lips formed a rosebud smile. She placed the tray on the table and stepped back.
"Everyone looks so bright and cheery today. It is a pretty day. I hope you'll give them time to enjoy some of it, Doctor. Young girls need sunshine," she recited as if it was some ancient truth.
"I will, Emma. Thank you."
She nodded, flashed another smile at us and left. I think all of us were wondering for a moment if that might be the way we would be years from now. How deep were Emma's wounds in comparison to ours and what happens if you can't mend, really and truly mend?
Will we always be this angry and afraid of forever failing at relationships and therefore always be terrified of being forever lonely? You didn't have to be a psychiatrist to see that loneliness was Emma's problem. It was like some disease affecting her smile, her laugh, her very movement.
"Help yourselves, girls," Dr. Marlowe said and we did. "I'll be right back. I have to check on lunch," she said and left.
Dr. Marlowe is very smart giving us these breaks, I thought. It's too exhausting otherwise.
"Where do you live?" I asked Cat as I reached for a cookie and lemonade.
"Pacific Palisades," she replied. She nibbled on her cookie.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I go to a parochial school," she said. She brushed back her hair.
"I see you cut your hair," I told her and she nodded. "I did it myself."
"It's an improvement," I said, "but you should try to get your mother to take you over to Patty's on Rodeo."
She stared at me as if I spoke a foreign language.
"That's Rodeo as in Rodeo Drive," I said. "You know if you have a good stylist work on it, your face won't look as chubby."
"Maybe she doesn't think she looks chubby. Maybe she's happy with how she looks," Star said.
"I'm just trying to be helpful."
"Sometimes people can be too helpful."
"That's ridiculous. No one can be too helpful," I said. "People who are always sticking their noses into other people's business are too helpful," she countered. "I don't agree. I'm not sticking my nose into anyone's business. I'm giving her the benefit of my experience and my knowledge."
"Maybe she doesn't want it. You ever think of that?" "Of course she wants it. Don't you, Cathy?" I asked her, practically pleading for her to agree.
She looked like she would cry.
"Don't you see that you're doing the same thing to her that your parents are doing to you?" Misty asked. "What?"
"Trying to get her to take sides," she said.
I stared at her for a moment and then sat back. Star glared at me, and Cathy quietly ate her cookie, her eyes fixed on her lemonade.
Actually, Misty wasn't wrong. There had been something in my voice that reminded me of how my parents spoke to me now, that pleading to get me to agree with one or the other.
"She's right. I'm sorry," I said. "I was really trying to be helpful. I guess I should learn when to keep my mouth shut."
"Amen," Star said.
"You're not perfect," I charged.
"I'm not? Why bless my soul. I thought considering my wonderful home life and upbringing, I was a thing to behold," she said.
Misty laughed.
So did I.
Just as Dr. Marlowe returned.
"Well, I'm glad everyone's getting along so well," she said, and that made us all laugh, even Cat.
3
"Once my parents decided to do battle over custody, the beautifully carved figures on the civilized chessboard of divorce changed to tiny knives they tried to stick into each other," I said. "In other words, things got nastier and nastier until today they rarely speak directly to each other. Civility hangs by a thin thread. What will become of me?" I declared in the voice of a Southern belle, like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. Misty laughed.
"Sometimes, if I'm in the same room with the both of them, my mother will say, 'Jade, please tell your father we're having trouble with the garbage disposal,' and my father will respond gruffly with, 'Tell her I already know about it and I'm taking care of it.' "
"So you really don't tell either of them what the other said,
"Everyone looks so bright and cheery today. It is a pretty day. I hope you'll give them time to enjoy some of it, Doctor. Young girls need sunshine," she recited as if it was some ancient truth.
"I will, Emma. Thank you."
She nodded, flashed another smile at us and left. I think all of us were wondering for a moment if that might be the way we would be years from now. How deep were Emma's wounds in comparison to ours and what happens if you can't mend, really and truly mend?
Will we always be this angry and afraid of forever failing at relationships and therefore always be terrified of being forever lonely? You didn't have to be a psychiatrist to see that loneliness was Emma's problem. It was like some disease affecting her smile, her laugh, her very movement.
"Help yourselves, girls," Dr. Marlowe said and we did. "I'll be right back. I have to check on lunch," she said and left.
Dr. Marlowe is very smart giving us these breaks, I thought. It's too exhausting otherwise.
"Where do you live?" I asked Cat as I reached for a cookie and lemonade.
"Pacific Palisades," she replied. She nibbled on her cookie.
"Where do you go to school?"
"I go to a parochial school," she said. She brushed back her hair.
"I see you cut your hair," I told her and she nodded. "I did it myself."
"It's an improvement," I said, "but you should try to get your mother to take you over to Patty's on Rodeo."
She stared at me as if I spoke a foreign language.
"That's Rodeo as in Rodeo Drive," I said. "You know if you have a good stylist work on it, your face won't look as chubby."
"Maybe she doesn't think she looks chubby. Maybe she's happy with how she looks," Star said.
"I'm just trying to be helpful."
"Sometimes people can be too helpful."
"That's ridiculous. No one can be too helpful," I said. "People who are always sticking their noses into other people's business are too helpful," she countered. "I don't agree. I'm not sticking my nose into anyone's business. I'm giving her the benefit of my experience and my knowledge."
"Maybe she doesn't want it. You ever think of that?" "Of course she wants it. Don't you, Cathy?" I asked her, practically pleading for her to agree.
She looked like she would cry.
"Don't you see that you're doing the same thing to her that your parents are doing to you?" Misty asked. "What?"
"Trying to get her to take sides," she said.
I stared at her for a moment and then sat back. Star glared at me, and Cathy quietly ate her cookie, her eyes fixed on her lemonade.
Actually, Misty wasn't wrong. There had been something in my voice that reminded me of how my parents spoke to me now, that pleading to get me to agree with one or the other.
"She's right. I'm sorry," I said. "I was really trying to be helpful. I guess I should learn when to keep my mouth shut."
"Amen," Star said.
"You're not perfect," I charged.
"I'm not? Why bless my soul. I thought considering my wonderful home life and upbringing, I was a thing to behold," she said.
Misty laughed.
So did I.
Just as Dr. Marlowe returned.
"Well, I'm glad everyone's getting along so well," she said, and that made us all laugh, even Cat.
3
"Once my parents decided to do battle over custody, the beautifully carved figures on the civilized chessboard of divorce changed to tiny knives they tried to stick into each other," I said. "In other words, things got nastier and nastier until today they rarely speak directly to each other. Civility hangs by a thin thread. What will become of me?" I declared in the voice of a Southern belle, like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind. Misty laughed.
"Sometimes, if I'm in the same room with the both of them, my mother will say, 'Jade, please tell your father we're having trouble with the garbage disposal,' and my father will respond gruffly with, 'Tell her I already know about it and I'm taking care of it.' "
"So you really don't tell either of them what the other said,
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