“That city out there”—Aunt Viv points to the New York skyline, millions of lights turning on as day turns to dusk—“it may not have done right by you, Josie, but it’s done right by your mama. And she wants to help make sure it does right by your baby, her grandbaby.”
“Etta’s your grandbaby, Aunt Viv.” And the sobs come. And come. And come. I don’t have the strength to fight them off any longer.
“Yes, she is, Josie, but I’m willing to share her now. And I’m willing to share my daughter,too.”
NEXTSEASON
THIRTY
LOLA
Can you talk in 10? September is already killin’ me. Holla.
7:40 A.M.
JOSIE
Yep.
7:40 A.M.
“What’s happened already, Lo? It’s only the first day of school,” I answer the phone, worried Hannibal-the-Cannibal Valencia has already scouted out his next victim.
“Nothin’s wrong, I just wanted to make sure I got to check on my girl before the day got away. Was it weird going to Fairchild this morning without Etta? Have you cried? Are you standing upright? I’m worried about you. Do you need a drink?”
“It’s not even 8:00 a.m.”
“But it’s 5:00 p.m. somewhere and it’s Monday, which I think means it’s Tuesday in Australia. Plus, everyone needs a drink after the first day of school. It’s a mandated law of parenting.”
“Maybe you need the drink?”
“I do. And a trophy for getting three boys in pants this morning. I could not look at their flammable Warriors basketball shorts for one more day. All three are pissed at me. Even the cannibal, who usually doesn’t care what he wears. But I actually won a battle fought on the home front before 7:30 a.m. so I’m officially declaring my first day of school a victory. Come on, you can tell me if you miss Etta.”
“You know, I think I’m alright for today. No guarantees for tomorrow though.”
Lola’s been worried about me missing Etta since I came home from dropping her off at Juilliard two weeks ago. What Lola doesn’t know is that I littered the United terminal at JFK with tear-soaked tissues. I thought I was keeping my emotions in check until I spied a mom walking to her gate holding hands with her toddler daughter dressed head to toe in full-on ballerina. The memories of leotards, toe shoes, and tights, and even Jean Georges became too much, and the universe got to see my ugly cry. I was unfit for public consumption, but still I had to make it home. Meanwhile, Aunt Viv was in San Francisco manically cooking her sadness away. We now have enough jambalaya and cornbread to open a parish soup kitchen.
“I’ll take an alright. That’s good for now. Okay, enough about you, on to the important stuff. Expecting any new hot dads this year? Straight ones?”
“Actually, there is one.”
“There is? You noticed? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s Ruby Vassar’s dad. Did you know he soldhis first software chip platform blah de blah something or other tech company for 128 million when he was thirty-one? I never knew of a brotha who survived the South Bay long enough to make millions and not become a casualty of the great Silicon Valley hope of fast money and faster fame. And to do it by thirty-one. Where was he when I was single?”
“Clearly you were falling down on the job. I thought as director of admissions you had professional online stalker status. I think we both can agree you lost your edge last year when you let Etta’s future get in the way of your own. Plus, I’ve heard softening around the edges is what happens when forty is just around the corner. Like next week.” Lola never misses an opportunity to lean on her youth, being a whole ten months younger than me.
“What about you? Did you scope out any hot new dads at the parent orientation on Saturday? And do they know you come with baggage, like a husband and three kids?”
“Everyone comes with baggage at our age. And men love Nic; he’s one of my best features. But no. Pretty weak new dad showing at San Francisco Children’s Academy this year. But you know who is really bringing their A game?” If Lola says the granddads I’m going to vomit in Nan’s ex-office. “The uncles. That Gracie Golden has one fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine-looking uncle. Mmmm... I could stare at that man all day. Good-lookinganda doctor. Wait ’til all the single yummy mummies find out, it’s going to be a catfight of epic proportions to get their claws in that one at Back to School Night.”
“Uh, no it won’t, ’cause I’ll be there right beside him. I’m not stupid. No way is my man walking into that den of single momsters all alone.” With just the mention of Ty my whole body heats up on this sun-soaked San Francisco morning.
Propping my feet up on what used to be Nan’s desk, I admire my new back-to-school Choos. Now that I’m interim head of school,again, I gotta dress the part. Looking around this oak-paneled cigar room of an office, I can’t help but reflect on how everything went down last spring.
The official story is that the week after my video went out as a surprise Viva la Viv party favor, Nan’s mother in Arizona was diagnosed with an unspecified terminal illness with an unspecified amount of time to live. Nan took a six-month leave of absence. Five months in and any attempt by the board of trustees to reach Nan had been met with voicemail and out-of-office e-mail replies.
Turns out, the Bordelon women were the talk of Fairchild after the Viva la Viv party. And the talk of San Francisco Children’s Academy and the talk of the forty-six other private schools across the Bay Area, though by some miracle the video of Nan never went viral or made the news.
