table or replenish the pamphlets in the rotating case. I’d imagined the talks we would have to and from school (the only perk to having a longer commute from The Palms, I’d reasoned in May)—her witty observations about classmates and teachers, the advice I would give about clubs and cliques and boys. I’d imagined mother-daughter bonding, the deep insights we would gain into each other’s lives.
Instead, Kelsey was always there, waiting in her driveway at 6:45 a.m. each morning, wearing a short skirt or tight jeans, as if she only owned clothes that challenged the dress code. While I played the role of chauffeur, a necessary but unwanted presence in the front seat, she adjusted Danielle’s makeup—glittery shadow, sparkly lip gloss.
Sometimes I caught a glimpse of the two of them passing the counseling office on the way to the cafeteria, and I was hit hard by nostalgia for the girl Danielle used to be, the one with the camo pants and the rotation of graphic T-shirts that said things like Reunite Pangaea or My Other Car is a Flying Saucer . Now, with her shorn hair and glittery eye shadow, she might have been an exotic bird, some rare and endangered species.
I waited for the inevitable breakup, the messy fallout when Kelsey realized that Danielle wasn’t her ticket to cool. I’d been bracing myself for it, like a long fall through the air with the ground looming. But somehow—it didn’t come. Within weeks, they were part of the in crowd, “friending” juniors and seniors on Facebook, lunching with a sprawling, noisy group at two pulled-together tables in the cafeteria. I regretted that I’d ever encouraged the friendship, as if they might never have glommed on to each other without that fateful pool party. Kelsey was too sophisticated for Danielle, interested in things I didn’t want Danielle to care about. What was it Sonia had said? Fifteen going on thirty .
Maybe it would be better if we weren’t at the same school, I thought—if I didn’t see Danielle walking by with an upperclassman’s arm draped over her shoulders, or catch her exchanging a full-body hug with a boy she hadn’t seen in half a day. Maybe it was better not to know.
I tried to embrace the changes, to be friendly and encouraging, to understand just how another person had come to inhabit my daughter’s skin, but it was hard to say goodbye to the girl I used to know. One night when it was just the two of us in the kitchen, forming hamburger patties, I asked Danielle if she ever ran into Devon, one of her old middle school friends.
She looked puzzled, as if the name had already slipped out of her working memory. “Devon from math meets? I don’t know. Why?”
I shrugged. “I saw her in the counseling office today, and I remembered how you used to be such good friends.” Devon had been picking up information for the PSAT, more than a year away. I’d almost swooned over her geekiness, her quirky glasses and threadbare Toms. “Maybe you could invite her over here sometime.”
Danielle was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the smack-smack of her hands, shaping a patty. “I don’t know, Mom. We’re so different now. I’m not sure we’d have that much to talk about.”
Another time, on our drive home, I listened to Danielle laugh when Kelsey talked about a kid in her PE class who was so fat, she hadn’t been able to run a single lap around the track.
I cleared my throat and said, “Girls, that’s not nice.” My words hung in the air, and in the embarrassed silence, I realized they had forgotten I was there, as if there were an invisible wall separating us. At the last stoplight, I studied Danielle in the rearview mirror, looking for clues. Who was she now? How had she become this new person?
“What?” she asked finally, meeting my glance.
I shook my head.
Nothing.
Everything .
* * *
On the last Friday of September, Danielle asked if she could spend the night at Kelsey’s, and Phil took me out for an
Instead, Kelsey was always there, waiting in her driveway at 6:45 a.m. each morning, wearing a short skirt or tight jeans, as if she only owned clothes that challenged the dress code. While I played the role of chauffeur, a necessary but unwanted presence in the front seat, she adjusted Danielle’s makeup—glittery shadow, sparkly lip gloss.
Sometimes I caught a glimpse of the two of them passing the counseling office on the way to the cafeteria, and I was hit hard by nostalgia for the girl Danielle used to be, the one with the camo pants and the rotation of graphic T-shirts that said things like Reunite Pangaea or My Other Car is a Flying Saucer . Now, with her shorn hair and glittery eye shadow, she might have been an exotic bird, some rare and endangered species.
I waited for the inevitable breakup, the messy fallout when Kelsey realized that Danielle wasn’t her ticket to cool. I’d been bracing myself for it, like a long fall through the air with the ground looming. But somehow—it didn’t come. Within weeks, they were part of the in crowd, “friending” juniors and seniors on Facebook, lunching with a sprawling, noisy group at two pulled-together tables in the cafeteria. I regretted that I’d ever encouraged the friendship, as if they might never have glommed on to each other without that fateful pool party. Kelsey was too sophisticated for Danielle, interested in things I didn’t want Danielle to care about. What was it Sonia had said? Fifteen going on thirty .
Maybe it would be better if we weren’t at the same school, I thought—if I didn’t see Danielle walking by with an upperclassman’s arm draped over her shoulders, or catch her exchanging a full-body hug with a boy she hadn’t seen in half a day. Maybe it was better not to know.
I tried to embrace the changes, to be friendly and encouraging, to understand just how another person had come to inhabit my daughter’s skin, but it was hard to say goodbye to the girl I used to know. One night when it was just the two of us in the kitchen, forming hamburger patties, I asked Danielle if she ever ran into Devon, one of her old middle school friends.
She looked puzzled, as if the name had already slipped out of her working memory. “Devon from math meets? I don’t know. Why?”
I shrugged. “I saw her in the counseling office today, and I remembered how you used to be such good friends.” Devon had been picking up information for the PSAT, more than a year away. I’d almost swooned over her geekiness, her quirky glasses and threadbare Toms. “Maybe you could invite her over here sometime.”
Danielle was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the smack-smack of her hands, shaping a patty. “I don’t know, Mom. We’re so different now. I’m not sure we’d have that much to talk about.”
Another time, on our drive home, I listened to Danielle laugh when Kelsey talked about a kid in her PE class who was so fat, she hadn’t been able to run a single lap around the track.
I cleared my throat and said, “Girls, that’s not nice.” My words hung in the air, and in the embarrassed silence, I realized they had forgotten I was there, as if there were an invisible wall separating us. At the last stoplight, I studied Danielle in the rearview mirror, looking for clues. Who was she now? How had she become this new person?
“What?” she asked finally, meeting my glance.
I shook my head.
Nothing.
Everything .
* * *
On the last Friday of September, Danielle asked if she could spend the night at Kelsey’s, and Phil took me out for an
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