“The Anti-Marriage Pact was the best thing we ever did,” Hal chimes in, making it seem like it was her idea, not mine. I don’t correct her because that’s the proof of great leadership, when other people feel ownership of your ideas. Hopefully the historians willbe competent enough to uncover the truth. I’ll leave some journals documenting the whole thing to help them out.
Jenni shifts in her chair. “I know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Peter,” she says, guilt dribbling from her words like water from a faucet that appears to be off but isn’t. “And I appreciate how accepting you’re being.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘accepting’ is the adjective that fits best,” I mutter, but I withhold calling her out on it much more. It would just put her on the defensive and push her closer to Peter.
Tara and Hal seem to know that too, so we all just toss in some subtle hints.
“The best thing about romantic relationships is how they inevitably end,” Hal says happily.
“And how the Redstockings’ bond never will,” Tara pipes in. “It’s the one thing in life we can really count on.”
Jenni nods along but doesn’t add much, which raises some alarm bells. I’ve got this irrational fear that Peter’s planning a holiday proposal. It’s actually not that irrational at all; I’ve seen these engagement ring ads pop up on Jenni’s computer as we’re streaming true crime shows on her laptop, and she says she doesn’t know how they got there, the algorithms are highly dysfunctional.
I mention it to Hal and Tara the next day, but they wave off my concerns.
“Don’t overblow it, EJ,” Hal says, patting my shoulder. “Jenni might like having a boyfriend, but she’d never think about gettingmarriedright now.She’s committed to liberation, she really is.”
Chapter 10
The time comes for my annual Christmas trip back to Michigan.
My family is pretending to be excited to see me, but I know they probably have a more enjoyable time when I don’t come home. No one at the table hitting them with the hard facts about how nonsensical their worldviews are. Their little echo chamber is all they know and they like it that way.
I should really start skipping the holidays altogether, but I guess I still feel like I’d be a bad daughter if I completely dropped out of my parents’ lives. They’re the type of bad parents who think they’re good parents and don’t leave mounds of evidence, just little breadcrumbs, that prove the contrary. When the breadcrumbs add up, it’s a mountain, but I still haven’t been able to justify the case for going full no-contact. I also don’t like the feeling that my family can just move on from me so easily. Physically being there sometimes is good so I stay fresh in their minds.
Plus I’ll be meeting my new niece this Christmas, so I suppose I’ll try to infuse some nonconformist energy into the little one before it’s too late. Jessica Hannah Davies is her name, how basic, but my sister seems happy and healthy so that’s good news.
When I arrive at my parents’ house, my sister puts the baby in my arms before I can tell her I don’t want to hold her. The baby is still tiny and wrinkly, only six weeks old with this big, horrendouspink bow that reminds me of the ones my mom used to put me in. But she has piercing blue eyes that seem to see right into me. I don’t like the feeling but I admire her for it, like she’s tuning in to extrasensory vision so she can see through the bullshit programming that will be forced on her.
“She’s a very alive baby,” I say, handing her back to my sister. The rest of the conversation revolves around the baby—her sleeping habits, what this gurgle or that babble might mean, how utterly exhausting it is to be a parent. Then in the same breath as lamenting all the trials of motherhood, my sister turns to me and says unironically, “You know, Emily Jane, I feel like having kids will be so good for you.”
“Hmm, and why is that?” I say, keeping my voice neutral or at least as neutral as I can. She’s trying to rile me and I won’t let her.
“Well, it’s impossible to be selfish when you’re a mother.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her baggy, sleep-deprived eyes.
“Impossible to have a self, you mean,” I correct. “What a compelling proposition.”
“Girls, don’t bicker,” my mom says because that’s how she thinks conflict is resolved. By avoiding it altogether. “It’s time to get to church—seats will fill up early.”
“You sure about that?” I say. “I’ve read that church attendance is way down.”
“InBrooklyn, maybe,” my mom says, her intonation making it perfectly clear just what she thinks about where I live. “But here we’re doing just fine.”
“You missed the baptism, Emily Jane,” my sister says, as if she hasn’t brought that up twelve times already. “But you should’ve seen how Baby Jessica felt right at home in church.”
“Good thing the priest was there to cleanse her of her sins,” I say, straight-faced. “Given she must have racked up quite a lot of murders in her few weeks on Earth.”
My mom snaps at me to stop being sacrilegious. My sister looks like she almost wants to laugh but doesn’t.
We all pile into the old minivan for Christmas Eve Mass. I could put up a fight and not go, but it’s honestly easier just to tag along and dissociate to another planet, somewhere where outcasts are celebrated, not stigmatized.
I keep my coat hood up through Mass, partially to convey my spite about having to go to church and partially to hide. My old classmates probably wouldn’t recognize me because of how different I look, but still, you can’t be too safe. There’s nothing and no one from high school I care to see again. Let’s just say I didn’t peak back then.
Going back to my hometown is such a horrendous time warp. I think I’ve made all this great progress, transformed into this endlessly large and independent self. And then when I’m back here, I shrink right up to fit inside the two-stoplight town limits.
My sister’s baby starts shrieking nearly right away, and I decide I’m pretty fond of this tiny creature after all. The only problem is the preferential treatment she gets. I would be thrown out for causing a fit and speaking my mind, and she’s just given little sympathetic smiles as people accept that it can’t be helped. The baby also achieves her goal of being removed from church. My sister takes her outside, so it seems the little nugget is figuring life out pretty fast. Perhaps she sees me as a role model; she probably does.
Back at the house after Mass, my sister puts the baby to bed and my mom starts making her famous chili. It’s not actually famous; that’s just what she calls it. My dad ends up saying there’s not enough spice in it, and back and forth they go about the proper ratio of chili powder. These really are the important things in life, being solved one snippy comment at a time.
