One of the Good Ones

by Maika Moulite

  THIS JUST IN:

  SELECT ENTRIES COPIED FROM

  #SUNDAYPOLITICOS TWEETS

  United States Trends

  Brian Hoffman | 1m

  Not this chick again. What an idiot diversity hire #SundayPoliticos #MourningtheEndofPoliticalJournalism

  Celeste’s #1 Fan Club | 2m

  Celeste shut that Murphy guy down and is WORKING that press n curl #YASqueen #imlovinit #SundayPoliticos

  Viola Printz | 4m

  Idk. Please don’t come for me Black Twitter, but is it just me or is Celeste a little off her game today? #SundayPoliticos

  The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant

  Say what you want about my mother (everybody else has), but you had to give her props. She was always the first to say that being on TV was just “the means to a greater end” and that journalism was about “upholding democracy” and giving “a voice to the voiceless” and blah, blah, blah—but the camera loved her. The way she held court at her roundtable was masterful. Straight-up Arthurian. She was the conductor who wasn’t afraid to stop the train to put someone in their place and kick them off if need be.

  “See, that’s exactly why Americans today don’t trust—”

  “What Americans are really concerned about is making sure they have enough money to—”

  “How would you know what Americans are concerned about? You’re so far removed from—”

  “Oh, please. Give me a break. You own two homes in New Canaan! You’re not exactly the woman of the people you think you are. More like Marie Antoinette—”

  “Now, hold on—”

  If anyone interrupted beyond the admittedly higher-than-what-was-acceptable-in-real-life (but appropriate-for-cable-news) level, or started getting personal with their insults, Mom always called them out on it fast. She was even known for hounding her booking producer to stay away from the talking heads on other shows who went viral for losing their tempers in their on-screen tic-tac-toe boxes. She called it “choosing substance over spectacle.” I expected her to tell the two opposing flacks who were getting into it to cut the crap in three...two...

  What was the holdup?

  “Oh no...” Dad muttered.

  I looked up from my laptop in time to see the countenance of the confident no-nonsense ice queen I was used to flicker into a blank stare. I turned to my dad to confirm I wasn’t seeing things, but his gaze was still transfixed on her.

  “The name-calling will have to stop now...uh...” Mom said, touching her hand lightly to her forehead before dropping it quickly. I had never seen her so flustered. I gripped the arm of my seat, as if I could squeeze the words out for her.

  “Delano?” Delano said.

  “Of course. Forgive me. Let’s take a time-out. We’ll be right back with more Sunday Politicos.”

  The rest of the show went smoothly enough, but more than a few people online mentioned the odd moment. I (obviously) responded to some from the secret Twitter account I reserve for ratchetness and told them where they could shove keep their opinions. I regret nothing.

  But off the record...what I didn’t say online was how scary it was to watch her freeze like that. Mom never freezes.

  Thursday, November 19

  From: Alaine Beauparlant

  To: Estelle Dubois

  Subject: ¿Cómo Estás Tía?

  Dear Tati,

  Bonjour! Or should I say hola? Because I’m definitely writing this en mi clase de español. How are things in Haiti? Anything new and cool happening with PATRON PAL? I wanted to check in to find out whether you watched that Sunday Politicos link I sent you. I’m sure Mom was just having a brain fart but, even so, it kind of freaked me out. (The family curse strikes again, am I right?) Normally I would say that I was overreacting, but it really doesn’t help that everyone keeps asking me if she’s doing okay.

  I picked up my friend Tatiana this morning on the way to school, and even her grandma told me—while I was speed-kissing the rest of Tatiana’s family—to tell Mom that she was praying for her. I’d run in to use the bathroom, and when I walked past the kitchen, there sat Tatiana’s parents, great-aunt, and a pair of grandparents. Do you know the most efficient way to greet a roomful of Haitians without offending anyone? Three words: pucker and pat. The first time I’d ever come over, Tatiana had warned me that her relatives were really snippy about manners and wouldn’t like me if I just waved at them like yon ti ameriken. I followed her suggestion to kiss the air and give each of her relatives’ cheeks a little bump. In Tatiana’s words: you too would find a way to be as efficient as possible after years of having to greet every adult you run into after church.

  It’s weird. Everyone groups me and Tatiana together at school because we’re the only two Haitian American girls in our grade, but our life experiences are way different. Sure, I speak Creole, but I can’t mimic a Haitian accent the way she can. She’s the only girl of five children. She’s on a scholarship and I’m not. She goes to church like it’s her job, while I can count the number of times I’ve been to a Haitian church on one hand that’s had the pinkie cut off.

  If I’m being honest, there are times when I don’t feel as Haitian as Tatiana. Would my Zoe card be revoked if anyone found out that I’d been pretending to know who Tonton Bicha was? And that I’d never seen I Love You Anne? There’ve been so many times when I’ve felt left out of the Culture and I think it’s because it’s been me and Dad for most of my life. And whenever I go to Tatiana’s house and see her with all those cousins and brothers and relatives, I can’t help but wish I had that too.

  Can you imagine a house filled with two to three variations of me, your favorite niece? Heaven, I know. But in all seriousness, it would’ve been great to have grown up with someone who knew all my secrets. Someone to pass the time with when Dad dozed off in front of the TV after taking another shift at work and Mom missed a third scheduled phone call in a week because of another breaking news story. That’s not to say that I don’t appreciate the moments we get to chat, Tati. It’s just that you’re so far away and Mom’s always so busy. And sometimes I want someone besides Dad to talk to over dinner. Don’t tell him I said that.

  You know what’s funny though? I shared all of this with Tatiana when we got in the car and she revealed how she was jealous of me for living in such a big house with only my “chill dad who is always working.” And then after eating a mysterious fortune cookie one Friday night, we switched bodies, spent the next few days learning to love what we had, and turned back to our old selves wiser than we were before.

  Oops—Señora Ortega viene a tomar mi teléfono.

  Bye!

  Alaine

  P.S. ThankyouforthepeanutsDadsmakingabrittle—

  Saturday, November 21

  From: Estelle Dubois

  To: Alaine Beauparlant

  Subject: Re: ¿Cómo Estás Tía?

  Chérie,

  I hope that emailing me in class does not become a habit. You should be focused on your lessons, young lady. Although you should never feel that you aren’t Haitian enough. It’s in your blood.

  But to answer your questions, things at PATRON PAL are wonderful. Thank you for asking. We’re getting our affairs in order to pitch to a few investors for a new round of funding. We just confirmed that we will have a new intern from Stanford joining our ranks for the spring semester. We’re also working on an upcoming feature with a major media outlet that will highlight all the money we’ve been able to raise through the app to benefit the children of Haiti.

  In regards to your mother, yes, we are all allowed to have “brain farts” as you say. However, it’s understandable for people to be concerned. She is admired by so many; they will notice any change in her behavior. Have you spoken with Celeste about how you’re feeling? Also, you might be onto something when you mention the family curse. I know your mom d
oesn’t like discussing it, but I think she should. Bring it up to her. Sooner than later.

  I’m happy you enjoyed the peanuts I sent. Tony Juste’s pistach are the best. I’ve probably paid a year’s tuition worth of school for each of his kids with the amount I buy.

  Also, don’t worry. I won’t tell Jules a thing.

  Bisous,

  E

  ——

  Estelle Dubois

  Haitian Minister of Tourism

  CEO of PATRON PAL

  L’Union Fait La Force

  Tuesday, November 24

  The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant

  Dad was going to kill me.

  A decent number of days had gone by since I’d declared that the Beauparlant household would be absent from Career Day. At first, Dad was a little mopey, but he eventually made a full recovery.

  But I was on the phone with Mom tonight enduring our third awkward silence in a twelve-minute span after she, yet again, stopped me from reading out the best (and worst) online viewer comments from Sunday’s episode. I didn’t know how she stayed above all that. I told her that if I were in her shoes, I’d probably spend a third of each show just responding to everyone who flattered or angered me enough. She said I “had a lot of growing up to do,” which is always fun to hear.

  I thought about bringing up the family curse like my aunt had suggested to give us something to talk about, but I knew there was no point. Tati Estelle had been blathering on about this curse for as long as I could remember. But she never got further than saying that we had one, because my mom insisted that she not fill my head with such nonsense.

  Anyway, I didn’t know what else to discuss, so I threw out the following just to say something:

  “Um, did I mention there’s a Career Day at school coming up?”

  “Really? I didn’t know they did those in high school.” She jumped on my conversational life raft and didn’t let go. “When is it? I’ll have to check my schedule, but we can certainly make this work—”

  “Oh. Don’t worry about it. I know you’re busy. Plus, the event is extra credit and won’t affect my grade,” I said as the thoughtful person that I am.

  She paused.

  “Do you not want me there?”

  Jeez, not this again. She got offended if I didn’t invite her to something and then felt guilty when she couldn’t make it. I didn’t hold it against her, but I would rather just avoid the whole routine.

  “I told Dad he didn’t need to come either. Seriously, it’s fine. I’d love for you to do it, but I don’t want to inconvenience you...”

  “You’re never an inconvenience! I will be at your Career Day bright and early to represent you well and make all your classmates jealous.”

  Visions of superiority danced in my head.

  “All right, then. This will be fun! Maybe we can make a day of it? It’s a Friday. December 11—”

  “Hold on. The eleventh? Of December?”

  The click-clack of her nails on her keyboard invaded my earpiece. She was undoubtedly scrolling through her calendar to discover a prior engagement more important than a school visit. I sighed.

  “It’s okay. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving in a couple of days anyway.”

  “No!” she said sharply. “I can move things around... And didn’t your father speak to you about Thanksgiving?”

  Come on.

  “He did not... What was he was supposed to tell me?”

  “I thought that was why this call has been so uncomfortable.”

  “Really? I thought it was because we have nothing to say to each other.”

  “Alaine. I will not have you use that tone with me. I don’t care how upset you are,” she said with the steely voice she reserved for dictators and despots. “I have an important meeting I can’t miss and Thanksgiving was the only date that would work.”

  “What’s the point of hosting your own show if you still have to come in on holidays?” I asked. “Who is so busy that they don’t take Thanksgiving off and then force other people to miss out on turkey?”

  “I can’t discuss that with you right now.”

  I snorted.

  “Okay, Jane Bond—that was the last joke,” I added hastily.

  “It better be,” she said. “All I can say is that I’m going to Germany for a few days.”

  “Tell the chancellor I say hey,” I grumbled.

  “Let’s put a pin in it,” she said. “Your father told me he’s seen you typing away on your new computer. I’m glad.”

  “Hold up,” I said. “Of course giving me this laptop was supposed to be some sort of consolation prize for you not showing up.”

  She stayed quiet.

  “Well, if we’re turning into the kind of family that just buys each other’s love, can I get a new car the next time you can’t make it to a family function? Should be around December 11.”

  “Alaine. I. Will. Be. There.”

  “Sure, sure, but if you aren’t, please understand that Dad’s old 1998 Toyota Camry has sufficiently built my character and I’m ready to move on,” I said. “I’m not looking for luxury! Just working passenger-seat windows.” Disappointment was an expected emotion when dealing with my mom, but it still exhausted me. I retreated into my cocoon of cleverness and let her off the hook. For now.

  “I wouldn’t be missing Thanksgiving unless I really had to. I promise I will be at Career Day.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, unconvinced. The thing was, I’ve always gotten the sense that it didn’t take much to miss a date with me. And sometimes I didn’t feel like being the inconvenient daughter.

  I hung up the phone. On the way to the kitchen to lick my wounds with a bowl of strawberry mint ice cream, I slowed down as I neared my dad’s room. Might as well tell him that Mom was doing Career Day (so he could get his burning jealousy out of the way before waking up for work the next morning). Unlike my parents, I didn’t wait an eternity before sharing information. His door was slightly ajar and I could hear him pacing on the large rug beside his bed.

  “I’m sorry, but it isn’t my responsibility to constantly break bad news to her on your behalf... You’ve had days to do this,” he said, surely defending himself against whatever blame Mom was now trying to pin on him. Ugh. My ear was still warm from my phone and she had already called Dad to complain. “You shouldn’t be afraid to talk to her. Really talk.”

  I kept walking, aware of how this conversation would play out. I’d heard it all before. She could tell him about Career Day herself.

  Monday, November 30

  The Life and Times of Alaine Beauparlant

  My mother is late.

  It was a nice surprise when she followed up with me a couple days after I invited her to Career Day to get more details and figure out what was actually required of her. I said she could just show up and show out be herself. I would work on the rest. She wouldn’t take that as an answer.

  “What is ‘the rest’?”

  “It’s nothing. They just wanted the speakers to write a biography of themselves and a list of tips for us—what do you old folks call us—spring chickens.”

  “I have so much to say! Consider it done.”

  That’s where we’d left things. Based on our track record, I could see it going one of two ways: either she’d write a five-hundred-page tome of all of her journalistic accomplishments, real and imagined, and film a ten-minute news package of the pieces of wisdom she’d acquired from that week she spent shadowing Sheryl Sandberg at Facebook...or she would completely forget.

  To be fair, in this particular instance, she remembered...but hadn’t gotten to it yet.

  Is the end of the week okay? she texted me last night.

  Is it cool that the reason she didn’t have time to write up her career tip sheet was that she’d scored
an exclusive interview with some whistle-blower who’d leaked sensitive government secrets to the public? Uh, duh. Is it uncool that days ago I had offered to slap something together for her so she wouldn’t have to worry about it, but she insisted she wanted to do it herself? Kinda!

  I know I’m coming off a little dramatic (quelle surprise), but that’s how I felt. Don’t get me wrong, I’m super proud of my mom! How many people can say that they have one of the most well-known journalists in the world as a parent? Not many, I can tell you. And I’m definitely not saying that I didn’t want my mom to reach her ultimate career potential.

  I really want her to!

  Seriously!

  Look at these exclamation points!

  I look up to everything that she’s done so far as a journalist, and I’d be lying if I said that I wanted to become a journalist myself because of anyone but her.

  One of the main things that bugs me about getting so upset whenever I think about my mom is that I always feel strangely anti-feminist. Who am I to stop her from Leaning In? She should go and conquer the world! Break that glass ceiling! But is it too much to ask that she try a little harder to fit me into her calendar somewhere between Monday’s hair appointment and Friday’s quest for world domination? Especially for Thanksgiving. It’s one of my favorite holidays ever, maybe even more than my birthday. A socially acceptable time to gorge yourself on as much delicious food as possible all in the name of gratitude? Count me in.