“But it worked out all right, we turned out okay,” Marisol says, nudging me. “And I hate to burst your bubble, but you raise Xandra like Fitzroy and Celia raised you. High standards, little room for error.” I get a gut bomb in my stomach knowing there’s some kind of error going on with Xandra right now and I’m failing at figuring out exactly what it is. She’s holding her feelings tight to her chest, which, unfortunately, she learned from me. “And my guess is you run Royal-Hawkins much the same way.”
“You’re right, and that’s exactly my point. I’m full up on babies to parent and people passing judgment on how well I’m doing, or not doing, my job,” I whine. “I have Xandra and fifteen years of Graham pointing out all the ways I’m failing her as a working mother. Now I have Royal-Hawkins and a whole board and parent body looking out for my every misstep, waiting to offer unsolicited advice.” I haven’t been able to shake Winn and his random conversations about sports at Royal-Hawkins, nor Courtney’s push to join the board of trustees. “And, given Leo’s new work venture he’s struggling to fit giving me a call into his schedule as is. How’s that all going to work out when there’s a baby in the mix? Trust me, I know how this story plays out, I’ll end up a work widow twice over.” Marisol cannot deny I’ve been here before.
“I’m at capacity when it comes to taking care of people and all their expectations. What little free time I have, I’m hoping for some space to take care of myself. Hell, to be by myself.” The tears are back at the idea of eighteen more years prioritizing someone else’s needs, someone else’s desires, over mine. Before I start back up, Marisol holds up her index finger signaling she needs a second. She grabs her cocktail napkin and dabs the cascade streaming down my cheeks.
“Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change my life for anything, the ups, the downs, the stress, and the love, all of it. I really wouldn’t. But with Graham and graduate school behind me and then this summer with Leo and starting my dream job, I was feeling like it was finally my turn to have MY LIFE.” Remembering I’m in public, I take it down from a ten. “That I finally get to be number one. Spend my time the way I want to spend it. Jesus, to have free time for the first time in two decades is a luxury I want to explore. I might want to do nothing or pack my schedule with a bunch of random shit like mah-jongg or collaging.” Marisol gives me a doubtful face. “I know I know, probably not going to join a quilting circle, but I know where they sell thread.” I let out a defeated sigh.
“I know it sounds bad, Marisol, but I’ve earned my forties, and I don’t want to give them away. If I do, then the next time I’ll be able to get a massage or go to brunch, let alone go to the bathroom by myself, will be when I’m sixty-five. And don’t get me started on my career, I just got to where I want to be.” Every selfish thought I’ve had since finding out I’m pregnant is now out there for Marisol’s review. It’s the truth, good, bad, or really, really dreadful, and there’s a relief to hearing the words out loud versus them bouncing around my brain.
“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.