The Valeditztorian (21 page)

“
I went through a guard rail?”

“
That’s right,” she replied. “The museum had an oval-shaped, open floor plan, with a railing that wrapped around the center of the upper levels. From the higher levels, you could look down and see all of the floors below.”

“
Did I fall down to the first floor?”

“
No. If you had, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“What stopped me from falling?”

“By some miracle, your bulky winter coat wedged itself between the bars. It was a stunning near miss.”

“That sounds
pretty scary,” I said.

“Sca
ry would be an understatement. There you were, little more than a baby, dangling over a thirty-foot drop. Watching you hanging there by your shoulders, my heart nearly stopped. It was the most terrifying moment of my life.”

“What’d you do?”

“
First I ran to get you, and I pulled you straight into my arms. Then I spent an hour screaming at the museum staff.”

“Did they fix the railing
?”

“Actually, yes
. After I threatened to report them to the newspaper and the Better Business Bureau, they shut the place down for a few days. When the museum reopened, everything was fixed, including
another
gap that they found on the third floor.”

“So maybe
my ‘near miss’ helped to save some other kid’s life.”

“Possibly.”

“Then it’s a good thing it happened.”

“From my standpoint, it
wasn’t a good thing,” said my mom.

“How come?”

“Because you took about ten years off my life that day,” she said.

“S
orry.”

“There’s
no reason to be sorry, Emma. It wasn’t your fault. I just loved you so much that I couldn’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to you.”

“Did it make you want to have another baby?”

“Another one? Why would you ask such a question?”

“Because if I died,
then you’d have a backup,” I said.

“If you died, Emma, no one could
replace you.”

“But didn’t you and Dad
ever think about having another baby?”

My mother sighed
.

“When you were little, I could barely keep up
with you. You were an active, injury-prone child requiring constant attention. By the time you went to kindergarten, you’d settled down a bit, but by then my job was taking off, and I was well into my thirties. The idea of starting over and chasing a toddler around for another three or four years was overwhelming. Plus I already had the perfect child.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you,” she said, tousling my hair. “So why would I want to push my luck by having another one? That’s something to remember, by the way.”

“What is?”
I asked.

“That from a physical standpoint
, it’s much easier to have kids in your twenties than in your thirties. Taking care of a baby requires a tremendous amount of energy. The older you get, the less energy you have. Plus it gets harder to carry a pregnancy as your body ages.”

“But you’re always talking
about how important it is to finish school before starting a family.”

“That’s true
. First you need to finish college and graduate school, and then you can think about having a baby.”      

“What about getting married
? Doesn’t that come before the baby as well?”

“Getting married
is a good idea, since it’s much easier to take care of a baby with two people working together. On the other hand, a husband isn’t really required. When you think about it, a woman doesn’t need a man to have a baby.”

“She doesn’t
?” I asked.

“No,” said my mom
. “All she needs is some sperm.”

“Gross.”

“It’s not gross, Emma. It’s biology.”

“Are you
saying that I should finish school and then go find some sperm?”

“
With all the sperm banks around these days, you could.”

I must’ve looked mortified, because
my mother continued, “I’m kidding, honey. That’s not what I’m advising. Raising a baby by yourself would be extremely difficult. You’d be much better off finding a husband first, or better yet, a wife.”

“A wife
. Really?”

“
Why not? Living with a woman is definitely easier than living with a man. Women are so much more helpful around the house.”

“Maybe I won’t
ever get married…or have a baby.”

“Trust me, Emma
. Someday you’ll want to have a baby.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“Listen carefully, sweetheart. You can only live life on a whim for so long. Eventually, you need to do something meaningful, and raising a child is one of the most fulfilling things a person can do. Plus it’s the only way to really grow up.”

“But I am
growing up,” I said.

“Yes, you are, but not in the way that I’m referring to.”

“What are you saying, then?”

“That u
ntil you put someone else’s needs ahead of your own on a daily basis—until you’d be willing to lay down your life for someone, as your father and I would for you—you haven’t fully matured. These things usually don’t happen until you have children.”

“What about having
a career? The whole point of finishing college is to get a good job, right?”

“
Yes and no. It’s true that as a woman, pursuing a career is extremely important, for a multitude of reasons, primarily….”

“I know, I know.
‘A woman should be able to support herself, without the help of a man.’ You’re always saying that.”

“I’m glad you were listening,” said my mom.

“So having a career sounds pretty important.”

“Ha
ving a career is both worthwhile and imperative. But remember that in life, you need to find a balance between career and family. As a working mother, I can assure you that until you have a child of your own, you’re not living life to the fullest.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like I might live
longer
if I never have kids.”

“On that point you’re absolu
tely right, but without a child you’d have less to live
for
. Not to mention the fact that I’d like to become a grandmother someday.”

“
You want me to have a baby, so that you can become a grandmother?”

“Absolute
ly. And since you’re the reason my days are numbered, you’d better not make me wait too long.”

Walking
home after tennis therapy, I can’t help reflecting on my mother’s advice, as well as Aimee’s prediction about my future. Hmm. If I’m going to have 25 children before I die, I’d better hurry up and get busy. Then I wonder whether the local sperm bank is running a special. By the time I get home, I’m laughing so hard that tears are rolling down my cheeks.  

Chapter Thirteen

Temptation

Aside from the absence of Thomas, life more or less gets back to
“normal” following my vacation. On Monday morning, I report to Connie Burgess in the tuberculosis lab. Having worked here prior to my Brazilian adventure, I know the place well. Though somewhat flaky, Connie is a kind woman, and I’m not unhappy to be returning.

The moment I enter
, Connie drops her notebook and walks over to hug me. As usual her short, light brown, curly hair is askew, lending her generously freckled face a youthful, somewhat boyish quality.

“Emma, I’m so glad you’re back!
” says Connie. “Susie and I really missed you.”

Susie
Milner is Connie’s lab assistant. A 20-something, hip, occasionally marijuana-smoking PhD student, Susie has been working toward her doctorate for an unknown number of years (she won’t divulge how many). Given that it’s nine a.m. and Susie normally rolls in after lunchtime, Connie and I are the only ones present.

“I missed you guys, too,” I say.

“So how was your trip?” she asks.

“For the most part, great
.”

“Tell me all about it.”

Excluding any discussion of Luciano and Paula, I spend a few minutes regaling Connie with details about dancing in the Pelourinho and partying during Carnaval.

“So you’re glad you went?” she asks when I’ve finished.

“Overall, it was an amazing experience, but honestly, after living in Brazil for a month, the best part was coming home.”

“I complete
ly agree with that sentiment,” says Connie. “Returning home is always better than going away. You should’ve seen me during our last family trip to Disney World. After three days of waiting in hundred-degree heat for rides like Winnie the Pooh in the Magic Kingdom, I couldn’t wait to fly home—which is ironic, because right now I could really use a vacation.”

“
Maybe you need a vacation for grownups,” I say.

“That is a fabulous idea, but
I don’t see it happening anytime soon.”

“
Why not?” I ask.

“Because things around here are
totally chaotic. This month I’m on service, and I’m also trying to complete a grant application. If the grant doesn’t get approved, I won’t have a salary next year. Not to mention the fact that my son is getting bar mitzvahed next month, and he refuses to learn his haftorah.”

Connie
shakes her head.

“
I’m not sure what’s worse—trying to finish the grant application, or forcing my son to learn the haftorah. No…,” she says, holding up her palm like a stop sign, “I take it back. Forcing Ben to learn his haftorah is definitely worse. Lately, I’ve been so busy that I haven’t been able keep up with the data entry for the pediatric TB project. Two weeks ago I pulled about thirty charts from medical records, and I haven’t even had time to start looking at them yet. See?”

Connie
points to a stack of manila charts sitting on a countertop near her desk.

“I see.”

“So I’m particularly glad you’re here, Emma, because I could really use your help. Do you think you could start working on the new data?”

“No problem,” I say
.

After
Connie hands me a pile of data collection sheets, I immerse myself in charts for the next few hours. When lunchtime rolls around, I procure some mediocre takeout from a nearby Korean deli. Eating alone at my desk while Connie works on her grant, I feel a pang of longing (“saudades”) for the relaxing, chummy lunches that Grace and I shared in Brazil. While taking a swig of Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry Soda, I wonder how Grace is doing, and whether Alvin is still torturing her. Hopefully she’s finished dissecting those poor mice. Though I’m only halfway done with the greasy, pseudo-Chinese food in my plastic container, I suddenly feel nauseated and toss what’s left into the nearest trash can.

Luckily
, Susie coasts into the lab at that moment, reviving me with her exuberance.

“Aa
hh,” she screams upon seeing me. “Emma—you’re back!”

As always, Susie looks fabulous
. Despite the complete absence of makeup, Susie’s smiling face is luminous. Today she’s wearing a tight, tie-dyed T-shirt with a pair of skinny jeans that show off her long legs. Not one to suppress her emotions, Susie lunges toward my desk and hugs me with so much force that I can’t breathe.

“It’s great…to see you, too,” I gasp, and both of us start laughing.

As Susie tosses back her sleek, brown locks, several beaded braids clink together.

“But let me look at you,” she says
. “Did you lose weight?”

I shrug
.

“A little.”

“More than a little.”

Susie eyes my waist
.

“You’re way too skinny
. Did they feed you in Brazil?”

“Yes…but not always enough,” I admit.

“You can say that again. If you were any thinner, you’d look like a concentration camp victim.”

Susie proceeds to hit me with the third degree, and I share various details about Grace and our
living situation, including our limited food supply at the beginning of my stay.

“Well, I’m glad you made it
home without starving to death,” says Susie. “You must be happy to be back.”

“I am, but I miss Grace.”

“You should e-mail her and find out how she’s been doing.”

“I will,” I say
. “But how’ve you been? Did anything exciting happen while I was away?”

“
Not exactly. Work’s been alright.”

Susie glances at
Connie, who’s busy yelling at her son over the phone.

“
Connie’s been a little distracted,” she whispers, “but what else is new?”

The two of us share a quiet chuckle at
Connie’s expense.

“How are things going with Justin?”
I ask.

Justin is Susie’s la
test boyfriend. Since Susie normally goes through boyfriends faster than water runs through a sieve, it’ll be a record if they’re still together.

“Surprisingly, things with him are great
.”

I must look shocked
.

“I know
,” Susie continues. “It’s so unexpected. Would you believe he’s taking me out to dinner at Le Bernardin this weekend?”

“Wow—Le Bernardin
! I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve heard it’s a great restaurant.”

“Yup,” says Susie
. “And check this out.”

Reaching under her T-shirt, Susie pulls out the largest sapphire
I’ve ever seen, excluding the ones under glass in museums. Dangling from a gleaming, silver chain, the exquisite stone instantly filters the overhead light like a prism, shooting rainbows all across the lab.

“Oh, my God,” I say
. “Is that real?”

Susie shrugs, “I’m not sur
e, but he did buy it at Tiffany.”

“
It’s incredible,” I say, eyeing her rock. “Remind me again what Justin does for a living?”

“Investment banker, at JP Morgan.”

“He must be making a lot of money,” I say. “I mean, it’s great that he wants to spend it on you.”

“H
e’s actually making me nervous,” says Susie.

“Why
? Because he’s buying you jewelry that needs to be insured?”

“No, I’m fine
with the jewelry. The issue is…well…I know this is going to sound odd, but the problem is that he’s so nice all the time. I’m not used to this kind of treatment—you know, from a boyfriend—and I’m not sure how to handle it.”

“
I think it’s terrific, Susie. The important thing is that he’s treating you well,” I say, and my voice falters.

Susie doesn’t miss a beat
.

“Did something happen with Thomas?”
she asks.

“I broke up with him.”

“Again?”

“Yeah
.”

“Goo
d girl, Emma. Now you just need to stay away from him.”

I nod, confident that I won’t waver from my “no return” policy.

For the rest of the afternoon Susie and I work together, steamrolling through Connie’s huge pile of charts. Though the work is dry, like a sprinkling of fresh basil in marinara sauce, Susie’s presence infuses the atmosphere with liveliness. For an hour or two the conversation ripples between us, and I’m happy to be hanging out with her in the lab. At three o’clock, just after Connie departs for the hospital, the phone rings.

“Hello?” Susie asks, t
ucking back a lock of her hair, revealing a diamond piercing in the cartilage of her left ear. “Hi. Long time no see,” she says in a breathy voice. “I miss you, too.”

Sh
e mouths the words “so sweet” to me and starts twirling one of her braids around an index finger. Then she gasps.

“I thought it was sold out
. How’d you get tickets? Okay, I’m coming. I’ll meet you there.”

Susie slams down the phone
.

“Justin?” I ask.

“Yeah—and he just got two tickets to see the Indigo Girls at Carnegie Hall. Can you believe it? The show starts in half an hour. I’m sorry to leave you here, Emma. Do me a favor—don’t tell Connie what time I left. I’ll come in early tomorrow morning.”

Susie grabs her purse
and sprints out the door.

“I won’t hold my breath
,” I mutter sullenly as she’s leaving.

No wonder Susie still hasn’t finished her PhD
.

Not th
at I’m jealous. Well, maybe I am—just a little bit. Though I hate to admit it, watching Susie revel in romantic bliss is about as comfortable as getting strangled by a boa constrictor, especially considering the recent obliteration of my love life. So what if I purposefully banished Thomas from my bed? I’m still allowed to feel miserable.

Not
a word, Mom. I don’t want to hear anything about happiness right now.

Suddenly I don’t want to spend anoth
er minute by myself in the lab. Nor do I want to go home. Instead, I follow my feet into the blustery March afternoon, heading toward the nearest grocery store, a Food Emporium on First Avenue. Reaching the frozen section, I find exactly what I’m looking for: Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food Ice Cream. Yet halfway to the shelf, my hand freezes, as I recall what happened during my last big breakup, when I was a senior in college.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of this stuff?” said Helen, ripping the container of Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch out of my hand.

Curled up on the couch in our college dorm, I wrapped my comforter more tightly around my shoulders.

“No,” I protested
. “There’s at least a quarter left.”

“Are you aware
that each serving contains nearly three hundred calories?” asked Helen, reading the label.

“That means I’ve
had about nine hundred calories so far. Only three hundred more to reach my goal.”

“Emma, you’re being ridiculous
. Enough already! Is Alex Drazen really worth putting on all this weight?”

Ale
x and I had been happily dating, or so I thought, since the beginning of my junior year of college. Getting dumped right before graduation was definitely not on my to-do list.

Worse yet
, I’d fallen in love with him…sort of. Not only was he decent in bed—due to complimentary anatomy, not skill—but he was also a nice guy, from a well-off family. If he’d asked, I probably would’ve married him. So what if his personality was a tad boring? It was good enough. By that point in my dating career, I’d long since given up on perfection.

“I haven’t gained
that much weight,” I argued.

“Yes, you have,” said Helen
. “Put down the spoon for a minute, and step up on the scale.”

“I’m n
ot going near that scale.”

“Oh, yes
you are, toots. Now get moving!” Helen commanded.

Refusal wasn’t
an option.

“Okay,” I acquiesced
, shuffling off toward the bathroom. “See, Helen, I haven’t gained too much wei…yikes! Oh, my God. Does that say one hundred fifty?”

“Yup
. When you put the numbers one, five, and zero next to each other, in that order, they generally signify the number one hundred fifty.”

“Okay
, then,” I said. “I’ve put on thirty pounds over the past month. It could be worse, right?”

Helen rolled her eyes at me.

“But it’s not my fault! This all happened because Alex left me for that stupid, mousey socialite named...named….What’s her name again?”

“Samantha
Dibble,” said Helen.