The Year We Turned Forty (20 page)

She studied her friend's profile as Gabriela reached back to tickle Lucas. The newfound roundness of her face still couldn't soften the extra worry lines that had formed since she'd returned.
Gabriela had always been so driven, so much so that Jessie used to feel envious of the way she seemed to take the world by storm. She didn't just write, she was a bestselling author. She didn't just jog on the beach, she had completed several half marathons, beating her own personal records each time. She didn't just wear a stylish outfit, she'd pair it with the perfect cuff bracelet and matching necklace. So Jessie wasn't quite sure who this new Gabriela was, the one that came to meet her wearing yoga pants that had a stain on the thigh and a baggy T-shirt, who slept until noon on some days, and for some reason just couldn't get her natural sparkle to dance upon the pages of her manuscript.

It was true that there was a part of Jessie that felt closer to this version of Gabriela, her own imperfections now more reflected in her friend. She may have even confided her infidelity to this Gabriela, who seemed so broken that she might have understood how completely Jessie had lost herself too. She certainly wasn't happy her friend was struggling. In fact, she would have done anything to take her pain away. But there was no doubt their bond seemed tighter in this life, and Jessie was thankful for that.

“Well?” Gabriela prodded. “Did you hate it? Because I need to know if I'm going to get my ass handed to me in New York.” She laughed hollowly.

Jessie had a feeling her publisher wasn't flying her across the country to congratulate her on what she had written so far. But as she searched Gabriela's face, she decided that she needed to be supportive, even if that meant lying. “I thought they were good, Gabriela. Really, really good.”

Claire had always been a nervous eater. Whenever finals rolled around in college, she'd find herself power eating Tootsie Rolls until her stomach begged her to stop. As she grew older, she was smart enough to realize that even though she couldn't control her anxiety, she could control what she binged on. When Emily's dad had left her, her snack of choice became spicy corn nuts, popping them into her mouth, letting them burn her tongue and lips, the momentary pain they inflicted a welcome distraction from her emotional distress. When her mom was diagnosed last time, she'd become obsessed with dried fruits, carrying bags of dehydrated peaches and apricots in her purse, the vigorous chewing required to swallow them absorbing some of the aggression she felt at the universe for taking her mother far too soon. And when Emily dropped out of college, Claire had discovered wasabi peas, obsessively crunching them until she cracked a tooth.

“Beef jerky?” Claire held out the bag to Gabriela. They were on their way to New York City and the flight attendant had just
announced it was okay to pull out electronic devices. Gabriela hauled out her heavy computer from under the seat with purpose, but froze as soon as her fingers touched the keyboard. Claire knew Gabriela had downplayed what this trip could mean for her professionally, instead selling it to Claire as a long-overdue girls' trip, and a chance for Claire to take a break from caring for her mom. But Claire knew Gabriela also wanted her there in case her editor delivered bad news.

Gabriela shook her head. “Too much sodium. Not to mention it's full of nitrates!”

“More for me then,” Claire replied, and popped a thick piece into her mouth, barely tasting the savory flavor as she tore through it.

“I've never understood how you don't gain a ton of weight, especially when something's bothering you,” Gabriela said, looking pointedly at the half-empty bag of jerky.

“I think stress increases my metabolism.” Claire paused to chew. “Plus, it's not like I'm downing M&M's. This stuff is pure fat-burning protein!”

“Fifty-year-old Claire would be shaking her head at you right now. There's more salt in that bag than you're supposed to consume in an entire day!”

“Maybe. But forty-year-old Claire was thrilled to discover they make it in southern barbecue flavor!” Claire laughed.

Gabriela grabbed the bag from Claire's hands and handed it to the flight attendant, who was passing through the cabin with a trash bag. “Can you throw this away, please?”

“Hey! I wasn't done with that!”

Gabriela shut her laptop. “You don't need more jerky. What you need is someone to talk to about what's
really
going on.”

“I'm fine. Just a little stressed, but fine,” Claire said, not
wanting to burden Gabriela, who was waiting nervously to find out if she was pregnant and worried about her meeting with her publisher. The last thing she needed was for Claire to offload her own problems on her.

Gabriela pointed at Claire's swollen fingers. “Okay, then. If you can pull that ring off your finger right now, I'll leave you alone the rest of the flight. But if you can't, then I know you've been binge snacking again. And we all know what that means,” Gabriela said gently.

Claire glanced down at her own hand, observing the tiny fold of skin hanging over the sapphire ring that sat on her right index finger, the vision of shoving it on earlier that morning in her head. Now that they were thirty thousand feet up in the air, she knew there was no way in hell it was coming off. She sighed loudly. “Fine. Where do I begin? With how awful it is to lose my mom all over again? Or how I found out yesterday that in addition to raising a spoiled brat, I've raised a certified bully?”

Gabriela popped up the armrest between them, glancing at her laptop. She had promised her editor she'd have a new chapter for her to read by the time she walked into her office tomorrow, but the words were stuck somewhere between her head and her heart. “It's a five-hour flight. Start at the beginning and don't leave
anything
out.”

•  •  •

Claire leaned her head against the window of the town car Gabriela's publisher had sent for them, letting the cold air that permeated it soothe her. She felt relieved after spending most of the flight revealing to Gabriela the things she'd been keeping bottled up. Mason was the only other person she'd told that
Emily had been suspended from school after she'd been caught writing hateful notes to a girl in her grade.

Gabriela listened intently as Claire confided that she hadn't considered the notes
that
bad at first. She'd actually thought Emily might even be joking when she'd read the first one because the pig she'd drawn on it was cartoonish, cute even. But then she'd read the words she'd written beneath it:
fat pig, oinker, hog
. In the second note, she'd drawn a cow and had written
You heffer
. Claire's eyes had stung with tears, and she'd had to swallow hard so the vice principal wouldn't see. Her hands shook as she handed the crumpled pieces of paper back to Mr. Donavan, imagining the girl Emily had attacked scrunching it up in her fist as she'd sobbed. Claire couldn't make eye contact with him, feeling as if he was blaming her, and rightfully so. If Claire had been paying more attention, would this have happened?

Emily had been silent, staring at the floor while she played with the threads fringing a hole in the knee of her jeans, nodding or shaking her head when asked a yes-or-no question, repeating
I don't know
each time Mr. Donavan asked her why she'd targeted this girl. Claire had sat there, wishing Emily would communicate, even if it meant she'd stood and yelled the reason at the top of her lungs—at least then she'd have answers.

After announcing Emily's three-day suspension stoically, as if he were reading next week's lunch menu, Claire and Emily were escorted out of his office. As they'd walked to the car, the only sound Claire could hear was the roaring of the bus engines as they'd pulled up to the school. Claire had forced herself not to give in to her instincts as silent tears fell down Emily's cheeks, not to grab her hand and squeeze it, as if sending the silent message that what she'd done was okay. Because there was nothing okay about it.

Yes, Emily had always had her share of problems. But she had never bullied anyone before—all her destructive behavior had seemed to focus on herself. Gabriela agreed that the drastic change was curious. Had Claire's own choices this time affected Emily's?

“Please talk to me, Emily,” Claire said after they'd driven in silence for several minutes, tightening her grip on the steering wheel.

Emily stared out the window.

“Are you at least sorry?” Claire tried again.

Emily half shrugged and half nodded.

“What for? That you traumatized that poor girl? Or that you got caught?”

Emily twisted a faded friendship bracelet on her wrist. “Both, I guess.”

“And you
really
don't know why you did it?” Claire held her breath, both wanting and not wanting the reason.

Emily shrugged, another tear sliding down her cheek. “Well I guess you have three days to figure it out and come up with a damn good apology. Not that it will erase what you've done. But it's a place to start.”

Claire waited until they arrived home to give Emily her punishment. She shocked herself as she said the words—barely able to believe she was speaking them—that she was grounding her and forbidding her from hanging out with any of her friends for an indefinite amount of time. She couldn't remember so much as sending Emily to her room the first time around, always paralyzed by fear that her daughter would hate her more than she already seemed to. Claire also decided they should move into her parents' house, so Emily could be around even more to help. Claire watched as Emily's eyes turned cold and her
jaw clenched. Claire could practically see the words coming up through Emily's body before they shot out of her mouth—angry, hateful things she hoped Emily didn't mean. She knew her daughter was trying to break her down the way she had so many times in the past. And even though she'd never witnessed Emily throwing a fit of this magnitude, Claire held strong for the first time, feeling like an umbrella fighting against the wind. It was one thing if Emily was going to bully her. But she couldn't let her do it to other people. Claire shriveled on the inside as Emily raged, throwing all the books, CDs, and trinkets off her shelves into a huge pile in the center of her room, her crying finally subsiding several hours later. Claire discovered her curled up in a ball asleep on the floor and placed a blanket over her, hoping she was making the right decision.

She'd called Mason, and after explaining what happened, he seemed surprised, not quite sure the punishment fit the crime, reasoning that a suspension from school was already pretty harsh. He'd also brought up Mona, speculating that maybe Emily was acting out because it was hard to see her grandmother so sick. Where was the old Mason who'd broken up with her because she wasn't firm enough with Emily? Now he was the one making excuses?

Claire thought about how the discovery of Mona's illness earlier in her relationship with Mason had changed its entire dynamic. She hardly ever slept over at his house, and when he saw her, she was rarely with Emily, usually just stealing moments—a coffee date here, a late-night drink there. So he didn't have firsthand knowledge of how challenging she could be, and Claire hadn't confided in him the way she did before. She told herself it was because she was so much busier this time, but a part of her wondered if she was afraid to get too attached.

Claire stayed silent while he made his points. He was right in many ways, but what he didn't realize, what he could
never
realize, is that she already knew what
wasn't
going to work with Emily. Giving in or hoping she'd “grow out of it” wouldn't suffice. Claire wished she could disclose to Mason that if she didn't take a firm stance with her daughter, Emily would ultimately come between them as well, that her toxicity would eventually tear down everything they had built together. That they'd never speak again after they broke up, but according to the Google search she'd done after she'd denied his friend request on Facebook, he'd get engaged to a childless architect named Nancy that he'd met on Match.com.

•  •  •

Gabriela and Claire's town car jolted to a stop in front of the Sheraton, located just a few blocks from Times Square. Claire couldn't wait to explore the city while Gabriela met with her editor. She'd never been to New York and was excited to dress the part in tall leather boots and a cozy down jacket she had only worn a few times at home, the frigid December air a welcome contrast to the unseasonably warm temperatures in Southern California.

“What time is your meeting tomorrow?” Claire asked as she slid the key card into the door of their room. Claire pulled her suitcase behind her and scanned the simple double bed accommodations, a far cry from the spacious suites Gabriela had described staying in at the height of her career.

“Noon. I was thinking we could have brunch before?”

“Mimosas and Bloody Marys? I'm in! I need a new source of sodium since you snaked my jerky!”

“None for me.” Gabriela patted her stomach. “I should be finding out very soon if I have a baby in here.”

Claire looked at her watch. “Well, it's almost 5 p.m. back home, so I'm sure they will be calling any minute. And then I'll drink enough for both of us when we celebrate!” Claire walked over and pulled Gabriela in for a hug and hoped her words sounded sincere. Gabriela's life hinged on the next twenty-four hours, and Claire was crossing her swollen fingers that she'd get the news she'd been waiting to hear.

Gabriela's cell phone vibrated in her hand. She'd been clutching it nonstop for the past hour, almost dropping it in the toilet earlier as she tried to balance while squatting over the seat. She'd even insisted she and Claire have dinner in the restaurant inside the hotel, much to Claire's chagrin, reasoning that she needed to be nearby in case the doctor's office contacted the hotel, which she'd left as a backup number.