Okay. So she spoke with Huxley’s mom, Huxley being my brother. Dad had a vasectomy fail, and fathered sons with seven different women before he discovered it. We were all born within four months of each other, named after our mothers—because Dad couldn’t bother to come up with seven original names—and spent our formative years together, exiled to fancy European boarding schools that Dad paid for to make himself look good.
Most of the mothers get along, but mine has a personality conflict, especially with Huxley’s mom. Not sure why. Jeremiah is a sensible woman.
However, Mom must be furious with her to call her Jerry. She loathes the nickname, claiming she isn’t some cartoon mouse.
–Mom: She’s acting like she’s hot shit because her son’s going to Harvard.
Jeremiah’s “hot shit,” all right, not because of her son’s accomplishments, but becausesheattended Harvard, then went on to graduate summa cum laude from Harvard Law. But I refrain from pointing that out. Gasoline and fire and all that.
Plus, Mom can claim the same hot-shit status, since she also got accepted to Harvard. She just chose not to go because she thought it’d be boring. A smart decision. Mom has a two-hundred-plus IQ. Everything bores her, and Harvard wouldn’t be an exception.
–Mom: I want you to go there.
–Me: Absolutely not.
Should I remind her that I—thankfully—got my brain from her and I’d be bored in that cold, dank institution?
–Mom: If you don’t want to be around Huxley, then pick another Ivy League school.
I actually like Hux. When Mom’s mad at one of the mothers, she takes it out on their son. Huxley can handle himself, but I don’t need the embarrassment.
–Me: Mom, all of New England comes with atrocious weather.
–Mom: I want to show Jerry that Harvard isn’t that special!
–Me: It isn’t. It’s not even that hard to get in.
–Mom: So do it! Don’t make me fly over and talk to you about this in person.
Ah, God no.Mom’s appearance on campus would be awkward. She’s anartisteof the worst variety—temperamental, with a fragile ego. My brother Griffin often sayshismother is dramatic. He hasn’t seen anything until he’s seen mine go into a temper tantrum.
Will says something to me, and I just nod. He’s probably asking about something inconsequential, like the homework from Fixed Income Securities, which we’re taking this semester. He doesn’t understand a thing about the math required for mortgage-backed securities pricing. I, on the other hand, mastered it before my sixteenth birthday.
Right now, the more pressing matter is Mom’s need to show Jeremiah up.
–Me: Fine. I’ll apply to them all.
And once they say yes, I’ll turn them down. That should satisfy her, if what she’s looking for is simply a way to outbrag Jeremiah.
–Mom: Excellent. Oh, and apply to Stanford, too!
–Me: Why? Are you having issues with Emmett’s mom, too?
–Mom: What are you talking about? Emma’s fabulous. It’s Jerry! Her new boyfriend’s son applied last year and got waitlisted! Ultimately he didn’t get in, and had to settle for UCLA.
I roll my eyes at her pettiness. But I know better than to try to improve her character. People don’t change.
–Mom: Let me know if you need anything.
I start to tell her nothing, then change my mind.
–Me: There is one thing. I need a quiet place to live.
–Mom: What happened to your apartment?
–Me: A minor incident. But can’t live there now.
Another parent might ask something like “What happened?” or “Are you okay?” Not mine.
