Atmosphere

“This could really be it for me. This could be the chance to get my life together in a new way. For me and for Frances. This could be my do-over, Joan.”

“A do-over?”

“To fix things.”

“Are things so bad they need to be fixed?” Barbara frowned at her. “Joan, really.”

“I’m serious.”

“You think I don’t know how my life looks to people? Frances has no father. I’m barely making ends meet as a secretary working mothers’ hours, borrowing money from Mom and Dad. This isn’t how it was supposed to go for me.”

“Happiness is so hard to come by. I don’t understand why anyone would begrudge anyone else for managing to find some of it.”

Joan wanted to tell [her parents] that they thought she didn’t want to get married, but the truth was that she wanted exactly what Barbara had. She wanted what they had. She wanted what Donna and Hank had. And what every marriage in the whole godforsaken country had.

The right to exist and to love and be proud and happy.

The right to live.

“Do you think if Barbara thought about it for one second, she would still think it’s best for Frances?”

Joan shook her head. “For some kids it would be a good idea. But if Barb were honest with herself, she would see that her child is acting out because she’s lonely and needs to feel cared about and pulled in. Not sent further away.”

“Exactly.”

“But I’m not Barbara,” Joan said. “At the end of the day, Frances is not my kid. She’s my niece.”

“Yes, but also, who cares what word you use? Some aunts are completely irrelevant, and some aunts have been there since the day their niece was born. I had one grandmother I never saw and one who, when she died, I cried for three days. The word isn’t what matters. It’s the specific relationship. You love that kid more than anything on this planet. She knows that. And that’s what matters.”

“This could really be it for me. This could be the chance to get my life together in a new way. For me and for Frances. This could be my do-over, Joan.”

“A do-over?”

“To fix things.”

“Are things so bad they need to be fixed?” Barbara frowned at her. “Joan, really.”

“I’m serious.”

“You think I don’t know how my life looks to people? Frances has no father. I’m barely making ends meet as a secretary working mothers’ hours, borrowing money from Mom and Dad. This isn’t how it was supposed to go for me.”

“Happiness is so hard to come by. I don’t understand why anyone would begrudge anyone else for managing to find some of it.”

Joan wanted to tell [her parents] that they thought she didn’t want to get married, but the truth was that she wanted exactly what Barbara had. She wanted what they had. She wanted what Donna and Hank had. And what every marriage in the whole godforsaken country had.

The right to exist and to love and be proud and happy.

The right to live.

“Do you think if Barbara thought about it for one second, she would still think it’s best for Frances?”

Joan shook her head. “For some kids it would be a good idea. But if Barb were honest with herself, she would see that her child is acting out because she’s lonely and needs to feel cared about and pulled in. Not sent further away.”

“Exactly.”

“But I’m not Barbara,” Joan said. “At the end of the day, Frances is not my kid. She’s my niece.”

“Yes, but also, who cares what word you use? Some aunts are completely irrelevant, and some aunts have been there since the day their niece was born. I had one grandmother I never saw and one who, when she died, I cried for three days. The word isn’t what matters. It’s the specific relationship. You love that kid more than anything on this planet. She knows that. And that’s what matters.”