“You raised me, Mama, so why don’t you trust me? All I want is the option to apply to Juilliard. I’m not saying you have to let me go. All I’m asking for now is that you let me apply. That you help me apply. And that maybe you spend more time on you and less time tryin’ to fix me. I think Aunt Viv’s right: Being single makes you cranky.”
I can see by the way Krista is looking at me that she’s trying hard not to bust a gut laughing. The tables have now turned and she’s sliding toward Etta’s side, even after my eloquent explanation of how it’s going to be. Yet again, the bad cop stands alone.
I hesitate, but knowing I’ll win in the long run I concede. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you put your very best effort into your college essays, and I mean write like your continued invitation to be a part of our family depends on it, then I will give you the money to apply to Juilliard.”
“Mama, I thi—”
“Not finished. Cornell and Dartmouth are the FIRST essays you will finish, followed by the other schools that I have on the college spreadsheet. And when I say, ‘put your very best effort into your college essays,’ I mean that Krista and I both get to see them by December 1 and you best impress us beyond our wildest imaginations or else there is no applying to Juilliard.”
“Okay. It’s a—”
“Still not finished. The only way you get to go to dance on the weekends is if you show me you’ve been working on your essays during the week AND over winter break, if that’s what it comes to. Because those college applications WILL be sent by December 31.”
“And if you want good essays and applications done by December 31, then in exchange you are going to have to help me get my Juilliard portfolio ready, which is due at the same time. I get a fair shot at every school—your favorites and mine.” I’m not sure where Etta has picked up her strong negotiating skills, but I have to say I kind of like that she’s throwing down and making me work for it. Maybe she could hold her own in a big city, after all.
“Before I agree, because let it be understood that your future is based on my generous spirit and good mood, I want your absolute promise that there will be no essays about Husky. Those are the kind of essays I get for kindergarten applications. ‘Taylor is an animal lover and expresses sincere interest in being a small-animal veterinarian.’”
“Yes, I promise.”
“And you will keep your opinions and, apparently, Aunt Viv’s opinions on my dating life to yourself.”
“That’s going to be tough one. Aunt Viv and I talk about it all the time.”
“Why you two caught up in my business? Whatever, not negotiable.”
“Okay fine. Deal.”
“Krista, you heard her, right? So, if she falls down on the job again, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Bordelon women are known for dropping their ungrateful children off on the side of the road as deadweight on the family’s upward mobility.” I can tell from Krista’s expression she doesn’t know if I’m kidding or not. I look at Etta. She’s biting her cuticles again. She doesn’t know whether I’m kidding, either.
FOURTEEN
“I think Mateo is going to get kicked out of SF Children’s Academy.” It’s not like Lola to allow her concern for her boys to get in the way of our Tuesday afternoon drinking. “The ultimate humiliation, right, a teacher’s kid kicked out of school? That’s gonna mean sufferin’ at least a week’s worth of gossip on the school playground. Complete with side-glances and awkward smiles when I walk from my classroom to the faculty lounge.”
Mateo is what teachers in elementary school refer to as “excessively energetic” or “spirited,” often having to be excused from the classroom to run a few laps around the grassy fields to burn off some wiggles, but he’s far from a bad kid.
“Yesterday the fourth graders were lined up to go to music. Apparently, Mateo leaned over and bit the class sweetheart right on her lower neck, pretty much where your trapezoid muscle is.” Lola reaches over and pinches me at the base of my neck in case I skipped anatomy in college.
“Ouch! Why’d he bite her there? Or really, why did he bite her at all? Seems a strange thing to do in fourth grade.”
“Oh he had a very logical explanation, or at least logical to him. My opinion leans more toward the diabolical. When I basically asked him the motherly version of ‘WTF?!?!?’ he told me he wanted to find out if the fourth-grade cutie tastes like vanilla or tastes like chicken.”
Any sense of self-control defies me. “HA! That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! What was his conclusion?”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what Hannibal Lecter’s mother’s best friend said to her when Hannibal was in fourth grade. And he said she tastes like a stale snickerdoodle. My kid is so weird.”
“Mateo will grow up to be better looking than Hannibal Lecter. He has that swarthy Latino thing going on from his dad.”
“Oh, well that’s comforting. I’m no longer worried.”
“Want to hear something that will make you feel better?”
“I want to hear it and I want to drink it. Can you get me another glass of champagne while I check to see if the school has called yet to let me know Hannibal’s fate?”
I decide to have one more with Lola so she doesn’t have to feel like a failing parent and a lush at the same time.
“Dr. Golden and Dad #2, Daniel, are coming in for their parent interview tomorrow. Apparently Aunt Viv promised to have her famous apple crumble coffee cake waiting for them when they show up to sell themselves to Fairchild.”
“Don’t think there needs to be much of a sales job there. I can’t think of any affliction their kid could have that would trump getting to see Golden Boy on campus for the next thirteen years. As witnessed at SF Academy, private schools accept all kinds of families, even ones with a budding cannibal.” I always know Lola is coming out of a funk when she starts making crude jokes about her children.
“Well, there is one sticky situation when it comes to Gracie and her eye-candy daddy.” Lola leans in, now that she’s really interested in this conversation. I know she thinks it’s something sexual, but she got to spend the first twenty minutes of our Tuesday date talking about her kid, so now it’s my turn. “Dr. Golden alluded over text that he would or, I guess, really he said he could”—I scroll back through my texts to double-check—“‘help’ Etta get into Cornell if I did my part to get Gracie into Fairchild.”
“You text with Golden Boy?” Lola asks with a hint of excitement.
“I’m talking about Etta’s future here and how far I’m willing to bend the rules of general ethics when it comes to taking favors for admissions. It’s always been so cut and dry for me, but now we’re talkin’ about Etta and the rules are getting a little fuzzier. I wanna play fair, I think, but I also know the backroom deals white folks have been doing forever to get their kids into college. I don’t want my kid gettin’ screwed because her mama had a brief moment of morality.” I successfully avoid Lola’s question and make her feel guilty for steering the conversation off the torturous topic of my child’s future.