The Editor. Стивен РоулиЧитать онлайн книгу.
my mother resents me for her being alone? That she took my side once, and it cost her her marriage? That even though it was the right thing to do, in the moment she probably didn’t envision how long life would be in the wake of it? That we’re barely on speaking terms right now? “I don’t think my mother got much of what she wanted out of life.”
“She has her children.”
“That’s true, but hardly anything else.”
“Does anyone? Get what they truly want.”
The question strikes me as odd, borderline offensive, even, from someone who has lived such a fascinating life. I need more alcohol for this. “Well, no. I would imagine that’s rare. But I also don’t think she was given the tools to ask.”
“That’s true for a lot of women our age.” Jackie steps in front of her desk to hand me my drink. She stands and leans elegantly with her legs crossed and one hand on the desk, looking like the perfect line sketch a fashion designer might make while dreaming up patterns for clothes. “I feel for her.”
“That’s good. As a reader, I hope that you would.”
“I’ll try over the course of our working together not to sound like your analyst. Writing it, I’m sure, was therapy enough.”
“If I hadn’t written it, I think I might have gone insane. Or become a Republican. Something horrible.”
Jackie laughs in such a way, not heartily but genuinely, that I want it to be my validation forever. “You remind me of my son.”
I can feel my face turn beet red, so I look down at my feet. They look cloddish in large, heavy shoes, the opposite of her narrow, elegant heels. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Acknowledge that I have difficulty accepting compliments, then lay the biggest one of all on me and expect me to be okay.”
Jackie waves her hand over her drink, wafting in some of the aroma. “Perhaps this round is too sweet.”
“Deflection!” This is the rum talking. “Are you not comfortable with compliments either? Could this be something we have in common?” I take a victory sip.
She shakes her head. “You didn’t compliment me.”
“The heck I didn’t.”
“A compliment for my son is a compliment for me?”
I nod enthusiastically, and I can tell this pleases her. She moves behind the desk to retake her seat. “He failed the bar exam multiple times, which I’m sure you know if you read the Daily News.” I can feel her utter sense of pride in him, as if this were self-depreciation.
I sink back into my chair and chuckle. I do remember the headlines: “The Hunk Flunks.” That must have stung. But, still. I can’t believe how much fun I’m having. I can’t believe how much my outlook has changed in a matter of weeks. I can’t believe that this is my life now. It feels resurgent, sparkling with possibility, like I’ve made some sort of comeback from an exile I hadn’t deserved.
“I think my lunch lady is working,” I confide.
Jackie sips from her cocktail and her eyes sparkle with thousands of secrets. “I think mine is too.” When she finishes, she sets her glass down and holds out the silver tray to collect mine. Another magical moment ended too soon, and we’re on to something new. “Now,” she says. “Let’s get down to work.”
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