As Emme would say, today I’m choosing violence.
James breathes a laugh like steam. “Hello to you too. How’s your evening going?” In the background, I hear the muffled machine beeps and efficient murmurs of the hospital.
“I have guests over, so I don’t really have time to talk,” I say. “What’s going on?”
“OK, then.” The rustle of papers, a whispered aside to someone passing behind him. “So, listen, I know Emme and I have been trying to make this Broadway thing work, but—”
“Actually, Emmehasbeen making it work. She’s rearranged her schedule and adjusted her expectations twice now. You’re the one who hasn’t been able to figure your shit out.”
When we first got divorced, we made an agreement that if James’s schedule changed, he would communicatethat through me. Not Emme. I am her primary caretaker, and the onus should be on me to bear the burden of her father’s volatility.
So I’d always thought.
But now that she’s fifteen, and I’ve left her downstairs with that look in her eyes, I’m beginning to think that this arrangement is unfair to all three of us. I don’t want Emme to have to navigate these conversations with her father, but I wonder if I’m doing a disservice to her maturity by depriving her of the opportunity to do that.
And why should I continue to be the bearer of James’s bad news? Ifhewas the one to hear the hurt in Emme’s voice, to see the disappointment on her face, would he be so quick to let her down? By trying to protect Emme, have I just made it easier for James to hurt her?
“So I know we have tickets to tomorrow night, but unfortunately I’m going to have to—”
I sit down on the bed and hold the phone away from my ear while James goes on. If I have to hear every word, I will break a fragile object. Instead, I let his speech mix with fragments of what’s happening downstairs: Emme’s laugh, Gracie groaning at some invisible offense, the playlist ramping up from a soft country mix to bossa nova. And anchoring everything, Reid’s deep, steady voice.
Now I put the phone back to my ear.
“I really don’t need to hear whatever complex excuse it is,” I say.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lil. You know what my work is like.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and bring my voice down an octave. I want him to receive what I’m saying, not dismiss it as an overemotional rant. Which, I can admit, I’ve been known to dole out. “I know you have lives to save, and you know I respect you for it. But at this point, you are consciously choosing your work over your daughter.” I take a breath, shoring myself up to say what I should have told him years ago. “And I won’t cover for you anymore. From here on out, you need to call her directly if you change your plans. I can’t keep being the middleman.”
“I am sorry, Lil.” When James speaks, I can hear the pain in his voice. So he heard me. A Pyrrhic victory, I suppose. “And I’m sorry to put you in this position. You know I get caught up in this... intensity.”
“I do know that,” I say. “But our time with Emme is...”
“Dwindling? I know that too. Last time she was with me, she told me she wanted to look at Bennington. Like, bumfuck-Vermont Bennington. Four-hour-drive-away Bennington.”
“She told me that too. She’s in a Donna Tartt phase.”
James laughs. “Explains why she asked to borrow one of my ties.”
“It pains me to admit it, but I do think she could be happy at a smaller school, outside the city. Apparently Bennington has a student-run farm she’s interested in working on.”
“Yeah, but Vermont? Sarah Lawrence is a small school. It has grass. And it’s, what, a thirty-minute train ride away?I don’t like the idea of her driving alone for hours. She doesn’t even have her license.”
“Of course she doesn’t have her license! She hasn’t even started driver’s ed.” I laugh through a sigh as I process what James and I are doing right now: Talking about our kid like two concerned parents. “You know, it’s sweet that you want her close. I think she’d appreciate hearing that from you.”
“Yeah,” he says. He takes a deep, jagged breath. “Unfortunately, about tomorrow, I really have overextended myself, and I don’t see a way to back out of it. But Emme and I can do something fun this weekend, when I have her. Whatever she wants.”
“You’ll call her and tell her that yourself.”
“I will.”
“And we’re using those& Juliettickets for tomorrow.”
“As you should.”
We hang up, and I head back downstairs, where Reid, Gracie, and Emme have started a game of Uno at the table, their bowls pushed to the side. When I come in, Reid’s concerned eyes lift to meet mine, and he puts his cards down.
I sit next to Emme, who pulls her knees to her chest. “Was that Dad?”
