But Angel’s lips tremble. “It’s not funny. It was 1995, Mom. They knew that smoking during pregnancy was bad.” In her arms, Connor starts up a fuss, as if also registering his indignation. “Why can’t you just act like a grandmother?”
Marissa extends her palms, helpless, beseeching, the very image of innocence attacked. “How is a grandmother supposed to act? I don’t know what you want from me, Angel.”
“You know exactly how a grandmother acts. If you don’t, then you’ve never seen one or had one or turned on the TV. I’m not an idiot. I’m not one of your boyfriends who can be manipulated. You forget that I know you.”
“Yeah, they definitely knew smoking was bad,” says Amadeo, trying to pull the conversation onto more solid ground. “Remember all those commercials when we were kids? If you smoke, I smoke.”
“Ugh!” Angel storms off down the hall, her body tipped to the side to counterbalance Connor’s weight. Connor’s shrieks rise.
“You turned out fine!” Marissa calls after her daughter. “So I’m shit! I admit it! I ruined your entire life!” But Angel veers into the baby room, Connor’s cries cut by the slamming door. Marissa turns on Amadeo. “Oh, fuck you.”
Amadeo puts up his hands. “I didn’t say nothing.”
“Don’t you dare preach to me about how to parent.” She flaps her arms once and storms off the other way.
The festivities are still going strong when Brianna ducks out. In the bathroom, she plucks at the wet spots in her armpits and peers at her face. She is gratified to see that her eyes are bright and clear, her skin even, and her hair has some fluff to it. Authority becomes her, she thinks.
She’s enjoyed meeting her students’ families, though she admits to herself that at least some of her enjoyment is voyeuristic. Ysenia’s mother has a vacant quality about her. When Brianna told her that it was a delight having Ysenia in class, Ysenia’s mother responded warily, “Okay . . .” It made Brianna sad to think of spirited Ysenia growing up with this woman. All night Jen’s parents have sought Brianna out to repeat how grateful they are that Jen has this opportunity. “It’s not a situation we expected she’d ever end up in, but we’re so appreciative of this resource,” her dad said, pumping Brianna’s hand. Lizette has not brought anyone with her. Brianna gives herself a shake, but cannot shake away the disagreeable guilty pang.
As she makes her way back to the classroom, she sees Angel’s father inspecting a poster in the hallway. The sleeves of his polo shirt are tight around his biceps, his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He rocks on his feet as he reads.
She noticed him earlier, during the presentations. He’s not exactly handsome, and he’s just a couple inches taller than Brianna herself. But his eyes are warm and brown and thick-lashed, and he seems easy in his body. Her nerves vibrate, alert.
Emboldened by her professional role, she smiles and sticks out her hand. “So. Angel’s dad, right? I’m Brianna.”
He turns slowly. “Angel’s an at-risk child?”
“Well, her baby is,” she says. “Angel is technically an at-risk youth.”
“At risk for what?” He bites his lip.
“Pregnancy, for one.” Brianna gives a quick rueful laugh. “Drug and alcohol use, dropping out, being a perpetrator or victim of crime. Ditto child abuse. Teenagers who have babies are at risk of reduced future earnings, less educational attainment, having children who are underweight or have serious health problems.” She catches his stricken expression and tries to right the ship. “I mean, not always, of course, but those are the statistical outcomes we’re trying to prevent.”
“Not Angel. Angel’s going to college. She may even get her master’s. Her aunt’s got hers. And Connor was seven pounds three ounces. Just right. He’s healthy as anything.”