by Abbi Waxman
We were all silent.
“A patent for what?” asked Will.
Alice smiled. “I can’t tell you, it’s still in development.”
“Well, that’s going to look good on your application, isn’t it?” said Cassidy brightly. “Last week one of our tour members had started an international charity, but a patent is even better!” She nodded. “Who hasn’t started a charity, right?”
Great, now I hate Alice even more. But then I caught Emily’s eye and realized we both wanted to giggle. The whole idea of Alice holding a patent was ridiculous, the whole idea of doing it to look good on an application was even worse, and the particular agony of this whole breakfast suddenly threatened to overwhelm us both.
But we’re tough. We bit our lips and kept it together until we got back to the room.
I’m proud of us.
5
EMILY
As I sat there listening to the admissions woman at Georgetown give a speech that encouraged us to be fearless and bold, but also underscored the need for quality applications and good grades, I wondered how we’re supposed to be everything at once. How can you be a studious visionary who understands the secret language of employability but still be ready to cut ties with the ruling class and change the world while being a fearless artist and successful athlete? They do realize we’re only sixteen years old, right? Mind you, Alice holds a patent, so I’m the slacker. I pulled out my pad and zoned out, glad I picked a chair at the edge of the room. Mom looked over, so I pretended to be taking notes, when actually I was doodling the admissions woman.
I was near the window, which was a strategic call, and I could see dozens of students hanging out, laughing and flirting and reading actual books and looking like they’re legit enjoying themselves. I remember looking at high schoolers and feeling they had it together, only to get there myself and discover they totally didn’t. When does that stop? (Asking for a friend.)
My mom was listening with total concentration, of course, to the admissions director. She was probably making a mental list of the pros and cons of every college we visit, and she’ll present me with her findings and that will be that. She’s pretending to care about my opinion—in fact, she’s asking me what I think about forty times a day, even though the only answer I can ever give her is “I don’t know”—but actually she’ll tell me what I should do and be 100 percent certain of it. It’ll be high school all over again. I wanted to do Shop, and Technical Drawing, but she said I had to do AP US History and freaking Bio, which I HATE, because it was better for college. My friend Leah did Shop and they freaking welded. Just saying.
JESSICA
I hoped this wouldn’t go on much longer because I really needed to pee. I looked over at Emily and thank god she was paying attention. She was even taking notes. My phone buzzed with a new text. It was Frances. I hate it when people are on their phones when someone else is talking, it’s so rude, but I was going to break my own rules because I’m an adult. Sorry, and also not sorry.
Frances texted, “How’s it going?”
“Fine.”
“Huh . . . that good?”
“You’ll never guess who’s here.”
“Angelina Jolie.”
“Her kids are too young for college.”
“Maddox is already in college.”
“How do you know these things?”
“I waste a lot of time online, ignoring my children.”
“Fine, but no, not her. Daniella and Alice.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
A pause, then: “How’s Emily? Doesn’t she hate Alice?”
I frowned, and looked at Emily, who was now gazing out the window and hopefully imagining herself crossing the very lovely quad. “Unclear. She seems blasé.”
“She always seems blasé. That’s her superpower.”
Suddenly, Emily poked me and I realized everyone was getting up. I typed a quick ttyl and stood.
“It’s the walking part,” said Emily, looking like she’d rather be doing the sleeping part. I pulled on the coat everyone told me was overkill when I bought it; I’m not too proud to say living in LA has made me soft. I offered to buy Emily one, along with gloves and a scarf, but she said she’d rather die than dress like the Stay Puft man, so let’s hope the tour is mostly inside.
EMILY
Oh my god we’ve been walking around campus for twenty minutes and I am going to freeze to death. I can’t even text for help; my fingers are useless little icicles.
JESSICA
As the other parents and I were touring the campus, the guide kept stressing how employable the graduates of his college were. I was suddenly overcome with anxiety that I was going to quit my job and be totally unable to find a new one. John won’t even notice I’m gone; he’ll just hire a few of these spry, youthful graduates and call it a day. We happened to be passing the cafeteria, and I saw—across the crowded room—one of those muffins with the streusel topping, and before I knew it I had ditched the tour and was peeling off the paper wrapper. I am a very bad person.
The cafeteria made me feel like the oldest person in the world. I was surrounded by college students, all of whom seemed to be digging into giant salads and green juices, and were probably going to work out later. Where was the pizza? Where were the hangovers? I flipped through the brochure they’d given us, pausing at the “Tuition and Financial Aid” section. Let’s see . . . $50K a year tuition (I’m rounding down), let’s say $5K a year for housing, let’s add another $5K for books, clothes, and soft drugs . . . Let’s be friendly and call it a quarter of a million dollars. No problem (insert sound of choking, body falling to the ground).
I texted Frances again.
“Hey, I’m back.” I waited a moment, then her answer popped up.
“Hey, back.”
“I’m freaking out. I left the guided tour and I’m hiding in the cafeteria.”
“Good choice. Get a muffin.”
“I’m never going to get another job.”
“You haven’t actually quit this one yet.”
“John’s probably interviewing replacements.”
“Doubtful. Did you get a muffin? How’s Emily?”
“Yes, I got a muffin. She’s okay. She’s not actively hating me, anyway.”
“Well, that’s good. Sasha already told me I’m ruining her life, I don’t understand anything, and she hates me. I haven’t even had my third cup of coffee.”
I grinned at the phone. “The holy trinity! Congrats on hitting your goals for the day already.” I added a trophy emoji.
“Thanks. I’m pretty proud. At least Theo still loves me.”
“Hah. His time will come.”
I looked up from the phone and saw Emily, standing near the doorway with the rest of the kids, frowning at me. Well, they weren’t frowning at me; it was only her.
“Gotta go,” I texted Frances. “Emily just spotted me playing hooky.”
“Busted,” she replied. “Enjoy!”
EMILY
Mom’s got a uterus of steel, I have to give her that. We met up after the tour was done and she greeted me like nothing happened.
“Well?” She smiled as she asked, and for a moment I didn’t want to be angry with her about anything, and have a hug, but that never feels like an option anymore. And what if she’d been talking to school on the phone? It couldn’t be, because she definitely wouldn’t have been smiling.
“Well what?” I replied wittily.
“Did you enjoy the tour?”
I nodded. “Did you enjoy the cafeteria?”
“Yeah, although I have to tell you, the coffee wasn’t that great.”
I said, “You ditched the tour? After all that crap this morning about taking this trip seriously and paying attention?”
“Yes,” she said, and leaned cl
oser. “I was freezing to death, despite my coat, and I thought if I died you’d be really embarrassed, so I was honestly doing it to save your reputation.”
For a moment I wanted to laugh, and she was obviously trying to be forgiven, but instead I frowned at her and turned away. This happens a lot. I get angry and I can’t back down because if I back down it feels like losing, even though I know she’s not trying to win. I guess I’m in the clear with school though, thank god, because she would definitely have led with that.
JESSICA
Emily was mad at me for ditching the tour, but what can you do? I tried to make a joke of it but she wasn’t buying it. Teenagers can smell hypocrisy like blood in the water, and I was annoyed at myself for undermining my own credibility for a cup of coffee. But, dude, I was cold and I needed to check my email and I’m forty-five years old and if I want to get a cup of coffee I’m going to. See how mature I sound? I’d love to blame Emily for making me childish, but I think it’s all on me.
Once the group was all there, we headed off campus to a nearby restaurant that Cassidy apparently picked simply because it had big enough tables. It smelled strongly of coffee and vaguely of shrimp, which was weird. I decided to risk further contact with my own child.
“Did you like anything about the college? Did anything stand out?”
Emily shrugged at me, ready to bury the hatchet, or at least place it on the ground for now.
“It was okay. I liked the girl who was showing us around.”
“She was cool?”
“She had pink hair.”
“Fair enough. Did you ask any questions?”
Emily shook her head. “No, Alice asked about sororities, and Will asked about balancing a job and college, and someone asked about engineering.”
“Did it feel like somewhere you might want to be?”
She was irritated. “Mom, I have no idea. I spent all of an hour on campus. How am I supposed to know anything about it? If I dated someone for an hour and then said we were moving in together for the next four years, you’d have me committed.”
She’s not wrong, of course, but I said, “Look, I only want you to make a good impression,” then wondered why on earth I’d said that. I hoped she’d roll on by, but of course not.
“On the pink-haired girl? Mother, she didn’t even know our names, she’s not paying any attention.” She looked at me angrily. “Or do you mean on the other parents? That’s who you really care about, right? Making sure I look good so the other parents won’t think you did a bad job.” Her tone was disgusted, but at least she lowered her voice. I glanced around the table and saw an echo of our conversation happening all over, parents and kids talking quietly in pairs, the kids looking irritated and hungry, the parents looking hopeful or frustrated, presumably depending on how long they’d been talking. I suddenly put my hand on Emily’s and smiled.
“I’m sorry, baby, you’re totally right. I’m being pushy, I’m sorry.”
She was surprised but pulled her hand away and opened the menu. The college process makes you think in terms of points or scores, as if everything they do in eleventh grade is subject to ranking. Please, god, let that not be true, because unless they’re looking for champion sulkers with a minor in toneless insolence, Emily isn’t going very far.
And then I felt guilty about thinking that and hid behind my menu, too.
EMILY
Mom was being pushy again, so I told her I liked the girl who was showing us around, even though she was actually kind of a bitch, and kept saying, “Well . . . IF you get in,” which wasn’t exactly encouraging. Now we were waiting to order lunch. I might have been dying of hunger, btw, just saying. Presumably if I died right here and now, Mom would prop me up and carry me around on the tour like nothing was wrong. God forbid we stand out in any way.
I wish Mom would realize there’s nothing I’d like more than to walk onto a college campus and feel immediately at home. That would be awesome, because right now all I know is I don’t know. I don’t even know what I like anymore. I used to like drawing and horses and taking things apart. I used to like reading books about wizards and witches and talking animals. All that really stuck from that time were horses and drawing, although I do still have my Pokémon card collection. It’s going to be worth money someday.
I know Mom wants me to be happy, and if I knew what happy looked like, I’d be glad to help her. The happiest I’ve ever been was hanging out with my grandmother at the country place, the smell of her cigarette smoke sticking to my clothes along with those fuzzy little cannonball weed things that get everywhere. We built forts and dug holes. There was a stream we could dam up, or redirect, and we’d get covered in mud and sit there and smoke—her, not me. I’d eat candy. Her pockets were always mysteriously full of candy, although I never saw her eat any. She taught me how to unclog a toilet and use power tools. We never talked about anything except the job we had in front of us, and it was fantastic.
But lately everything feels like it doesn’t fit right, and I don’t honestly know if the misfit is everything else, or me. And seriously, if I didn’t get food soon, I was going to expire.
JESSICA
I kept smiling behind the menu and counted slowly. I’ve read that there are over two thousand accredited universities in the US. Surely to goodness one of them will appeal to Emily? Then we can start actually trying to get in, which these days is part political campaign, part American Ninja Warrior competition. I swear to you my parents didn’t do any of this. My dad managed to convey the importance of working hard in school using a subtle blend of emotional blackmail (I’m paying for the best high school in New York, don’t make me regret it) and fear (if you don’t work hard now you won’t get into a good college and you won’t get a good job and you won’t meet a nice man and you’ll end your life filled with regret and fast food). It was incredibly effective.
He was right, of course. I went to a very good high school, filled with the daughters of professionals both male and female, and a lot was expected. Having run straight As the entire time, I met with the school counselor once. She asked me what I wanted to do. I laughed and said, Not disappoint my parents, which she didn’t think was funny, so I coughed and said, Become a lawyer. She said, Columbia will take you. Your grades are very strong and their law school is first-rate. I said, Fair enough, and I swear to you that was it. I think I applied to four other colleges, but Columbia let me in, so I couldn’t even tell you what they were. Bear in mind I was not only running As but also trying to make the Olympics, and there are whole swaths of eleventh and twelfth grade I literally don’t remember because I wasn’t getting enough sleep for my brain to function properly. And where was my mom in all this? She was busy with her own projects and only ever said, Choose work that makes you happy while you’re doing it, because you’ll be doing it a lot, which might be the best life advice ever.
When Emily started eleventh grade, the school sent out an email letting us all know that college was now a thing we needed to think about. This was funny, of course, because we’d all been thinking about it, on and off, since the moment the obstetrician cut the cord. I’d dutifully attended every informational session, read everything they told us to read, and tried not to get infected with the panic that was palpable every time a dozen mothers got together—which of us was going to be triumphant in the grocery store, loudly and clearly announcing all the Ivies her daughter was admitted to? Which of us would be pretending not to care at carpool when the news wasn’t good, or wasn’t as good as everyone else’s? Conversations at Whole Foods were about schools and majors and empty nests, but the subtext was how well you managed your children and how secure their trajectory would be now. As if the future is ever secure for anyone. As if anything your own parents did mattered now, thirty years on.
I’d started this process a year or so ago, convinced I was going to be calm and Zen and 100 percent real about it all, emphas
izing the wide variety of colleges and encouraging Emily to follow her heart. But honestly, right now I’d be satisfied if she expressed any interest in the college process at all. When I give her my opinion she just shrugs. She’s certainly not scared of disappointing me, that’s for sure. I couldn’t tell you if that means I’m a worse parent than my dad, or better.
Then my phone rang and I had to step outside to take a work call and ended up on the phone for forty minutes while everyone else ate. I should have fully, openly quit for real, then maybe I’d get ten minutes of peace to completely freak out. As it was, I had to fit panic attacks in around everything else, which wasn’t the best way of doing it.
6
EMILY
I swear to god I’ll be graduating college and Mom will be on a call. I watched her nervously through the window at first, but it was clearly the office; she looked base-level stressed and didn’t throw any accusing glances my way. She’d missed pretty much everything I did in elementary school because of work, and although I totally support her, girl power and all that, it’s irritating. She complains about her work all the time, too, so I can’t help noticing I’m coming second to something she doesn’t even like. She came back into the restaurant when we were all done, and it was just as well I’d saved half my sandwich for her. Sometimes she forgets to eat, she’s so busy saving the world with the power of the law, or whatever it is she’s doing when she’s walking back and forth talking on the phone. When she took the sandwich I noticed she’d started picking at the skin on her fingers again, a nervous habit I thought she’d gotten over. Adults are so messed up.
After lunch we all took the Metro to Foggy Bottom to visit George Washington University. For some reason my mother finds the name Foggy Bottom hilarious, and I had to use my Bitchy Voice to get her to stop making stupid jokes. She’s such a child.