NAN (WANTING TO PROVE ONCE AGAIN SHE KNOWS BETTER THAN ME, EVEN ON THE SUBJECT OF AUNT VIV): Nonsense. Of course Viv will love a party. I will deliver a speech that honors her well.
ME (TESTING THE LIMITS OF MY PATIENCE): I know you would, but given her recent heart attack and need to take it easy, I’m not sure making food for hundreds of people for her own party is a great idea. I want her to have a good couple of months to recover without added stress.
NAN (DISMISSING MY RESPONSE WITH A WAVE): It will just be heavy apps, which we both know Viv can whip up with her eyes closed.
ME (GRASPING AT STRAWS): That’s true, but you always talk about how important it is for faculty and staff to take care of their health so they can perform to the best of their ability at school.
NAN (IGNORING ME): We will invite alumni families, faculty, and staff from the past fifty years as well as the current community. And perhaps my four top choice families for the incoming year. I’m thinking black tie—you know, do it up right, make it extravagant—there hasn’t been a formal party in the grand entry of the school since Dr. Pearson left. Yes, yes, the more I think about it the more the community will love a good excuse to get dressed up. I think you will be surprised by how much Viv will enjoy herself and appreciate the gesture. Trust me, Josie, I’m certain I know best on this one.
ME (KNOWING AUNT VIV WILL SHOOT THE MESSENGER WHEN SHE FINDS OUT ABOUT THE PARTY. I PUT THE TARGET ON NAN’S BACK): Well, it’s such a generous offer, and since it’s your great idea, I think you should be the one to tell Aunt Viv. She’ll love to hear the news directly from you, and don’t leave out a single exciting detail. Particularly the part about it being black tie.
NAN (QUITE PROUD OF HERSELF): You’re right, she should hear it from me, her head of school. It will mean so much more coming from me. I’ll send her an e-mail.
ME (NOW ENJOYING THE ONCOMING DISASTER A LITTLE TOO MUCH): Nan, I think Aunt Viv will want to hear news this exciting in person.
NAN (SHAKING HER HEAD IN CONTEMPLATION, A BIT TENTATIVE NOW): Okay, I’ll head over to the cafeteria right now. Ummm, Josie . . .
ME (OFFICIALLY DONE WITH THE CONVERSATION AND IT’S 1:30 ON THE DOT): Yes.
NAN (SLIGHTLY SHEEPISH, BUT TRYING NOT TO SHOW IT SO HER DOMINANCE ISN’T DIMINISHED): Where’s the kitchen office?
TWELVE
The picture windows of my office are bordered with colored Victorian lead glass. Intricate cutouts frame the thick swirling fog outside, which blocks any distractions that might normally keep me from focusing on my work. Oh goody a text.
TY
Aunt Viv promised me her special apple crumble coffee cake at our parent interview with you next week. BTW I know you call me Golden Boy.
9:52 A.M.
I knew I shouldn’t have let Aunt Viv go to her post–heart attack checkup on her own. I thought she was going to see her primary care doctor, but apparently the rendezvous was with Dr. Golden. She came home flushed like a teen in lust and began scurrying around the kitchen singing the praises of her Golden doctor and explaining that a man that charming could only be from the South. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the application says he’s from Omaha.
JOSIE
I didn’t realize she was your aunt, too. And the coffee cake, I’m thinking that’s a recruiting tactic and in this admissions office we play by the rules. I can’t speak to Aunt Viv’s unethical behavior.
10:02 A.M.
TY
I saved her life, thus the moniker of affection for Aunt Viv. What have you done other than share a bit of DNA?
10:05 A.M.
JOSIE
I ruined her prime adult years by showing up on her doorstep at age 4 needing a mother. Then I showed up again on her doorstep during her golden years needing help raising my daughter. You get to call someone your aunt when you single-handedly ruin her life not once, but twice.
10:11 A.M.
TY
Touché. So that was your daughter in the hospital room?
10:18 A.M.
JOSIE
Yep, Etta. She’s seventeen & a senior at Fairchild. Total smarty-pants.
10:19 A.M.
TY
What’s she doing next year?
10:22 A.M.
JOSIE
Going to Cornell or Dartmouth, hopefully.
10: 25 A.M.
TY
I went to Cornell for undergrad and medical school! And I volunteer for the Cornell Bay Area Alumni Association. My kid needs help with admissions, your kid needs help with admissions—maybe we can help each other out. I’m just saying . . .
10:26 A.M.
Ugh I should be saying NO, but instead I leave the text banter at that and hope this conversation doesn’t get picked back up next week at the Golden parent interview. Face-to-face I’m not sure I can turn down an offer to help Etta get into Cornell.
* * *
• • •
JOSIE
Lo—Aunt Viv told the hot dr. I call him Golden Boy. DYING. Since the heart attack didn’t get her I may have to kill her.
11:42 A.M.
LOLA
Aunt Viv didn’t tell him I did.
11:44 A.M.
JOSIE
WHAT?!?!? When did you see him?
11:45 A.M.
LOLA
I picked Aunt Viv up from her Dr.’s appt, you know, because you suck as her niece. It just kind of slipped out. He’s so good-looking I lost all sensibility again. I gotta say though, worth the trek across town to get a glimpse.
11:46 A.M.
JOSIE
Why didn’t you tell him YOU call him Golden Boy? Clearly this is my punishment for not taking Aunt Viv to the Dr.
11:48 A.M.
LOLA
Duh I wouldn’t want to embarrass MYSELF would I? Gotta go teach now. Ava has pencils sticking out of every orifice on her head. Holla. Lo
11:49 A.M.
Aside from the carpeting, I have a beautiful office because parents come to see me more than anyone else in the school, though Nan would argue otherwise. It doesn’t have the stately appearance of Nan’s oak-and-Tiffany glass–fortress, but from where I sit during parent interviews I can gaze right over Baker Beach and out to the Bay. When I’m conducting an interview and the most painful of parents talk incessantly about their budding thigh-high Steve Jobs, their recent vacation, or their most current venture fund investment, I can appear engaged while staring at a view I never tire of.