Fourth Comings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [94]
“The day after tomorrow.”
My mom considered this but said nothing more on the subject.
“Do you ever think about leaving Dad?” I blurted.
My mom was unruffled by this outburst. “You can’t be together as long as we have and not think about it, Jessie.”
“But are you more than thinking about it?” I asked. “Because—”
“Because Bethany has seen the Signs?” She said the last two words derisively.
“She told you about that?”
“Of course she did,” my mother said. “She tells me everything. She even told me that she asked you to be Marin’s legal guardian.”
And here I was, all this time thinking that the Blonde Bond had been broken.
“Have you given her an answer at least?” she asked.
“Not yet.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to make commitments I can’t keep.”
Mom pursed her lips and hummed, as if her unspoken words were darting around the inside of her mouth.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s the problem with your generation. No commitment. Taking responsibility for Marin would mean the end of your carefree lifestyle.”
I took offense. “My life is not carefree….”
“Yes it is. Carefree. Free of care. Young people today want to keep their options open just in case a better opportunity comes along.”
“That’s not true….”
“You’ve got a temporary job, a temporary apartment,” my mom said. “How can you care about anything when you treat everything like it’s only temporary?”
I opened my mouth to protest the obvious: Everything is only temporary. She lectured on.
“None of you seem to be in any hurry to grow up….”
My mom’s comment shed light on one of the most peculiar paradoxes of living here. New York City is the mythical realm of possibilities, where young people venture to do big things and make their mark on the world. And yet, in many ways, this city infantilizes the very people who are looking to do such big and important and mark-on-the-world things. Why grow up when you can outsource just about any “adult” responsibility you can think of? Why drive when you can take the subway? Why cook when you can get cheap takeout? Why learn how to fix the clogged toilet when it’s the landlord’s job? Why grocery shop when there’s Fresh Direct? Why trust your own intuition when you find love while waiting in line for the restroom when you can pay iLoveULab to scan your brain and analyze your instincts for you…?
“And I don’t want you to think I’m picking on you,” Mom said. “From what I hear, it sounds like your friends are even worse.”
I leaned back into the seat and closed my eyes to the maligning of an entire generation.
“Your roommate can’t decide if she’s gay or straight. And just look at Sara. She lives with Scotty, the father of her child, but has no plans to marry….”
“Actually, she does have p—” I began, before stopping myself. I refused to use Sara’s psychotic wedding stratagem as proof that our generation could stay focused on a goal, could, for example, go ahead and organize a lavish wedding without letting anything stand in our way, not even, say, the lack of a willing, would-be groom, because that’s what it means to make a decision and stick to it, goddammit!
“And what about Bridget and Percy?” she asked. “They’ve been engaged for a year. What are they waiting for?”
“Actually,” I began again, “Bridget and Percy are waiting until marriage is legal for gays….”
My mom snorted. “Oh, they’re just spinning their wheels with that kind of talk….”
I refused to admit that I had been thinking along those same lines.
“I get it, Mom,” I groaned. “You were married at twenty-two, so you think everyone should be married by twenty-two.”
“You think I was ready to be a wife and mother at twenty-two? I hadn’t gone to college, hadn’t traveled anywhere outside New Jersey, hadn’t dated anyone, hadn’t slept with anyone besides your father!”
I did everything I could to resist shouting, “TMI! TMI!” I had no idea that the confessional conversation would go even deeper within my discomfort zone.
“I didn’t have the same choices that you have now. I chose from what was available to me, and dedicated myself to it for the next thirty-four