The Daughters (6 page)

He just gaped at her. Clearly, it was too late to correct herself. Finally he tipped the mic back to his face. “What’s your
name again?” he asked.

She swallowed. This wasn’t good. “Lizzie.”

“Lizzie. Well, thanks for sharing.” He turned to the cameraman. “I think we’re done here,” he muttered.

The camera. She had almost forgotten. This had all been recorded.

“Wait a minute—” Lizzie said.

Before she could finish, the reporter and the cameraman had stepped away, back into the swirling mass of people. A moment
later, they were gone.

Lizzie sat, paralyzed. Briefly, she thought of running after them, but she knew it was pointless. They were gone for good.
And she had no idea who they were.

“Thank you,” she heard Katia say on her left to the photographers. “Thank you very much.”

Had her mother heard what she’d said? And had she really just said that?

As the cameras finally stopped, Katia squeezed Lizzie’s arm. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh?” she asked, grinning.

“Yeah,” Lizzie said faintly, trying to breathe. Miraculously it looked like she hadn’t heard a thing.

A pounding remix of one of her favorite songs suddenly filled the space and the lights dimmed. More assistants appeared and
pulled off the plastic from the runway. Anticipation crackled in the air. The moments before a show began usually gave Lizzie
chills, but this time she was too panicked to pay attention. All she could hear was what she’d said to the reporter.

Katia squeezed Lizzie’s hand in anticipation. “Here we go,” she whispered.

Lizzie tried to squeeze back. She had broken the golden rule, the First Commandment. Well, actually, it was rule number six
of being a Daughter, but it was still a big rule. It should have been number one.

She had put down her mother.

In public.

To a reporter.

On video.

Now Lizzie was
really
never coming to Fashion Week again.

“Fuzz? That you? Dinner’s here!” her father called from the kitchen.

“Be right there!” she called back, as she walked into the apartment with her heart in her mouth.

She was still in shock. After the show, she’d told her mom that she had homework to finish and run out of the tent, leaving
her backstage surrounded by more reporters and a flock of fashionista friends. The twelve-minute show had passed by in a blur.
Her answer to the reporter pounded inside her head, blocking out the DJ’s music. Instead of the models coming down the runway,
all she could see was the reporter’s open mouth and his gold filling. Now her Trina Turk dress was soaked from sweat, and
she wished she could just take a shower, go to bed, and pretend this had never happened.

But she couldn’t. There was
tape
of her saying what she’d said. It was out there, loose in the world. Even though Katia hadn’t heard her, it was just a matter
of time until she did, which meant she was going to have to tell her. Lizzie’s throat knotted up just at the thought of it.

She opened the door to her room, and felt the knot relax slightly. Her room always calmed her. She called it the Cloud because
every color was either blue or white. The walls were painted the color of the sky, and the carpet was a luxurious white shag.
Her desk was white, her MacBook was white, and even Sid Vicious looked like a big fluffy snowball curled on her white and
blue tufted bedspread.

“Hi, Sid,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and unbuckling her sandals.

Sid raised his head and blinked sleepily. A lone tooth stuck out of his mouth and almost up his nose, giving him a surly,
defiant air. She’d given him his name because of it. Lizzie liked to imagine that he was the preeminent punk rock star of
the cat world.

Sid went back to sleep, and she took out her iPhone. All the way home in the town car, she had been too panicked to text her
friends. Now she thought she might call one of them.

“Fuzz?” she heard her dad yell. “Food’s getting cold!”

She put down the phone. She’d wait until after dinner. She changed into a T-shirt, shorts, and Havaianas, and when she walked
out to the kitchen her dad was doing a last polish on his column with a red pencil. Takeout containers of steaming Thai food
were spread out on the table in front of him.

“Got pad thai and duck skewers,” he said, looking up. “And spring rolls. Nice and healthy,” he said, chuckling.

From the time she was born, it had been obvious to everyone who Lizzie actually did look like: her father. She and Bernard
Summers had the same buggy eyes and the same confused nose, and even though his hair wasn’t red, it was the same frizzy, gravity-defying
texture. They both had thick eyebrows (though his were furrier), full lips, and broad knuckles that they cracked when they
were nervous. When he married Katia, the press had dubbed them “Beauty and the Beast.” But despite his odd looks, Bernard
Summers had enjoyed a very successful life. He was a brilliant journalist, and had twice been a finalist for the Pulitzer
Prize. Plus, he’d married the most beautiful woman in the world (who happened to appreciate good writing). Lizzie liked to
think that she’d inherited some of her dad’s writing talent along with his looks. But she didn’t expect to marry someone gorgeous.
Weird-looking girls usually didn’t score the Brad Pitt look-alikes of the world.

“So, how was the show?” her father asked as she sat down.

“Great,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “Mom did an amazing job.”

“I would have been there, but this column’s not even close,” he said, shaking his head. “And we have to leave for Paris in
the morning. Those L’Ete people wouldn’t budge. There’s so much red tape at that company it’s like talking to the Pentagon.”

L’Ete, a French cosmetics company, was one of Katia’s biggest and best modeling contracts. Three times a year her mother flew
to Paris to stand in an evening dress and heels in front of obvious landmarks like the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower.
As if wearing a certain kind of blush would transport you to Paris.

“Would you rather I stayed home with you?” he asked. “Instead of Irlene? I don’t
have
to go.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad. Go. It’ll be okay.” Lizzie chewed her duck. If Katia had heard what she’d said to the reporter, maybe
a nice long trip was exactly what they needed.

Suddenly Lizzie heard the front door burst open. “I’m home!” her mother called from the hall, and Lizzie felt her stomach
tighten again.
You’re going to have to tell her
, she thought.
Tonight—before they leave
.

“We’re in here!” Bernard called out as Katia burst through the swinging door.

“Guess what?” she asked, her aquamarine eyes shining like an excited child’s. In her dress and heels, she looked way too stunning
to be standing in their kitchen. “Saks, Nordstrom, and Neiman Marcus all placed orders. Isn’t that
incredible
?” She stomped her feet on the ground. “And Bergdorf’s, too. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

Katia never got this excited about a modeling assignment. It was almost sweet.

“Fantastic!” Bernard crowed. He stood up and gave his wife a vaguely paternal hug and kiss. The fifteen-year age difference
between them came out whenever Bernard was proud of her. “I knew you could do it. Lizzie said it was a great show.”

Katia kicked off her heels and sat down at the table. “The Paris stores are interested, too,” she said. “I’ll be meeting with
them after the shoot with L’Ete. Of course, that means we might end up staying a bit longer than a week.” She said this last
part to Lizzie as she spooned a small heap of pad thai on her plate. Instead of following a certain diet, her mother simply
ate three-quarters less than everyone else.

“That’s okay,” Lizzie said, straining to be nice. Seeing her mom was starting to make her angry again. “It really was a great
show. Congratulations.”

Katia ate a small nibble of food. “Martin Meloy was there,” she said to Bernard. “He said some kind things.”

Lizzie mowed her fork over her rice. “Mom?” she began, still looking at her plate. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She felt Katia’s eyes on her, waiting.

“When we sat down, and the paparazzi came up to us, this guy, a reporter, kind of ambushed me, and he started asking me questions,
and I think I said some stuff that came out wrong.”

Katia didn’t say anything. Still looking down, she waited.

“It wasn’t anything too bad, but I still thought I should—”

“I heard what you said, Lizzie,” her mother said. “I heard the whole thing.”

Lizzie looked up. Her mother was staring at her plate, dragging a piece of tofu around with her fork.

Bernard looked up from his reading. “Heard what?” he asked absently.

“Lizzie spoke to a reporter,” her mother said in a low voice. Lizzie felt her heart skip a beat. “About me.”

Her father put down his work. “What?” he asked.

“It just slipped out. I didn’t mean it.”

“
What
slipped out?” Bernard wanted to know.

Lizzie paused.
Please Mom
, she thought.
Don’t tell him
.

“She said she was sick of me,” Katia murmured. “And some other things.” In an even lower voice she added, “On videotape.”

“What?”
Bernard sputtered. “This was
filmed
?”

Katia held up a cautionary hand. “I already spoke to Natasha. It was a couple of guys from an English news channel, nothing
big. She’s taking care of it.” Katia turned her stony glare back at Lizzie. Her eyes had turned into a deep, furious purple.
“I’m just sorry that’s how you feel, Lizzie. I would never have asked you to come if I’d known. And from now on, you don’t
have to come.”

“Mom, I didn’t do it on purpose,” she argued, starting to get panicked. “And I did ask you before we got there—”

“You’re
fourteen years old
,” her father broke in, his voice perilously close to a shout.

“Dad—”

“You should know better than that,” he yelled, cutting her off. “She’s your mother!”

“Don’t you think I
know
that?” Lizzie shot back. “Don’t you think I deal with that
every single day
?”

Katia and Bernard looked at her, startled.

“Do you think that’s fun for me?” she went on. “Getting my picture taken with you? Being
compared
to you?”

Katia stared at her, aghast. Lizzie was startled, too, but she couldn’t take the two of them judging her. Not when they so
clearly didn’t care about her feelings.

“I asked you tonight in the car if I could just meet you inside!” she yelled. “Remember? And you totally blew me off!”

“Lizzie, don’t be so dramatic—” Katia said.

“Look at me! Do you think it’s easy going to things like that with you? Why don’t you get it? Or do you just want to show
everyone how great you look for having a fourteen-year-old daughter?”

Katia’s face went pale. Bernard rose to his feet. “Go to your room,” he ordered. “Now!”

“Is that what it is, Mom? Am I just there to make you look good?” The words were bubbling up from within her, from places
she didn’t even know existed.

“Well, I’m sorry, Lizzie,” Katia said coolly. “I’m sorry that I’ve given you a good school and a beautiful apartment. I’m
sorry I’m such a terrible mother.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just telling you it’s hard! It’s hard being around you!”

Katia took a deep breath. “Maybe if you were just more comfortable with yourself,” she said. “If you didn’t compare yourself…
if you just accepted the fact—” Katia stopped herself, as if she realized what she was about to say.

“That I’m ugly?” Lizzie asked, her voice trembling.

“Oh, Lizzie,” Katia sighed, looking down at her lap. She was either unwilling or unable to look Lizzie in the eye. And that
was as good an answer as any.

Lizzie’s face was so hot it felt like her skin might sizzle off the bones.

She stood up, letting the legs of her chair screech painfully against the tile.

“Lizzie,” her dad said in a warning voice.

She ignored him.

She ran straight out of the room, into the hall. In one swift motion she pulled open the front door and slammed it behind
her so hard the walls shook.

She bypassed the elevator and dashed into the stairwell. Flight after flight, she ran down the stairs, the sound of her steps
echoing against the walls. At last, when she felt like she might throw up, she stopped and leaned against the cool wall. The
first sob came, and then she couldn’t stop. She sat down on a step and threw her arms around her bare, stubbly knees, and
feeling as sad and alone as if she’d never had parents at all, she cried.

After she collected herself, she took the elevator to the lobby and went to the Barnes & Noble on the corner. She read
The Great Gatsby
, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the fiction section, until she finished it. At ten o’clock she tiptoed back into the
apartment, on alert for a run-in, but her parents’ bedroom door was closed. When she awoke the next morning they were gone.

Now as she climbed the limestone steps of her school’s main staircase, she felt unsettled and uneasy, as if she’d had a bad
dream. She’d never screamed like that at her parents before—she’d never even come close. But even worse was what her mother
had said. Every time she remembered Katia’s words—and the subtext underneath them—she felt a sharp pain in her chest. So her
mother hadn’t been oblivious after all.

It was all so painful and embarrassing that she wasn’t even sure what to say about this to Carina and Hudson. At least being
here at school, she could try to push last night out of her mind.

When she walked into homeroom, Hudson and Carina were sitting in their usual spot, in the desks by the blackboard, but both
of them looked upset. Carina had her tin of Carmex out, and was rubbing it onto her lips, which was always a sign that she
was stressed about something.

“You guys okay?” she asked, looking around quickly for Todd.