I start to cut the cake, and Zoë reminds me that the birthday girl gets the first slice, so I set mine aside and start serving the rest of the family. Serena returns to the table and waves her hand to decline dessert. Not even the pumpkin pie, because it, too, is dead. Zoë and Mia start to attack Serena again, but I shush them. One food fight per meal is more than enough.
My mother, who has been passing around plates of pumpkin pie, sends down a plate for Zoë and winks at me. I take the hint and stop slicing my birthday cake at six pieces, then sit down to dig into my own.
Zoë looks at her plate. “But…but…but…I said I wanted birthday cake, too.” Her eyes tear up as though she’s turned on a faucet behind them.
“I was just double-checking. I didn’t want to ruin your special diet by serving you food that wasn’t orange,” I say evenly.
“I told you, Mommy, it’s bad luck not to.”
“Okay,” I sigh, catching my mother’s eye. She grins. “It’s your rule.”
Zoë tucks into the birthday cake with the fervor of someone whose jaw has just been unwired. She puts down her fork and looks up. “The rule is…the rule is…the rule is…” She says, waggling her hands, as though that will help her to better organize her thought. “The rule is that once you have one thing that isn’t orange, you don’t have to have everything orange anymore.”
My mother, part psychologist, part partner in crime, sucks in her cheeks, trying to hide our giddy victory from her granddaughter. The spell is broken. I sigh, exhaling enough air to extinguish another twenty-seven birthday candles and blow Tulia a grateful kiss.
Chapter 8
DECEMBER
Dear Diary:
Mommy and I are fighting. After Thanksgiving and her birthday, she asked me to think about what kind of birthday party I want to have. Ashley’s mommy and daddy gave her a Barbie party at a really fancy toy store when she had her birthday. All the girls in our class were there. We got to dress up in our pajamas and sleep in the store. It was so fun. I asked if we could do that, but I want a Powerpuff Girls party instead of Barbie. Mommy said we couldn’t do that this year. I asked her why and she said because it costs a lot of money to have all those little girls at a party at the store. So I said maybe I could only invite a few people, like the girls who are really my best friends instead of the whole class. Except at my school we are supposed to invite the whole class when we have birthday parties so nobody feels left out. I want to invite Xander Osborne, so maybe I shouldn’t have a Powerpuff Girls party because boys don’t care about the Powerpuff Girls.
Mommy told me if I wanted I could have a Powerpuff Girls party at home with a PPG tablecloth and napkins and party favors. But that’s not fun. That’s for babies and all my friends do stuff that’s really special and grown-up for their birthdays.
My friend Ben from yoga class had his birthday party at the planetarium. We all watched the movie about how the Earth was created and the big bang. I don’t think Ben’s dad liked it very much. He’s a rabbi. He walked out of the movie and almost tripped on the stairs because it was so dark. He stepped on Mommy’s foot because he couldn’t see where he was going. Afterwards we had cake and ice cream and pizza and we had a quiz on all the planets and the kids who got the answers right got prizes. I got a glow-in-the-dark mobile of the planets and it’s hanging in my room over my bed.
Everything I asked Mommy if we could do for my birthday, she said no. She kept saying I should think of something else and when I did, then she told me we couldn’t do it. It’s not fair. She made me cry and then I made her cry. And then I went into my room and closed the door hard and cried on my bed. Only Baa understands what kind of party I want.
Mommy came into my room and said we have to talk like big girls. That if I don’t want a party for babies, then I shouldn’t act like one. So I asked if we could all go to a play like we did for April and May’s party last spring. That’s for big girls. Because my birthday is the same day as Christmas Eve, maybe we could go see the Rockettes, like Mommy and I do together every Christmas. I want to be a Rockette when I grow up. They get to wear lots of different outfits in their show. My favorite one is the purple velvet one with the white trim. It looks like an ice-skating dress. Maybe next year I can take tap-dancing instead of ballet. If I don’t become a Rockette I might be an astronaut when I grow up because I really like the planets and the stars. Or I could be a Rockette at Christmas when they have their show and then the rest of the year I could be an astronaut.
Mommy said no to the Rockette show and no Powerpuff Girls sleepover party at the really fancy toy store.
Ashley’s big sister Tennyson had a party at their summer house, which is near where Granny Tulia and Grandpa Brendan live. They have little ponies that are as big as really big dogs and we got rides on them. I got to go to the party because I’m Ashley’s best friend and Mommy and I went out there on the train and we stayed overnight at Grandpa Brendan and Granny Tulia’s. Ashley and Tennyson’s mom and dad have a big room where they can show movies. It looks just like a real movie theater, only smaller. So after the pony rides and swimming in their pool, we saw the new Disney movie that isn’t even in the real movie theaters yet. We had popcorn from a popcorn making cart they have that looks like the one at the circus. I know we don’t have ponies but maybe we could have something like that. Mommy said she would think about it but she didn’t look like she was thinking very hard.
Mommy always has to work now. Her job gave her more tours so sometimes she can’t pick me up from school. When she has to work, I go home with Ashley or I go to April and May’s house for a play date. Sometimes MiMi comes to get me, when she doesn’t have to work. Last week after school MiMi came to get me and we took a taxi down to the Lord and Taylor store to see the Christmas windows. They were all from Peter Pan and they had puppets that flew inside the windows. Michael had his teddy bear and John had his umbrella and his black hat and Wendy was blonde and wore her hair pulled up at the sides and in a little bun just like my imaginary friend Wendy.
We walked up Fifth Avenue and we stopped to look at the big Christmas tree and the people skating and we saw the Christmas windows at the fancy store near there, too. That store had an old-fashioned Christmas in the windows and it looked like the house that Granny Tulia and Grandpa Brendan have in Sag Harbor. The windows had Christmas trees decorated with candles on them and fireplaces and ladies in beautiful long dresses and kids playing with old toys. My feet hurted started to hurt so we got in another taxi and we went to the Plaza Hotel and we had hot chocolate with Marsh-mallows and looked at the painting of Eloise. I bet Eloise could have had any kind of birthday party she wanted. She would have just had to say it, and Nanny would have said it was okay.
MiMi took me home after that and then after I said hi to my Mommy, I went into my room to read Harriet the Spy and I heard Mommy and MiMi get in a fight. Mommy said to MiMi that SHE had wanted to take me to see the windows and the Christmas tree because we do that together every year at this time. And SHE wanted to take me to see Eloise, too, as her special treat to me for getting 100s on all my spelling and writing tests. Mommy told MiMi that she was spoiling me. I don’t know what that means, but spoiled things like milk and meat aren’t good things and you have to throw them away.
When I heard Mommy say that, I came into the kitchen where she and MiMi were talking because I didn’t want her to throw me away. I was crying and she told me not to cry. She said she would never throw me away in a million thousand years and that “spoiled” is an expression. She said it means that MiMi was giving me so many special treats that I would get used to having treats all the time and not like to do normal stuff anymore.
MiMi said she likes to take me places and it makes her happy to do it. It makes me happy too and I told them. I told Mommy that I love doing nice stuff with her, too, but that we hardly ever get to do that anymore. They told me to go play in my room, but I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to be with them in the kitchen, so I had a glass
of milk and I stayed.
MiMi told Mommy it wasn’t HER fault that Mommy is so busy. She said that just because things are hard for Claire, it doesn’t mean that she (MiMi) should be stopped from taking me fun places and getting me treats. MiMi said to Mommy that she makes “good money” (what is bad money?) and Mommy has no right to tell her how to spend it. Mommy said she didn’t like it that MiMi was acting like the mommy. She said MiMi was “playing house” with me and that having a child is more than going to fun places together. She said MiMi doesn’t see me when I’m sick or in a bad mood. And she said that if MiMi had a child of her own, she’d see how hard it is to raise her.
Then they were really shouting at each other and it made me so sad because I hate it when people are mad at each other and I hate shouting. I went away when they started shouting again and I crawled under the piano, which is where I like to hide when people fight. That’s where I went to hide when Mommy and Daddy started fighting. There is a big red pillow and a big orange pillow under the piano and I would crawl in between them and make a Zoë sandwich until they stopped being mad at each other.
MiMi is the best aunt in the whole world! I love her so much. Sometimes I wish I lived with her instead of with Mommy. Mommy is always saying what I’m not allowed to do. And sometimes she even yells at me, even though she always says how much she hates yelling. I don’t like it when she yells so I yell back. MiMi doesn’t make me do my homework. And one time she took me to a makeup store for grown-ups called Sephora and she let me pick out a nail polish. I couldn’t decide what color I wanted and they had all the colors in the rainbow. I thought yellow or orange or blue or green would have looked yucky and I don’t like red polish and I wanted something special so I picked purple. We went back to MiMi’s house and she painted my nails for me. Mommy never did that. She doesn’t let me wear nail polish. She says it doesn’t look nice on little girls and I can have it when I grow up, but that’s a billion years from now and I don’t want to wait that long.
I have another problem. Miss Gloo, my ballet teacher, says we have to be at her studio right after school for final practice for our recital, but final ballet practice is the same time as the whole school’s Christmas pageant and Mrs. Hennepin and the headmaster, Mr. Kiplinger, said that nobody is allowed to miss the pageant. I’m supposed to sing in it, too. My class is doing “The Little Drummer Boy” and I have a solo line and everybody else in the class sings the “pa-rum-pum-pum-pum” part. In art class we made torches with flashlights and red and yellow and orange tissue paper and we’re going to walk down the risers in the gym down to the floor where we will sing, but we start the song at the top of the risers. It will be all dark in the gym except for our torches.
I really want to sing at school. I like singing and I don’t get scared to do it in front of other people. But Miss Gloo says if we miss the last recital practice or we’re late, then we can’t be in it. And I really like ballet, too. We’re doing “The Waltz of the Flowers” from The Nutcracker with real costumes and everything. The costumes are so pretty. We’re all going to be wearing different flower colors. Ashley’s is blue and my friend Chauncey’s is pink. My tutu is yellow. My favorite color. I asked for yellow and Miss Gloo said yes. And we get to wear ribbons and flowers made of silk in our hair.
MiMi is taking me to the real Nutcracker at Lincoln Center for my Christmas present. This is another thing that Mommy and MiMi got mad at each other about. Mommy said that SHE wanted to take me to The Nutcracker as a present for being in my ballet recital. And MiMi said she wanted it to be HER birthday present to me. Mommy told MiMi that MiMi is taking away all the things that SHE wants to do with me as a Mommy.
There was a “police emergency” in the subway—which usually means a body on the tracks—so I barely made it on time to Zoë’s ballet class this afternoon.
As I sit in the waiting area, I suddenly remember that it’s my turn to bring snack this week. Fortunately, there’s a Korean grocer on the corner, so I rush back to grab some grapes and a bunch of juice boxes. The Atkins devotees will just have to suck it up. Or not, actually. At the last minute, I pick up some peanuts and trail mix, too. Unimaginative, I know, but I don’t have all day to play dietitian and food stylist. This is the kind of snack that dads can get away with. Everyone finds it charming when a father shows up with nothing but a brick of Cracker Barrel and a box of Triscuits. That doesn’t cut it for the moms, however. We’re expected to Martha Stewart it.
The little girls are adorable, practicing their dance for the end of season recital. Some of them, my daughter among them—ham that she is—really glow when they know they have an audience.
After class, Miss Gloo, the ballet mistress, gracefully crooks a slender finger and invites me to listen to whatever it is she has to say. “I hope you’ve taken care of Zoë’s scheduling conflict,” she begins. “She’s such a bright light up there. I’d hate to lose her for the performance.”
Zoë is double-booked. Her Thackeray holiday pageant coincides directly with Miss Gloo’s recital. “I’m working on it,” I assure her, omitting the fact that I don’t exactly have Favored Nation status at Zoë’s school these days.
“Oh…and one other thing,” Miss Gloo says, her face coloring ever so slightly. She lowers her voice. “I still haven’t gotten your check yet.”
“My check?”
“For Zoë’s recital costume. We rent them from a professional costume house. The seventy-five dollars covers the cost of the rental, plus the fee for shipping and for dry-cleaning the costume after the performance.”
I will my eyes not to pop. “And she’s going to wear this costume for…?”
“Her class’s dance runs about ten minutes. And of course, there’s the final dress rehearsal and run-though the same afternoon.”
“I’m sorry—I must have…Zoë must have forgotten to give me the permission form. This is the first I’ve heard of it.” I open my purse to look for my checkbook.
“You…you can charge it instead, if you prefer,” Miss Gloo says. I think she’s figured out my situation and is trying to help me handle it gracefully. I do appreciate her compassion.
“Thanks very much. I’ll do that, then.” At the front desk I fork over my credit card. It buys me another month to worry about paying for a little yellow tutu that will be worn for all of twenty minutes.
Whatever I do turns out wrong these days. I love taking Zoë out—I feel like a modern-day Auntie Mame—but it’s pissing off Claire. We had a huge blowup over it last week. For months, she’s done nothing but schlep Zoë from place to place and I know she’s burned out. So, I figured I would step in and help her. But she’s not making it easy; I say I want to take my niece somewhere, Claire says she wanted to do that. But she didn’t do it. And now that she’s working so hard, when was she going to get to it? She’s running herself ragged just to be sure she’s got the money for her co-op’s monthly maintenance payments. Mommy and Daddy offered to help her out but they already pitch in a lot. They pay for most of Zoë’s education. And Claire hates handouts. It’s a lose-lose deal. So what’s the trade-off? Do I say, “Okay, I won’t bring Zoë to the places you want to take her to?” Great. I can live with that. But then the kid doesn’t get to go at all, because Claire can’t swing it.
I love my time with Zoë. And I have a great job, really feel blessed to be making a living doing what I love. Each job is an adventure. But the more I get to know Zoë, the more I see what I lack. A piece of me is missing. Maybe I’m beginning to acknowledge that I want to be a mom. I do want it all. Three decades of feminist history tell me it’s possible. Do-able. To at least want it.
Although right now I want to wring Claire’s neck. I don’t know how she does it as well as she does. I know this: I could not be a single mom. I’m hitting a crossroads in February—the big three-oh—so I’ve been searching my soul a lot. And I can count up what I still want on one hand. Two fingers, in fact. Husband. Child.
I think it’s time for a trip to my
astrologer. Celestia Schwartz lives near St. Mark’s Place, and like a good table at Balthazar, it takes weeks to get an appointment. But you can’t be allergic to cats, if you plan to go there. They’ll climb all over you during your session. She gave me a kitten once as a gift, many years ago, and the poor thing turned out to be incontinent. It also clawed its way through a one-of-a-kind design by my mom. Tulia was not too cool about that and it takes a lot to knock her off-balance. The kitten went back to Celestia. She told me it had been homesick and its karma had gotten messed up by leaving her, and she should have foreknown that might happen. She gave me a free session to make up for it. That was a gift, too; she charges two hundred and twenty-five bucks for a reading. It might be a fun birthday present for Zoë, too. My niece is a Capricorn. An old soul in a little body. Sometimes I’m amazed by what the kid is thinking. She’s way ahead of me in some ways. Like with men, for instance. I bounce from guy to guy, hoping each will turn out to be The One. She’s got her One all picked out. Xander Osborne, holy terror of Thackeray’s second-grade classes. He may yet beat the Marsh sisters’ record in the hell-raising department. With Christmas around the bend, Zoë’s already learned about mistletoe. Now, that’s a Marsh woman!
“What about ‘July in Christmas’?” I ask Zoë. She makes a funny face. This is, at a conservative estimate, probably our thirty-ninth conversation regarding a theme for her upcoming birthday party. “There’s an expression—‘Christmas in July,’” I explain, telling her what it means. “So, what if we do the opposite?”
“The opposite?” She’s still looking at me as though I’m six letters shy of the full alphabet.
“Yeah!” From concept to realization, my brain is working at a furious pace. I share my epiphanies as fast as they come. “It’s really cold and yucky out in December, right?” Zoë nods. Duh. She’s with me so far. “Remember when we talked about Tennyson Silver-Katz’s birthday with the barbecue?”
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