“Speaking of,” says Bunny.
Caroline frowns and looks at her watch. “You said two, Alice. Let’s get going.”
“She’s a taskmaster, your daughter,” I say, getting to my feet.
“Alice-that was a nine-minute mile!”
“You’re kidding!” I gasp.
“I’m not. Look.” Caroline shows me her stopwatch.
“How the hell did that happen?”
Caroline bobs her head happily. “I knew you could do it.”
“Not without you. You’ve been a wonderful trainer.”
“Okay, let’s cool down,” says Caroline, slowing to a walk.
I give a little hoot.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Do you think I can get down to eight?”
“Don’t push it.”
We walk quietly for a few minutes.
“So how’s Tipi going?”
“Oh, Alice, I couldn’t be happier. And guess what? They offered me a full-time job! I start in two weeks.”
“Caroline! That’s wonderful!”
“It’s all falling into place. And I have to thank you, Alice. I don’t know what I would have done without your support and encouragement. You and William letting me stay here. And Peter and Zoe. Really, just incredible kids. Being with your family has been so good for me.”
“Well, Caroline, it was truly our pleasure and our gain. You’re a lovely young woman.”
When we get home, I pick up a laundry basket full of clean clothes that has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor for days and bring it upstairs into Peter’s room. I place the basket on the floor, knowing full well that it will now sit there for a week. He’s been petitioning for a later bedtime. I told him the day he started to put his clothes away and take a shower without me asking him to was the day I’d consider a later bedtime.
“You have so much energy, Alice. Maybe
“All thanks to your daughter,” I say. “And congratulations, by the way, to the mother of the recently gainfully employed. It’s incredible news about Tipi.”
Bunny’s eyes narrow. “What news?”
“That she’s been offered a full-time job?”
“What? I just got her an interview at Facebook. I pulled major strings to get it. Did she accept the job at Tipi?”
“Well, I think so. She seemed deliriously happy.” Bunny flushes red. “What’s wrong? She didn’t tell you? Oh, God, was it supposed to be a surprise? She didn’t say that. I just assumed she would have told you.”
Bunny shakes her head vigorously. “The girl has an advanced degree in computer science from Tufts. And she’s going to blow it all away working for some nonprofit!”
“Bunny, Tipi is not just some nonprofit. Do you know what they do? Microfinance. I think last year they gave away something like 200 million dollars in loans-”
Bunny cuts me off. “Yes, yes, I know, but how is the girl going to support herself? She’ll barely make a living wage at Tipi. You don’t understand, Alice. Your kids haven’t started to think about college yet. But here’s a piece of advice. The liberal-arts education days are over. Nobody can afford to major in English anymore. And don’t get me started on art history or theater. The future is math, science, and technology.”
“But what if your kids are bad at math, science, and technology?”
“Too bad. Force them to major in those subjects anyway.”
“Bunny! You can’t be serious. You of all people, who’s made a living in the arts all her life!”
“For crying out loud, you two,” says Caroline, stalking into the room. “Yes, Mom, it’s true. I’ve accepted the job at Tipi. And yes, it’s also true, I’ll be making basically minimum wage. So what? So is half the country. Actually, half the country would be lucky to be making minimum wage, to even have a job. I’m the lucky one.”
Bunny staggers backward and sits down on the bed.
“Bunny?” I say.
She gazes blankly at the wall.
“You don’t look well. Should I get you a glass of water?” I ask.
“You’re living in a dream world. You cannot survive on minimum wage, Caroline. Not in a city like San Francisco,” says Bunny.
“Of course I can. I’ll get roommates. I’ll waitress at night. I’ll make it work.”
“You have a master’s degree from Tufts in computer science.”
“Oh, okay. Here it comes,” says Caroline.
“And you are absolutely crazy not to do something with it. It’s your job, no, it’s your responsibility to do something with it. You’d be making twice, three times the income right off the bat!” she yells.
“The money isn’t important to me, Mom,” says Caroline.
“Oh, the money isn’t important to her, Alice,” says Bunny.
“Yes, the money isn’t important to her, Bunny.” I sit down next to her on the bed. “And maybe that’s okay for now,” I say gently. I put my hand on Bunny’s knee. “Look. She’s young. She has nobody to support but herself. She has lots of time for the money to be important to her. Caroline’s going to be working for an organization that really makes a difference in women’s lives.”
Bunny glares at both of us defiantly.
“You should be proud, Bunny, not angry,” I say.
“Did I say I wasn’t proud? I didn’t say that,” she snaps.
“Well, you’re certainly acting that way,” says Caroline.
“You are pushing me into a corner! And I don’t appreciate it,” shouts Bunny.
“How am I pushing you into a corner?” asks Caroline.
“You’re making me out to be somebody I’m not. Some ungenerous person. I can’t believe-I mean, what in the world? Me, of all people,” says Bunny indignantly, then, suddenly, she covers her face with her hands and groans.
“What now?” asks Caroline.
Bunny waves Caroline away.
“What, Mom?”
“I can’t speak.”
“Why can’t you speak?”
“Because I’m mortified,” whispers Bunny.
“Oh, please,” says Caroline.
“Be nice. She feels bad,” I mouth to Caroline.
Caroline sighs heavily, her arms crossed. “Mortified over what, Mom?”
“That you’re seeing this part of me,” says Bunny in a muffled voice.
“You mean
“Yes, yes,” says Bunny, her hands dropping to her sides, looking absolutely miserable. “I know you do, Caroline. Mea culpa. Mea culpa!” she cries.
Caroline starts to melt when she sees her mother’s genuine distress.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Bunny,” I say. “It’s not that black and white. Not when it comes to your kids.”
“No, I’m a hypocrite,” says Bunny.
“Yep,” says Caroline. “She’s a hypocrite.” She leans in and kisses Bunny on the cheek. “But a lovable hypocrite.”
Bunny looks at me. “How pathetic am I? Not even half an hour ago I was lecturing you pompously about how you should let your kids go.”
“There’s only one way to let them go that I know of,” I say. “Messily.”
