Roan grabs the application folder from me and starts thumbing through the whole thing. “Well, one perfect child won’t ruin the school. Unless the Grimalidis show up at their parent interview with a six pack of spitting camels we should definitely put them in theto be consideredpile.”
“What? Camels spit? Wait, who’s in charge here? We never like nascent divas, you’re breaking with tradition.”
“That may be true, but we LOVE a nascent diva whose father is heir to an international spa empire. The name Grimaldi doesn’t ring a bell? They own Casa di Bella in the Presidio near Lucas Arts. It is three stories of pure five-star Pacific pampering. I’ve heard their espresso enema followed by a Colombian roast body scrub is to die for. You lose five pounds in ninety minutes, have energy for days, and feel smooth like a peach. We take the kid, I can stay twenty-nine forever or for as long as Antonia is at Fairchild.”
“Roan, seriously, you understand we can’t do that, right?”
“No, Josie, you don’t understand. You’re black. Your people don’t age. Look at Aunt Viv. She’s sixty-nine going on forty-two. She IS the poster child for ‘black don’t crack.’ I’m Irish, we look at a lager and we get all ruddy and age ten years. But that doesn’t seem to stop us from drinking. If I keep up my night-clubbing routine, soon I’m going to be thirty going on fifty-four. I need a spa heir in my back pocket. Please, please. Do it for my future children.”
“You don’t even have a boyfriend.”
“Exactly, and I certainly won’t ever have a boyfriend and then husband and then said children if I look like a weathered Irish mailman from County Cork. I need the spa to ensure my husband is ashot as Golden Boy.” Roan has raised some very fine admission points to consider.
“Well, like I’ve always said, we do need to prioritize what’s best for the children, real or imaginary.” I wink at Roan and toss Antonia’s file to the top of theto be consideredpile and open a new folder. Each of us is due our favorites, regardless of rhyme or reason.
•••
Ding.
Saturday morning, I wake up feeling fuzzy, sluggish, and regretful from eating a bowl full of Skittles followed by multiple Jack Daniel’s shots and a subsequent turn on the karaoke stage. Lola is hands down my sista from another mister, but I do have a few friends from my days as a student at Fairchild who I see from time to time. This year we are all turning forty and these girls don’t mess around with their celebratin’. These fortieth birthday parties are going to ensure me an early death. I don’t have to look in a mirror to know I look as tired as the entire seventh-grade class on a post–bar mitzvah Monday morning. Only, my headache and puffy eyes are much worse. And who the hell is texting me so early in the morning? I pick up my phone to check. Whoops, it’s actually 10:45. Hopefully Etta found a ride to ballet. She’s probably texting me to let me know who picked her up; damn, I raised a responsible girl. Even from bed I’m an exceptional mother.
TY
Hi, Josie. It’s Ty Golden. Just want to check in and see how your aunt Viv’s doing. I hope you’ve been able to keep her off her feet and out of the kitchen. Her medication shouldn’t be causing any trouble, but for some people it can be upsetting to the stomach. If it’s bothering her let me know and I can stop by and check in. Hope it’s okay to text on a Saturday morning. I’ve been at the hospital doing rounds since six and wanted to make sure all is good in the Bordelon house.
10:45 A.M.
I bet Golden Boy has saved multiple lives in the amount of time it’s taken me to semi sleep off a hangover. And he texts with perfect grammar. Who does that? Well, better he text this morning than call. I’m not sure I can formulate an intelligent sentence through the cotton field that has sprouted in my mouth. Luckily, even on death’s door I can still type.
JOSIE
Dr. Golden, thanks for check in. Aunt Viv has come to embrace Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, and bossing me around more than usual. My hope is that she continues to get her energy back so she can return to school and boss other people around for a change. I’m an admissions director not a nurse, though you may have been understandably confused given my stellar bedside manner in the hospital. Medication A.O.K.
10:46 A.M.
Ugh, I gotta brush my teeth. I officially can’t stand myself.
TY
You don’t strike me as the type of woman to take someone bossing you around. You probably got that from your aunt Viv?
10:46 A.M.
Ohhh text banter, I’m really good at that. Fuzzy teeth can wait.
JOSIE
You got that right so don’t think you can bribe me with free bedpans and Band-Aids to get Gracie into Fairchild.
10:47 A.M.
TY
Gracie can get herself into Fairchild, that kid rocks. I’m the unacceptable one.
10:47 A.M.
JOSIE
