“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 talkingabout 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.
“Right, Etta’s future. Girl, you know I love you, right?” Lola asks me, pulling her barstool closer to mine. “And us bein’ sista-friends, we choose to be honest with each other so neither of us looks like a fool or makes foolish mistakes.” I know Lola is talking about the time I stopped her from shaving her head to prove the point to her husband that she feels invisible in a house full of men who eat, burp, fight, and fart all day. I literally had to grab the clippers out of her hand and point out to her that her ears are not her best feature.
“Well then, here it is, Josie. You need to get off Etta’s back and let that girl apply to Juilliard with your blessing. Straight up. If you don’t, she’s going to go off to college and drop you like a bad habit because you don’t see your daughter for who she really is. She’s an artist, a dancer, who also happens to be good in school. Not a top student who also happens to be good at dance. You have to let her live her life, whether you agree with her choices or not, or you’re going to lose her forever. And then you are going to end up like me, no daughter to take care of you when you’re old.”
“You’ll take care of me when I’m old.”
“Not if you don’t let Etta seriously consider Juilliard.”
“How do you know about Juilliard anyway?” I never brought it up with Lola before.
“Etta talked to me since she hasn’t been able to talk to her mother about it.”
“So Etta talked to you, Aunt Viv, and Jean Georges all about Juilliard. Any other secrets you know about my daughter that I should probably be aware of since she’s my kid?” I’m getting upset. What happened to keeping Bordelon family issues private? Unless I’m the one blabbing to Lola, of course.
“I mean this from the bottom of my heart, Jo, you can be a one-track-thinkin’, don’t-get-in-my-way-’cause-I-know-what-I-want, the-world-best-hop-on-MY-train, stubborn you-know-what type of person. I’ve never known a woman who can dig her heels in harder than you can. And I say that with love. And awe.” Lola downs the last of her drink signaling that this conversation is done and it’s time to pick up her ninja warrior.
“I really should have let you shave your head.”
“But you never would have, because at the end of the day once you climb up and out of your own way you always know the right thing to do.” Lola stands to put on her coat and scarf to steel herself against the San Francisco fog and wind.
