The Better Half(35)
“This is a terrible time for us not to be able to drink,” Marisol says, exasperated, holding our tear-soaked hands together.
“There is one other thing,”
“Ay Dios mío! Seriously? I can’t take another thing.” Marisol leans back into her pleather chair, fanning herself with one hand.
“We would make a pretty cute baby,” I whisper. Marisol looks at me to see if I’m for real. “Maybe I could do a better job this time around.”
“Ohhh, Nina. You’ve done a wonderful job with Xandra. Don’t let Graham’s ridiculous ideas of your parenting get under your skin.” I don’t look up at my best friend. Even though I’ve never missed a game, a recital, or a middle-of-the-night nightmare, she knows how I’ve struggled under Graham’s opinion that I have not balanced work life and home life very well.
“I’m assuming you probably haven’t shared any of your thoughts with Leo?” Marisol asks, surely guessing the answer.
“Not yet. Nothing says get ready for a breakup like ‘I’m too selfish to want your baby.’”
“Nina, let’s get one thing straight, you’re not selfish. You’re anything but. Not only have you raised an amazing daughter, but you’ve been a fabulous daughter too. And to top it off you’ve spent your entire career helping hundreds of parents at Royal-Hawkins raise their sons and daughters.”
“Then if I’m not selfish, what am I? Because from where I’m sitting, everything I just said sounded horrible to me.”
“It didn’t sound horrible. It sounded like life. Messy fucking life. That’s what it sounded like.”
TWELVE
I have a love-hate relationship with FaceTime. With Xandra so far away, any day I get to see every square inch of her is a blessing. But the fact that I have to view my middle-aged neck on screen makes it a stressor I could happily do without.
“Hey, baby girl,” I say, pulling my braids over one shoulder and hoping Xandra will notice the hoop earrings I found online last weekend. Xandra knows I’ve been in a year-long hunt for a pair of large but tasteful closed-back hoops. I nailed it if you ask me.
“Hi, Mom. Nice earrings. Glad to see the search is over,” Xandra says, leaning into her iPad to get a closer look. I’m grinning like I just won Project Runway because my girl approves of something I’m wearing. I spent many years where Xandra sought my approval for every goal scored and robotics competition entered, and then one day—WHAM!—the tables turned, and I’m now working hard for my daughter’s endorsement.
“Thanks, you can borrow them when you come home, which, not that I’m counting, is in five weeks and two days.”
“Really? I thought it was sooner.” Xandra’s face falls a little, and my concern rises.
“Sweetie, I’ll talk to your dad and buy you a ticket home for Thanksgiving if that’s what you’d rather do. I know it’s your dad’s turn for Turkey Day, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem, promise. If you want to come home, I want you to come home.” I know Graham will throw a fit since his parents are flying in, but I don’t care. My heart is doing jumping jacks that Xandra wants her mom and she wants to come home. “We can go to the movies, go shopping. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do.”
“Mom, you’re so transparent bribing me with shopping. You sound like a clingy girlfriend.” I’m busted as Xandra lays her fall semester psychology elective rap on me. “Plus, Dad promised to make me pecan pie. He says he has your recipe.” The other reason I hate FaceTime is you can’t sport a dirty look without being caught by the other end.
“But Mom, I need to tell you something,” Xandra states, setting her jaw like she’s bracing herself for a stand-off. No matter, my daughter still needs me, hooray!
“Of course, you can tell me anything. No wait one second, let me get more comfortable.” I pull off my heels and tuck my legs under me on my office couch, so I can fully settle in for a gab session. Or to listen. Whatever Xandra needs.
“You remember a while back when I told you about my drama teacher?”
“Remind me.” I know exactly what Xandra’s talking about. There was something about Xandra goofing around off stage and monkeys, and I recall I couldn’t help wondering if Xandra’s sense of right and wrong was too quick to judge. So textbook teenager. It’s like the twelfth step of adolescence: though I’ve barely lived, I know everything.
“Before I tell you what happened, let me just say, it’s so unfair, it’s not my fault, and like I already told you, Mr. Petrov’s a total racist, and this just proves it.” Xandra’s voice is the perfect cocktail of indignation, anger, and whine. My instincts would have me jump in and get busy fixing this problem, but instead I take a moment to remind myself that Xandra needs practice working through her own issues.
“Go on,” I say with complete neutrality. I deserve a medal for my calm.
“I got a part with only two lines and maybe seven minutes on stage. Dash is about the same.” Okay, small part, but good for Xandra and Dash for trying. “Mr. Petrov picked an all-White leading cast for the winter musical, Wonderful Town. I’m in the A-Capellettes singing club, and I barely get any lines in the school musical, how’s that possible?!” Xandra’s eyes go wide to emphasize shock at what she thinks is questionable casting for the school play.