make friends here. They’re not like you, Shey—”
“You don’t know that, though. You don’t really know who they are or what they think because you’re not giving them a chance.”
It dawns on me that my daughter has been talking to my best friend. “What did Eva say?” I ask grimly.
Shey just grins. “You can’t dislike women on the basis on their having nice things.”
“I’m not.”
“Just like they can’t dislike you for owning a motorcycle and an old truck.”
I adore Shey, but right now she seems more like a turncoat than a best friend. “Your point being?”
“You need to reach out more, find the people you have things in common with. They do exist, Ta. They’re out there.”
But I don’t know about that, and I fear I’ll have to slice off the best parts of me to fit in.
When I was growing up, Mom was always correcting me, criticizing me.
Marta, not so loud. Marta, cover your mouth when you laugh. Marta, that’s not proper. Marta, behave. Marta, think of what others would say.
I hated it then, and I hate it still. I won’t be stuffed in someone else’s mold of good and proper woman. I’m good because I am. And that’s what I want Eva to learn. That she’s good and beautiful because she exists, not because she’s succeeded in earning someone else’s approval.
I blink, turn to look at Shey, who is still smiling, but the curve of her lips is faintly ironic. We both know it’s not easy. Never has been, never will be.
For a moment, neither of us says anything, and the only sound is that of metal clanging and the shouts of the ferry workers down below.
“I am going to get more involved,” I say, breaking the silence. “I’m going to volunteer to help out at Eva’s school—”
“But it’s not just for Eva, it’s for you, too. It’s so you can have friends here and be included—”
“With the Bellevue Babes? The Eastside Barbies?”
Shey laughs, and it’s low and throaty and very Texan. “Now I remember why we became friends.” She looks at me sideways. “You needed me. No one else could handle being your friend.”
“We’re off!” Eva cries from the railing, and I can feel the deep vibration from within the ferry. We are indeed moving.
Shey and I rise from our bench and join Eva at the railing. The water churns blue green with foamy white, and as we move we gradually begin to pick up speed.
The wind blows our hair, and the sun shines down, hot, bold, reckless. The sun doesn’t have anything to worry about. It’s old, it’s strong, and it’s seen everything.
Eva, I think, circling her shoulders with my arm, is still just learning everything for the first time.
And as I stand behind Eva, my arms around her shoulders, her heart beating beneath my hands, I think I am, too.
After we disembark from the ferry, Shey catches a cab to the airport, and we grab one to take us in the opposite direction, north to Lake Union, where we left our car at the terminal for the seaplane.
Once I’m at the wheel again, I drive to Bellevue and stop at the grocery store to pick up what we’ll need tonight for the barbecue.
Eva wants to stay in the truck and read one of her magazines she found stashed behind the bench seat. It’s a tattered issue of
Town & Country Weddings,
but she’s delighted to reread an old friend.
I park near the front, tell Eva to lock the doors and if she gets nervous at all to come inside and find me.
Eva just buries her head in a Mexico beach wedding layout, and I finish talking to the top of her head.
I shop quickly, knowing exactly what I need: chicken, barbecue sauce, corn on the cob, some cans of baked beans I’ll doctor to make taste even better, and some garlic bread. Eva wants to make a cake, she’d mentioned it earlier, so I’m hustling to get all the shopping done so we can go home to get the cake made on time.
I’ve just grabbed four white husked corn when I step back and ram right into someone. I was moving quickly, so I hit
“You don’t know that, though. You don’t really know who they are or what they think because you’re not giving them a chance.”
It dawns on me that my daughter has been talking to my best friend. “What did Eva say?” I ask grimly.
Shey just grins. “You can’t dislike women on the basis on their having nice things.”
“I’m not.”
“Just like they can’t dislike you for owning a motorcycle and an old truck.”
I adore Shey, but right now she seems more like a turncoat than a best friend. “Your point being?”
“You need to reach out more, find the people you have things in common with. They do exist, Ta. They’re out there.”
But I don’t know about that, and I fear I’ll have to slice off the best parts of me to fit in.
When I was growing up, Mom was always correcting me, criticizing me.
Marta, not so loud. Marta, cover your mouth when you laugh. Marta, that’s not proper. Marta, behave. Marta, think of what others would say.
I hated it then, and I hate it still. I won’t be stuffed in someone else’s mold of good and proper woman. I’m good because I am. And that’s what I want Eva to learn. That she’s good and beautiful because she exists, not because she’s succeeded in earning someone else’s approval.
I blink, turn to look at Shey, who is still smiling, but the curve of her lips is faintly ironic. We both know it’s not easy. Never has been, never will be.
For a moment, neither of us says anything, and the only sound is that of metal clanging and the shouts of the ferry workers down below.
“I am going to get more involved,” I say, breaking the silence. “I’m going to volunteer to help out at Eva’s school—”
“But it’s not just for Eva, it’s for you, too. It’s so you can have friends here and be included—”
“With the Bellevue Babes? The Eastside Barbies?”
Shey laughs, and it’s low and throaty and very Texan. “Now I remember why we became friends.” She looks at me sideways. “You needed me. No one else could handle being your friend.”
“We’re off!” Eva cries from the railing, and I can feel the deep vibration from within the ferry. We are indeed moving.
Shey and I rise from our bench and join Eva at the railing. The water churns blue green with foamy white, and as we move we gradually begin to pick up speed.
The wind blows our hair, and the sun shines down, hot, bold, reckless. The sun doesn’t have anything to worry about. It’s old, it’s strong, and it’s seen everything.
Eva, I think, circling her shoulders with my arm, is still just learning everything for the first time.
And as I stand behind Eva, my arms around her shoulders, her heart beating beneath my hands, I think I am, too.
After we disembark from the ferry, Shey catches a cab to the airport, and we grab one to take us in the opposite direction, north to Lake Union, where we left our car at the terminal for the seaplane.
Once I’m at the wheel again, I drive to Bellevue and stop at the grocery store to pick up what we’ll need tonight for the barbecue.
Eva wants to stay in the truck and read one of her magazines she found stashed behind the bench seat. It’s a tattered issue of
Town & Country Weddings,
but she’s delighted to reread an old friend.
I park near the front, tell Eva to lock the doors and if she gets nervous at all to come inside and find me.
Eva just buries her head in a Mexico beach wedding layout, and I finish talking to the top of her head.
I shop quickly, knowing exactly what I need: chicken, barbecue sauce, corn on the cob, some cans of baked beans I’ll doctor to make taste even better, and some garlic bread. Eva wants to make a cake, she’d mentioned it earlier, so I’m hustling to get all the shopping done so we can go home to get the cake made on time.
I’ve just grabbed four white husked corn when I step back and ram right into someone. I was moving quickly, so I hit
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