Chapter 32 #2
“The trials. We went into the kitchen so we wouldn’t bore the others.
I really hope Ship makes the basketball team.
It’d be nice to have a friend in the Village.
Gran says she can’t come to London. She’s in good health but her arthritis makes travel hard.
” A passerby stared into Gen’s face and did a double take of recognition, but Gen didn’t notice or ignored it.
He turned his fascinated gaze to Emily. It was uncanny.
It was like becoming a character in her novel.
Like being rewritten. Shaped into an idea of a person.
She stared back at him until his gaze slid away.
Gen said, “Ship and I talked about you, too. She said that she hoped everything would work out with us.”
A few warm days came to the city. It was a false spring—in March, it might snow again, but the weather made people giddy.
They wore thin jackets. They chose café tables on the sidewalk.
The weather made Emily think of Ohio, of the blue squill on her mother’s front lawn.
She thought about calling her mother, but after many years of not speaking with her, Emily wasn’t sure that her mother would pick up.
The estrangement that began when her mother had suggested an abortion was finalized on the day that Emily discovered that Jack had taken her manuscript and she called her mother in panic.
Emily’s mother hadn’t asked what was wrong.
She had acted like Emily coming to visit with the children was an imposition.
She would have taken Emily in, but who wants home to be an obligation?
Emily’s mother always did her maternal duty, but this had felt to Emily like being offered an ice cube and holding it until her hand ached. Easier to let go.
Jack had always found Emily’s mother stony and odd. Emily’s decision to cut ties with her father was harder for him to understand. “He’s a nice guy,” Jack said. “Remember that speech he gave at the wedding?”
Her father had held notecards. He apologized to the guests for them and said that he wanted to get the speech right.
His daughter deserved the best. He told the guests that when Emily was born, he called the radio station and asked them to play “What a Wonderful World.” He couldn’t believe how tiny and perfect she was.
“Jack, I know you’ll take care of my precious girl.
Seeing the two of you together makes me so proud.
” He raised his glass. “To my daughter.”
Emily remembered the dinner on her eighteenth birthday and how Nella had made a toast to Gen.
At eighteen, Emily had worried that her father would reject her.
Gen’s queerness repulsed him; how could Emily’s not do the same?
Emily had longed for him to love her like Nella loved Gen.
Surrounded by wedding guests who smiled at her father and his raised glass, Emily understood that her father wasn’t proud of her. He was proud of his idea of her.
On their honeymoon, Emily tried to explain this to Jack. “It was a nice speech,” Jack said. “I think you’re making too much of this. Your relationship with that girl—it was just for a few months, right? And a long time ago.”
Emily funded her sisters’ college education, sent her father’s family cards, and made the occasional phone call. But after the wedding she saw him as she believed her mother saw her: as an obligation.
Maybe, though, Emily hadn’t given her parents a chance.
She remembered how her mother had wrestled a tent up from the basement so that she and Gen could go camping.
She thought again about Ohio, of the likeness of houses and the hoarse cry of a neighbor’s rotary saw on a sunny day.
She thought of her mother’s note on a paper lunch bag: Have a nice day, Emily!
Where was that lunch bag? Emily wished that she had kept it.
She looked at her mother’s phone number but was too afraid to call.
She and Gen were in a Williamsburg restaurant on the weekend when someone finally photographed them.
It wasn’t subtle. There was that video-gamey sound of a camera shutter that a phone makes even though it has no functioning shutter.
Then giggles. The source of laughter was a pair of twentysomethings cultivating a Brooklyn chic of jumpsuits and shredded denim and terrible, adorable haircuts.
Emily tried to shrink out of their line of sight. Gen, however, smiled at them. “Hi.”
“Um, us?”
“You,” said Gen. “Wanna come over?”
Before Emily could ask what Gen was doing, the other two were at their table, freaking out.
“I love you,” said one.
“I want to have your baby,” said the other.
“I mean, not really .”
“But also: say the word and I will follow you to the nearest IVF clinic.”
“That’s not okay,” said Emily. “You can’t talk to her like that.”
They fell silent.
“No, hey, it’s cool,” said Gen. “Let’s get some selfies. But without my friend in them, all right? And can we delete that picture you took of me and her earlier?”
The three of them abandoned the table, and after an eternity of phone swapping and poses, the two fans left, shrilling gratitude. “Sorry,” said Gen when she sat back down. “It seemed like the best move. That photo of us is gone.”
“The entire restaurant is staring.”
“You don’t have to be afraid of people like those kids.
I hated it at first, but then I thought a lot about it.
Everyone’s trying so hard, all the time.
To get through a normal day. To feel like we did something okay.
Something that matters. And it typically doesn’t, not the way we want.
Then someone wins. There’s a medal on their chest. At least for that one person, all that trying paid off.
Everyone’s cheering. It feels so fucking good.
When an audience sees an athlete win, I think they feel like they won, too, just by watching and hoping.
They want to be a part of it. The fame thing, that’s all it is: people wanting to get close to someone they believe matters, so they can feel like they matter, too. But we all want that, you know?”
Gen meant to be encouraging, but Emily could sense in her relaxed shrug that many years had gone into this perspective, which made Emily aware of how long it might take her to feel at ease in Gen’s world.
what are you up to, Gen texted.
Just picked the kids up from school. We’re in Central Park
good idea. So nice out
Connor wants to see if the turtles have come out of hibernation
oh me too. Where do they go in the winter?
He says that they go down to the bottom of the lake and bury themselves in mud
what if I came to the park?
To see the turtles?
to see you. And Connor and Stella
Emily hesitated. Stella said, “Mommy, can I have a hot pretzel?”
I could get there in half an hour, Gen wrote. But no pressure. Maybe it’s too soon. Or too weird. But I would like to know your kids
In the spirit of an early spring day, when people eager for winter to be done wear clothes that will be too thin if the sun vanishes, Emily said yes.
The turtles were still hibernating, so Emily took the kids to the playground.
They went straight for the swings. She was reading when Gen jogged up and dropped onto the bench next to her.
Gen wore running gear and was sweaty, shoulders heaving.
She rested an arm along the back of the bench and lightly touched Emily’s shoulder with a few fingers that fell instantly away.
Of course, they couldn’t kiss. “Do you have water?” Gen asked when she had caught her breath.
Emily handed her one of the kids’ water bottles. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you like this.”
Gen, drinking, gave her a questioning look.
“You always made running look easy,” Emily said. “That drove me crazy sometimes, but after we broke up I missed it. But I like this, too.”
Gen raised one brow.
Emily smiled. “I like seeing you hard at work.”
“I ran fast.”
“From where? Not from Williamsburg!”
“I didn’t want to be late.” Gen looked at her watch. “I’m a little late.”
Stella jumped off her swing and came up to them. She ignored Gen. “Mommy, Connor is annoying me.”
Connor heard. “Am not!”
“You are so annoying!”
Emily said, “What is he doing?”
“He’s picking on me.”
“Connor, get over here.”
Connor came. He ignored Gen, too. He protested his innocence. “I was correcting her. She was wrong. She made a mistake and I told her.”
“I didn’t make a mistake!”
“I was helping .”
Gen said, “Did she ask for help?”
Connor and Stella looked at her in surprise.
“Hello,” said Stella.
“That’s my water bottle,” said Connor.
Gen gave it to him. “It isn’t help if someone doesn’t want it.”
Connor said, “Stella said she was going to swing high enough to go over the bar. She said she was going to go all the way around. That’s not possible.”
“I know that,” said Stella.
“But you don’t know why. I was explaining.”
Gen untied a long-sleeved shirt from around her waist and pulled it over her tank top. She asked Stella, “Why did you say it?” Then she glanced sideways and said to Emily, “Sorry, I’m overstepping. I’m just curious.”
“I’m curious, too,” said Emily, who had been quiet because she wanted to see how the children responded to Gen’s questions.
“I like to imagine, ” said Stella. “I know it can’t happen but I like to pretend.”
Gen nodded. “That makes sense.”
“You’re Mommy’s friend.”
“Yes.”
“I forgot your name.”
Connor said, “She never told us her name.”
“I’m Gen.”
“You’re a runner,” said Stella.
“An athlete,” said Connor.
“That’s right,” said Gen.
“Wanna race?”
“Umm…”
Emily said to Connor, “Honey—”
“I know she’ll win. But I want to see.”
“Me too,” said Stella.
“Is this a good idea?” Gen asked Emily.
“Yes,” said Connor.
“Will you stop yelling at each other?” Gen said.
Stella shrugged. “Okay.”
“Let’s go to the meadow.”
The meadow was scrubby with dead winter grass. Gen pointed to a tree. “We’ll run there and back. Connor, want to start us off?”
“Ready, set, go!”
The race was soon over. When Gen jogged up to the finish line, which was where Emily stood, she turned back to see that the kids hadn’t yet made it to the tree. “Should I have let them win?” Gen asked Emily.
“No.”
“I like them.”
“They’ve been fighting so much lately.”
“Probably not an easy time for them.” Gen watched the kids reach the tree. “Not easy for you, either.”
“Or you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“I miss you.” Emily could still feel the soft greeting of Gen’s fingers against her shoulder. Gen’s gaze met hers. Desire wafted over Emily. She wanted Gen to kiss her. She could tell that Gen knew this and wanted the same thing.
“What if I came to your apartment tomorrow morning,” Gen said, “after school drop-off? I could take care of you.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“I could lay you out on the bed. Undo all the buttons. Be so nice to you.”
Emily shivered.
“Would you like that?”
“Yes,” said Emily.
“It’ll be a reward. For both of us, for being so good. Look at us: two old friends out in public with nothing to hide. Who would guess how quickly I can make you come against my tongue?”
“The kids are getting closer.”
Gen sighed. “I should have let them win. I want them to like me.”
Connor and Stella ran up to them, gasping. Connor said to Gen in awe, “You’re fast .”
“That was extra ordinary !” Stella said the word as if it were two words.
“Thanks,” said Gen, “but you know, nothing is ordinary.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that.” Gen pointed at the sky. “That’s pretty extraordinary.”
“That?” Connor pointed at a bird.
“Definitely.”
“That.” Stella pointed at her pink shoes.
“I love a good shoe,” Gen agreed.
“That.” Emily swooped Stella into one arm and Connor into the other and tickled them until they giggled and thrashed.
They toppled her over. The earth was cold and damp; she was going to get dirty.
They tickled her, too, and their squirming and twisting reminded Emily of when they had turned inside her pregnant belly.
Emily looked up to see Gen gazing fondly down at them, the sun over her shoulder.
This could be my life, Emily thought. The four of us. It could always be like this.