“But nothing was wrong. Graham said yes, Xandra’s absolutely fine, no loss of blood whatsoever.” Judging from her side-eye, Marisol’s not convinced. “And then I said I had to go, because Winn was holding open the door for me. Graham threw out a rude one-liner, something like, ‘Let me know when you can find time to talk about your daughter.’” In the past that would have agitated my working mom guilt, but now I can decipher when he’s just in a picking-on-me sort of mood. “You know how he plays me, now he’s just doing it from New York.”
Marisol nods. Eleven years on the sidelines of our marriage and several more witnessing our divorced life, she gets it.
“And I did get in touch with Xandra. You know I don’t leave anything to chance when it comes to my baby. I panic texted her when Winn was calling the board meeting to order. She let me know she’s all good. Out with a group of friends getting frozen yogurt, then heading back to the dorm to study. Since it obviously wasn’t an emergency, just Graham messing with me, I turned the worry down a notch.” Marisol releases the breath she’s been holding and signals for me to continue.
“First text Graham’s ever sent me should have started with ‘Xandra’s fine.’ Who texts a mother like that? ‘It’s about Xandra’ Pfft . . . I thought my head was going to explode. He doesn’t know what he’s doing because he was barely around when I was raising her and trying to grow my career. He was too busy nurturing his start-up.” Marisol nods again.
“I’ve felt so blah all day, I haven’t had it in me to call Graham again and deal with his narcissism, our past, or be bothered with Graham’s questioning my dedication to Xandra.”
“Maybe you’re on edge more than usual because Leo’s gone and you’re missing that double ass tap.” Marisol’s familiar with how to coax me out of my Graham-bashing mood. “But seriously, Nina, you’re the most responsible mother I know. Not staying on the line with Graham to get all the details about Xandra is completely out of character. I’m getting you home right now so you can call Graham immediately. Xandra may have answered your text and said everything was all right, but something could still be wrong. Don’t you want to know what’s goin’ down? I do.”
“Am I a bad mom if I say I only want to know when things are going up this year? Parenting a problem from three thousand miles away is really hard.” I don’t know how Graham’s mother did it from Bermuda when Graham’s appendix burst his junior year in high school and she couldn’t get to him for forty-eight hours because she was hosting a dinner party for Mr. Clarke’s banking cronies. “You know me, remember last year when Xandra was a freshman? I almost got on a plane after she cried over a lost retainer, even though I had two papers to write and Back to School Night.” Marisol knows. She once drove in the dark of night to Nevada to hand deliver her son Paco’s lacrosse pads to a tournament.
Attempting to divert Marisol from the topic of Xandra, I say, “You know, even though my dad teases us for what he thinks is spending too much money fussing over ourselves, I think when I go to work, he Ubers to get a mani-pedi over at KayCee’s Nails.” I knew it was dangerous when I taught him how to use ride-sharing so he could get around town. “He’s been looking way too shined up lately for a man his age.”
“A man should be shined up at any age. Claro, Fitzroy always looks good, but doesn’t he know I’d give him the family discount?” Marisol asks. “Tell him my studios do men’s feet, too, but he’s not getting one penny off if he goes cheating on me with another shop owner behind my back. And nope, not on topic at all”—Marisol hates conversational detours—“but I’ll require more on that later.”
“Fine. This is supposed to be my year as a no-drama mama. I’m not ready for whatever Graham wants to drop. Who knows how long my dad’s gonna be here, I’ve got all eyes on me in a new job, and I’m hurtin’ over Leo right now. Do you really think I can take on any more stress?” Marisol fully ignores my question.
“You can if it’s about Xandra. You gotta call Graham.”
SEVEN
Whack!
“What the . . . ?” A surprise attack from my father, and I’m not even three steps in the house. His smacks to the shoulder are always swift and let you know he’s not messing around.
“Nina, why am I getting voice mails from Graham like we’re still related? Why’s he taking up my time calling me asking why you haven’t rung him back about my granddaughter?” Typical Graham, pushing all the boundaries by calling my father to tattle on my mothering.
“Dad, I just walked in the door, give me a sec,” I say, setting my bag down and kicking my shoes into the front closet.
“I don’t think so. I already called Graham back and promised that you’d be ringing his line the minute you got home. He says he needs to talk to you about Xandra. Wouldn’t tell me what it’s about,” Dad says, leading me into the living room. “Jeezum pees. Not telling me what’s going on with my granddaughter like he forgot who paid for the wedding night that produced her.”
I give a slight smile. I’m happy to know my father and I are on the same familial side on this one. “Dad, I checked in with Xandra last night, and she said she was doing well. So whatever Graham has to say, it’s not an emergency, he’s just trying to get under my skin like he always does. Stand down, Sarge,” I joke, trying to loosen up the tense atmosphere. I need a cool beverage and a little more time before I can catch whatever Graham’s about to throw my way.
I roll my neck, left then right. I locate my phone in the outside pouch of my purse and shake it in Dad’s direction. Juvenile, I know, but the power balance in our living room is leaning way too far toward Jamaica.
I move at a glacial pace sitting down at the kitchen table to make the call. Dad follows, pulling out a chair to sit, folding his hands neatly on one of the brick-red place mats, and nodding at my phone. He’s not stepping out of this room to allow me privacy to stall making the call. Fitzroy’s awaiting evidence Graham’s on the line.
“That phone isn’t going to dial itself,” Dad says, offering up the obvious. Who dials anymore? I huff petulantly and tap Graham’s contact. Three rings pass. In my head I formulate a message to leave.
“Hey, Nina.” Graham’s voice traveling cross-country grates on my last nerve.
“Hello, Graham,” I say with a hint of irk.
“Thanks for calling me back.” His smooth, familiar accent meets my harsh one head-on, ensuring he’s in the controlling position, his favorite place. You would think that after seventeen years, I’d be better at not letting Graham get to me.
“I texted with Xandra last night, and she sounded fine to me. She was out getting frozen yogurt with some friends and said she did well on a recent paper in her art history course.” I rattle off facts about Xandra, needing to prove I’m a loving mother in the know. “I didn’t share that you’re in her business and causing me to worry unnecessarily.”
“You’re right, Nina, Xandra’s not in any real danger. Physical danger, that is.” Yeah, you know I’m right, there’s nothing I don’t know about my baby even if she’s all the way across the country. “But I am concerned by the company Xandra’s choosing to keep at Pemberley.”