“Lili keeps driving me crazy with this thing about wanting red nail polish,” Martha grumbled. “Absolutely not. She’s thirteen. A kid that young doesn’t need nail polish.”
She grabbed her daughter’s hand and pushed it toward me.
“But honestly,” she went on, “what would that even look like? On a child?”
“I don’t know,” I said, unsure.
I glanced at my own thirteen-year-old daughter’s hand. A huge sense of relief washed over me when I saw she’d chosen a pale blue.
“What do you think is okay?” I asked, hoping it might ease the tension a little—the kind that probably comes with hosting.
A garden party that had ended up with forty people would have worn anyone down. I was honestly grateful I didn’t have a yard big enough for something like this.
“None of it,” Martha snapped. “They shouldn’t be painting anything until they’re sixteen. Kids are beautiful when they’re natural. And anyway, where does it stop if you let them? First it’s nail polish, then makeup, then boys. School won’t matter to them at all. And then you’ll be wondering why they don’t get into any university.”
I didn’t dare say a word. I scanned the yard, half-hoping to spot a stray bottle of nail polish remover somewhere in the grass, just so I could wipe that blue horror off my daughter’s nails—something I’d found perfectly fine only minutes earlier. Not because I was afraid of anything serious happening. I just didn’t want to be written off as a terrible mother the very first time we met.
There was no remover in sight. So I did my best not to draw attention to my daughter’s hands. I rearranged plates on the table as if I belonged there, then stood close to my husband, trying to blend in. I didn’t even look for my daughter, afraid my gaze might somehow summon her. As if it wasn’t already obvious who the blue-nailed kid belonged to.
I felt a ridiculous amount of relief when I saw her laughing with a girl who had three earrings stacked up along her ear. My child wasn’t any worse than that.
After dark, just as I was pouring myself a drink, Martha wandered over.
“So,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “what do you think of the crowd?”
“They’re really nice. Everyone seems very open.”
What else could I have said? It wasn’t like anyone was unpleasant.
“And that woman over there, the one nagging her daughter?” She nodded toward a strikingly put-together mother in a fitted jacket and pencil skirt.
“She seems fine too.”
“Oh, come on. You can be honest.”
I gave a faint smile. Here we go.
“Apparently her daughter wants two more earrings. Same as another kid here.”
“Yes, I saw.”
“Well, get this. She flat-out forbade it—and you won’t believe why.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“She says if the kid gets two more little hoops in her ears, she’ll end up going down the wrong path. I swear. Those were her exact words.”
“Wow.”
“Right? Is that normal? She was already talking about how the girl—who’s actually really hardworking, great student, genuinely bright—would turn out badly. Next thing you know, she’ll be saying the kid won’t get into university because of two stupid silver earrings. Honestly. Is that normal?”