“And that was a good thing?”
“Well, I didn’t realize it was good until she changed. When she got all withdrawn and stopped giving a…a darn. That felt worse than getting yelled at.”
Mary Ellen wondered if her way of dealing with the girls—which she’d always assumed was the enlightened, civilized parenting style of successful people—might have been too soft. Maybe they would’ve benefitted from the occasional flash of anger. She poured in the canned tomatoes and beans and set the pot to simmer. “We’ll let that cook for a little while. Doesn’t that smell good? All that shoveling made me hungry.” She made herself a drink and sat at the table, staring out at the storm.
Rose sat across from her. “Do you even know whose house this is?”
Mary Ellen kept staring at the gusting, blowing snow. “Yes,” she finally said. “My friend Justine. She invited me to come here and work on my photography.”
“So you’re really a photographer?”
“No.” Mary Ellen took a drink. “I’m vice president of marketing at Gallard Pharmaceuticals.” She watched Rose’s face for signs of disappointment, but the girl remained impassive. “Justine’s been helping me get back in touch with my artistic side. I took a class she was teaching, and then this gallery owner… Oh, whatever. The whole thing is stupid.”
“So you were pretending to be her? Justine?”
Mary Ellen frowned into her glass.
“Why, exactly?”
“I don’t know. It was just easier that way.”
“Easier to make stuff up twenty-four hours a day?”
“Okay,” Mary Ellen said. “So you know how they say ‘Dress for the job you want?’”
“They do?”
“‘Fake it till you make it,’ ‘act as if.’ It’s all about making people think about you a certain way. Until it comes true.”
“You believe in that?”
“Well…” Mary Ellen had no idea what she believed anymore. “I guess it helps you visualize success.”
Rose squinted at her. “So let’s say I want to become a fireman,” she said. “Fireperson. All I have to do is get a Dalmatian and a pair of suspenders and walk around telling everybody I’m awesome at fighting fires, and—bam!—I’ll turn into a real one?”
“No, obviously—”
“You want to know what I think?” Rose waggled her eyebrows at her. “I think you’ve just been showing off. This was all some kind of ego trip.”
“Oh, please,” Mary Ellen scoffed. “Like I need to impress you? Some random girl hiding out in my friend’s house?” She swung her legs over the bench. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter why I did it.” She went into the kitchen and stabbed at the chili a few times with a spoon. It looked done enough. She started pulling out bowls and silverware and napkins.
“So how come you didn’t turn me in?” Rose called from the dining room. “Go into town, call the cops?”
Mary Ellen brought the bowls of chili to the table and set them down. “Can we just eat? I’m starving.” She tasted the chili. It was missing something—probably the beer. She shook some salt over it.
Rose kept staring at her. “I think it’s because you wanted an audience. You kept me around so you’d have someone to show off to. Someone to lecture and preach at.”
“Rose.” Mary Ellen dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I wanted to help you. I didn’t think turning you over to the authorities was the best way to do that. I thought it would be better to give you some guidance, some encouragement, and yes, okay, maybe I thought I could be kind of a role model. Something I could’ve used when I was your age.”
Rose finally picked up her fork and started to eat. “You keep saying that,” she muttered around a mouthful of chili.
“What?”
“That you could’ve used a mentor or whatever. Like your life is a big failure because the right person didn’t come along and tell you what to do. Seems to me you did all right, Miss Vice President of Blah-Di-Blah.”
“It’s a pointless job.” Mary Ellen rested her cheek in her hand. “It just pays well is all.”
“Oh man. I’m so sorry.” Rose lowered her head and shoveled chili into her mouth, scraping the bottom of her bowl.
“You’ll understand some day—”
“No I won’t.” Rose threw down her spoon. “Excuse me, but fuck that noise.”
“Rose! Please.”
“You had someone to pay for college, okay? You could do whatever you wanted after that. Be a photographer, be a painter, whatever. You didn’t have to pay back eighty grand. You could do anything. Jesus.”
Mary Ellen felt her nostrils flare. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong, Rose. My father made me change direction. I was majoring in studio art, and I loved it, but it wasn’t good enough. He made me go into marketing.”
“So he threatened to cut you off? Or he said he’d beat the shit out of you?”
“Of course not.” How could she make this girl understand? It was real, the pressure her parents put on her. The pressure to make them happy and proud. The pressure to eat what they ate, to wear what they wore, to fund her 401(k) and buy a house in the right neighborhood and get her children the best education money could buy.
“Then why didn’t you just tell him no?”
“I couldn’t. I didn’t have a choice.”
Rose barked out a laugh. “You had nothing but choices. Please.”
Mary Ellen shook her head violently, the way her daughters used to do at the sight of mashed peas.
“Your kids are going too, right? Harvard, Yale. All expenses paid.”
“Good lord no. They could never get into those schools.”
“Okay, but they’re going somewhere, right?”
Mary Ellen blinked at the girl, not fully understanding. “For college? Of course. I mean, how else would they get anywhere in the world?”
“You can get somewhere in the world without college.”
Mary Ellen snorted. “Well, sure, it’s possible, but come on. You know what a dead-end life that usually means. You’ll never get very far. I mean, look at your whole situation, the life you’re running from—”
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
