She’d expected Alice to drag her feet on making the appointment, if not on purpose then because she was so overloaded with Patrick out of town.

  “That’s great. How did it go?”

  “He talked. He—” Evelyn could hear Alice breathing, almost a wheeze on the inhale. “We. We liked her.”

  “That’s a huge step. Whom did you see? Do I know her?”

  “My friend Nadia recommended her.”

  Evelyn felt a wave of hurt that Alice hadn’t asked her for a referral. “Good.” Evelyn kept her tone neutral. This is about Teddy’s health, she told herself. Not about your ego.

  A pause extended between them. “Mom?” Alice said finally. “It seemed like there was some reason you called?”

  Evelyn doubted her purpose. Maybe this wasn’t the right day after all.

  “Are you there?” Alice queried, her voice louder. “Can you hear me?”

  Evelyn knew that if she didn’t say it, it would mean more secrets, more distance. She’d always felt just a sliver of separation between herself and Alice, and now that she knew Julienne, that their connection felt so immediate, she couldn’t bear to keep herself insulated.

  Evelyn went for it: “I met Julienne’s kids last night. That’s why I wasn’t free to help you.”

  “Wow.” Evelyn couldn’t read her daughter’s tone. When Alice didn’t say anything else, she charged forward. “And I—well, I know I told you I would protect your privacy—but it was so awkward trying to tell them about my life.” Evelyn stood from the couch where she’d been sitting and walked to the window. Her new condo looked over downtown Minneapolis, the buildings a pleasing blend of heights and styles, the names of which Alice knew but Evelyn had never internalized. She squinted at the skyline, biting her bottom lip and hoping Alice would understand.

  “What are you saying?” Alice’s voice got louder.

  “I’m saying I’d planned not to reveal your names, but I did share them after all. It just felt right, and I didn’t want to manufacture more secrets. Alice, I feel so terrible for keeping this big thing from you for so long. I didn’t want to repeat my mistake.” Evelyn heard her voice shake. “I had to be authentic. Miguel—that’s Julienne’s son—he asked about Teddy’s soccer, and he asked Teddy’s name, and well . . . it just seemed wrong not to tell him. I know this isn’t what we talked about.”

  “Oh my God.”

  Alice was on the edge, if not over it. Evelyn thought about hanging up and giving her more time to process. She’d expected the transition to be hard for Alice, but she also wondered if, since Alice had been adopted herself, she’d be more attuned to what Evelyn was feeling in the aftermath of her reunion with Julienne. She tried to shift focus. “If at some point you want to engage in a search for your own birth parents—”

  “This isn’t about me,” Alice said, her tone cold. “It’s about you and your choices and how they’re impacting my life.”

  Evelyn studied her finger, the little space where the nail polish had chipped. “Well.” A heaviness overtook her and she sat back down on her couch. “I did make a choice. It seemed like the best choice in the moment, and I’m sorry it seems
you can’t understand. You both mean the world to me.” She waited. Certainly, Alice had noticed the sacrifices Evelyn had made to be a good mother to her. She’d turned down that professorship at Cal Berkeley so Alice wouldn’t be uprooted during high school. She’d passed on a Fulbright so Alice wouldn’t have to spend unsupervised time with Frank. Although now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure Alice even knew about these concessions. Evelyn’s version of “good motherhood” had included making secret sacrifices for her daughter.

  “I’m glad to hear we mean so much to you.” Alice’s sarcasm felt like a lead vest.

  Evelyn dropped her gaze to Alice’s senior picture, which sat framed on her antique end table. Her daughter had worn her letter jacket for the photo, the sleeve filled with bars and stars, another reminder of her accomplishments. If only Alice cared as much about Evelyn’s opinion of her as she did about everyone else’s.

  “Julienne has a sense about these things.” Evelyn plowed forward. “She introduced me to her adoptive mother, and Alice, you can’t believe how natural it was, even though it was also so weird.”

  “Wait, you met her mother?” Alice’s anger had flared again.

  “It was important to Julienne.” Evelyn softened her tone, an attempt to be gentle. “It’s also important for you two to meet. I’d like for you to plan a coffee with her.” This had been Julienne’s suggestion, actually. A neutral ground, she said, where she and Alice could meet in “a spirit of curiosity.” It had sounded lovely to Evelyn when Julienne had used the phrase, but she knew if she repeated it to Alice, she’d spoil it.

  “You want me to meet her, like, without you there?”

  “Are you driving right now?” Evelyn asked. “Should we talk later?”

  “I’m pulling in to my office.”

  If Evelyn could go back five minutes, she might have skipped this call, but now, she figured she should just finish it. “Well anyway, Julienne thought it might be best to meet you one-on-one, to really get to know you.”

  Evelyn could hear that Alice had taken the phone off speaker. She imagined her sitting in her parking spot, her features pinched. “I can’t really do this on your timeline, Mom.”

  Evelyn pulled the phone away from her ear and fought her own anger. She felt betrayed by Alice’s reaction. Meeting Julienne had been so healing for Evelyn. It felt like filling a deep and craggy hole that she’d sidestepped for her entire adult life. Months after her first conversation with Julienne, she felt restored and safe. She realized she’d thought that the miracle of becoming a mother to Alice would have fixed her thirty-seven years ago, but it hadn’t. One child simply couldn’t replace another.

  “It’s your choice about getting together with her,” Evelyn said.

  “It’s clearly not my choice.” Alice opened her car door and slammed it again.

  “I’ll send you her number in case you decide to do it. She already has yours.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “You’ll be nice, right?”

  “Jesus, Mom.” Evelyn winced at Alice’s sharpness, but then she said, “You know I’m always nice.”

  Sadie Yoshida

  On Saturday, Sadie caught sight of her mother in the third row of the auditorium for the Quiz Bowl match versus Liston Heights. Her mom gave her a thumbs-up as the team got settled onstage. Sadie hadn’t been sure that her mom would even watch the tournament after how angry she’d been about Mr. Whittaker’s call on Friday.

  “You told kids about Teddy’s bedwetting?” Sadie’s mom had seemed shocked.

  “But he called me a slut,” Sadie tried.

  “And that’s not okay, but Sadie”—the wrinkle between her mom’s eyebrows grew cavernous—“you told about the Pull-Ups first. That was a huge secret.”

  There hadn’t really been any consequences for Sadie at home after Mr. Whittaker had called, but she still didn’t think her mom was quite over it. From the stage, Sadie returned her thumbs-up and pulled her purple uniform shirt flat against the white thermal she’d worn beneath it. She had a matching white ribbon in her hair.

  The team would face Liston Heights for the championship. Sadie could see the trophy, a two-tiered thing with red accents, just offstage.

  First place would be good, Sadie thought. She imagined her Instagram post, and her mother’s Instagram post, celebrating the accomplishment. It might erase some of the disappointment Sadie had seen in her mother’s face after Whittaker’s call. Plus, the team expected a win.

  Tane and Gretchen and Yusef had made it clear that only a defense of Elm Creek’s title from the previous school year would do. And Sadie had barely eked out a seat on the A team, narrowly defeating Douglas Lim in a paper-and-pencil test on key dates in American history to make the squad. Douglas, for his part, had parked himself in the front row of the auditorium. He’d been a good sport about losing, but Sadie felt him looking at her. He’d be happy if she made a mistake and Mr. O’Connor, the faculty advisor, put him back on the A team for the next tournament.

  If Sadie didn’t make it next time, she wouldn’t be able to sit onstage next to Tane. Their arms wouldn’t bump. She wouldn’t high-five him after the victories, as they had this morning, twice. Plus, she wasn’t sure there was any point in being B squad. If she didn’t make A, she should probably quit Quiz Bowl.

  Still, despite her desire for success, as soon as the match began, Sadie could feel that things weren’t going her way. First, she’d mistaken the composers Telemann and Handel. Next, she’d buzzed in with Shintoism when the correct religion was Sikhism. Worse, she knew the team expected her to know about Asian religions because her dad was Japanese, even though their family wasn’t at all religious. Finally, and while making eye contact with her mother in the third row, Sadie failed to feed “the Emancipation Proclamation” to Gretchen as the policy mentioned in the first paragraph of MLK’s “I Have a Dream” speech, despite her presumed prowess in American history. She glanced at Douglas and caught his self-satisfied smile.

  When Liston Heights celebrated at the end of the match, the trophy shone in the lights of the theater as the opposing kids hoisted it. Sadie offered a sad handshake to Douglas on her way to meet her mom. She’d looked for her in the audience as the match wound down, but her mother had already left her seat.

  Sometimes, Sadie knew, her mom got too nervous to watch her compete, either in synchro or now in Quiz Bowl. Rather than sit for the whole thing, she lapped the building or removed herself to the lobby. But this time, she wondered if her mother wasn’t just nervous, but also embarrassed, wishing Sadie had known more answers. Wishing she’d won.

  “You’ll probably get to play next time,” Sadie said to Douglas, who nodded. She thought she saw him make eye contact with Yusef behind her. Yusef, she knew, had been #TeamDouglas the whole time, although Quiz Bowl hadn’t yet made it to Instagram in the same way Teddy and Tane’s feud had.

  Sadie walked out of the auditorium without even looking at Tane, who, as their captain, had accepted the second-place trophy. Her whole idea about the next steps of their relationship—the Snapchat messages she’d imagined sending him that night, the plans she’d suggest for off-season training—had depended on them winning the tournament. Now they’d failed to keep the Elm Creek streak alive, and even though Quiz Bowl was a team activity, Sadie’s three mistakes seemed to cement her as the weak link. Even though she’d answered correctly about square roots, Georgia O’Keeffe, and William Faulkner earlier in the day, when it had mattered in the championship match, she’d failed.

  “Sadie!” Tane caught up to her just as she’d made eye contact with her mom in the lobby. He put his hand on her arm to stop her walking and she felt herself blush. He was touching her, and her mom was watching.

  She looked up at him and remembered his cute face in the Instagram video. His hair fell in his eyes, and she thought that if she were a high schooler in a Disney movie, she’d re
ach up and brush it aside. Instead, he did it for himself, taking his hand from her shoulder and leaving a hot spot in the place he’d touched. “You did great today,” he said.

  Sadie glanced at her mom. That wrinkle in her forehead deepened. Was she mad because Sadie had failed at Quiz Bowl or because Tane had touched her in the lobby?

  “I didn’t. I sucked.” She looked at her shoes, red lace-up Keds that she knew her mom wouldn’t let her wear after the first snowfall in a couple of weeks.

  “I’m glad you were here,” Tane said, and Sadie felt a spark of something in her chest, something in addition to the hollowed-out disappointment of losing for the team. Gretchen and her mom approached and offered high fives.

  “We were good until that last one,” Gretchen said sadly.

  “What are you talking about?” Gretchen’s mom said, slapping Sadie’s hand. “You all did great. I didn’t know half of those answers.”

  “Sadie?” Sadie’s mom called across the lobby. “Sadie? We have to go.” She pointed at the parking lot and walked out ahead of her, not waiting to see that she’d follow.

  Meredith Yoshida

  Meredith could feel Sadie’s disappointment radiating from her. Her daughter collapsed against the back seat and leaned her head against the window. The white ribbon Meredith had tied around Sadie’s ponytail hung limply over her neck, where Sadie’s downy hairs fell from her elastic.

  Meredith had encouraged Sadie when she had first mentioned Quiz Bowl (who wouldn’t want their child engaged in an academic competition, after all?), but she found herself disliking it more and more with each rapid-fire question. The kids didn’t even wait for the whole question to be read; they buzzed in recklessly, guessing answers. What amazed Meredith was how often they were right. She herself had never heard of the Haber-Bosch process and couldn’t come up with the term “heliocentric,” even from the audience. The only questions she’d been sure of were the ones about nineties rock music and anatomy. She’d been most impressed that Tane and Yusef seemed to be experts on Smashing Pumpkins and Blink-182.