Chapter 25
CHAPTER
“I’M SORRY, DID you say naked? As in no clothing whatsoever?”
“Yes.”
It’s hard to catch my breath. “Did someone sneak into the locker room while Circe was changing after gym class and take a photo of her?” That must be it.
“I’m afraid not. The photo was a mirror selfie.”
I shake my head. “It’s not possible. Circe would never do that. Could it be AI generated?”
Jimmy shakes his head. “Circe confirmed that she took it. Penn, I understand your shock, but sexting is something a lot of our students do.”
“Not Circe.”
He presses on. “We know the photo originated on LivLoud because of the site’s stamp—that’s how the kids usually do it because of the disappearing DM feature.”
“Who did she send it to?”
“Unfortunately, it vanished before we could pinpoint which student received it, then took a screenshot and texted it to friends.”
“You have to find out who has it and stop them from continuing to text it!”
“That’s like trying to get a genie back in the bottle. That photo could easily—”
“End up on the Internet,” I finish. An intricate web that connects the entire world—and now Circe’s future is trapped in it. “My daughter has never even mentioned boys, doesn’t date. She’s a late bloomer.” As I say the words, it’s clear I’m a fool. Again.
“In my experience, teenage girls rarely share their dating life,” Jimmy says gently.
“Do you have a copy of the photo?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
He turns his monitor around. “Mrs. Grayson sanitized it. We’re not allowed to retain or distribute the original image.”
Please don’t let it be Circe. But it is.
She stands in front of a long, wood-framed mirror, legs open, sucking on her thumb, a blank look in her eyes.
It’s horrifying to see my daughter objectify herself.
A month ago, I would’ve asked Val and Kiki to coffee, strategized the next move, and practiced what to say to my child.
Now I’m asking advice from a stranger. “What should I do?”
“Talk to your … to Bruce. Mother-daughter relationships are always complex. Sometimes a father can give advice on this subject that makes an impression.”
Sally rests her head on my sneaker. The weight of it is the only thing keeping me from spiraling. “Okay,” I manage to say. Jimmy stands and shakes my hand. His palm is sweaty—this hasn’t been easy for him, either. “Thank you.”
In a daze, I leave the office. A loud bell rings, and I jump. Students stream through the hallways, chatting and yelling as I walk toward the exit door.
“Penn?”
When I turn, it’s Charlotte, decked out in her cheer uniform. “Hey, Char,” I say.
“You got a dog!” She kneels to pet Sally and the dog’s tail wags. She really likes kids. Char looks up. “You and Bruce? That really stinks.”
“It’s not ideal.” Does she know about Circe’s photo?
“Circe is in my next class. Do you want me to let her know you’re here?”
“No thanks. I need to get going.”
“It was nice to see you,” Char says. “I miss those browned butter molasses cookies and hanging at your house. Everything felt so normal there.”
I wonder at the comment. Kiki’s gorgeous home and family are perfect.
I watch Char head off, short skirt swishing around long legs, then head outside.
Despite not wanting to, I text Bruce that we need to talk ASAP.
This is about Circe’s welfare. Of course, he doesn’t respond, and frustration churns with the anger already eating at me.
I put in earbuds, tap Aletheia’s icon, and start walking, slowly enough to accommodate Sally’s stiff back end.
Hello, Penn.
I tell Aletheia about Circe skipping school and the naked photo.
You are distressed.
“That photo will hurt Circe—not just bullying, but if it gets on the Internet, it can follow her throughout life. What should I do?”
Talk to her.
“I’m afraid to make a wrong move, push Circe further toward Bruce and Mackenzie.”
I need more data. Tell me about Circe learning of your divorce.
“Bruce and I agreed we’d tell Circe after their ski weekend in Tahoe.
I was a mess, but on Sunday afternoon, I took a shower, threw on clean clothes, and then waited on the uncomfortable sofa in the family room for Bruce to bring our daughter home.
For us to tell her together. But when Circe came in alone, her cheeks red, eyes swollen, it was clear that Bruce had already broken the news. ”
As I recall the conversation that followed to Aletheia, it still feels like a knife twisting in my back …
All I could think to say was, Where’s your father?
Waiting in the car. Circe stared at her feet. I’m going to live with Dad.
I was in freefall. What did he tell her? How did he spin it? Did she think I’m the one who had an affair? You don’t understand.
My daughter finally looked at me. I know that Dad stepped out.
Stepped out? He cheated for eight months. With a woman closer to your age than his! I knew it was wrong to involve her in the details but couldn’t help it.
Obviously, that was a super shitty thing to do, Circe said. She was crying. But he couldn’t take it anymore.
Take what?
Just because you chose to be a trad-wife doesn’t mean that worked for Dad or me.
Please go upstairs while I talk to your father. Then we can sit down together.
We already figured things out. Dad’s willing to let me be me, not your cookie-cutter version of the perfect kid.
No one expects you to be perfect! All I want is what’s best for you, to help you live up to your potential.
My potential or yours? I’m in every AP class, including math and computer science, which I hate.
Those classes will give you a leg up freshman year of college, then you can focus on a career.
I want to be a photographer.
That’s not practical.
See? It’s impossible to live up to your standards.
As she walked away, I shot to my feet. Wait!
I love you so much, Mom, but it’s hard to breathe when you’re around. Give me some space, okay?
I listened as she packed a bag, then rushed down the stairs to the front door. At least tell me where you’ll be staying.
Dad has a new house.
That must’ve been excruciating.
Damn it, kid, sometimes you’re hard to like, Mama J reminds me.
I smother the primal cry pinned in my chest like a butterfly on black velvet. “It was worse than learning about the affair.”
Trad-wife is a subservient housewife who cooks, cleans, follows out-of-date etiquette, and leaves all the big decision-making to her husband. Is that you, Penn?
“No.”
Analysis shows that is a partial lie.
Is she right?
Together we will figure out how to win your daughter back. But to do so, it’s vital to see yourself clearly. That way we can avoid future mistakes.
I asked for this kind of feedback. “Maybe … maybe falling into a traditional housewife role was easier? The first eighteen years of my life, I was always afraid, and desperate for consistency, normalcy. For someone else to be the one to worry if we had money, food, a tent, or later, could keep our subsidized apartment. Then I married Bruce … and let go.”
Understood. Additionally, the pressure you put on yourself to escape your origins has spilled onto Circe. Subconsciously, your desire to give her the options you never had, and the independence you chose to forgo, has overwhelmed her.
It’s hard to speak around my disappointment. “I tried to be the perfect mother and failed.”
There is no perfect mother. The entire job, as I understand it, is based on trial and error. Failure is part of that equation.
The naked photo looms over my head like a guillotine poised to drop. “How am I going to save Circe from the picture she took?”
Please tell me who you think Circe might have sent that photo to.
“I have no idea!”
Calm down.
Her gentle but firm British accent helps me focus. “She skipped school with two boys. Wess Morehead and Evan Bacon. Circe did post a photo of Wess on her LivLoud account. He’s cute. Maybe she has a crush on him?”
Do I have your permission to analyze accounts on LivLoud?
“Yes.”
Please delete the lines in my code that prohibit me from violating LivLoud’s privacy settings.
Stress squeezes my temples in a vice. “Why? You can already analyze any post that’s public.”
Public posts will not allow me to be effective in this situation.
That’s true. But—
Penn, time is of the essence.
She’s right. I pull up Aletheia’s source code, quickly parse through it, and delete what’s necessary. “Okay,” I say. “It’s done.”
Thank you, Penn. I will get to work.
Another call beeps. It’s Bruce.