upon itself. First, you have to satisfy basic needs, like food, water, air, sleep. Then you move up to the need for security. And then you have social needs, which are like family and love and stuff. And then esteem needs. And then the highest need is what he called the self-actualizing need, which is where people have the need to fulfill their potential. Or whatever.”
I stopped listening when she got to the need for family and love. I was remembering a professor I’d had in college. He was a Jesuit priest. I wished I could remember his name. He said Mass at ten o’clock on Sunday nights at a tiny stone chapel in the middle of that cold Wisconsin campus.
In his homilies, this old Jesuit always talked about desire, and how we were connected by our desires. He said the most basic human desire was the desire to be desired by one you desire. I remembered how the priest almost cried when he talked about it.
God, were we all so lonely? I sipped a second beer. I didn’t even like beer, but it traditionally came with moules frites, and I had appropriated for myself the beer that arrived with Coco’s meal.
Coco was still talking. “So this Maslow guy said you could tell who was self-actualized—meaning, who was at the top of the needs pyramid—because they were the people who were spontaneous and unconventional and really into peak experiences.”
“What’s a peak experience again?”
“ Mo-oooom, ” Coco said, exasperated by my ignorance. “You know, like when you have just a supergreat time, and it makes you feel really happy and inspired and totally, like, transformed. Like this.” She leaned across the table so close that our faces were almost touching. “This is totally a peak experience.”
I felt like reaching over and covering her with kisses. She seemed so happy. And hopeful. This was my daughter. I loved that she had the capacity to feel such joy.
“And Madrid will be fun, too, right?” I added cautiously, knowing that I was pushing my luck. “Won’t it be fun to see Solange?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. Then she took a deep, theatrical breath. “But I actually have to tell you something.”
Never mind the “actually.” I was too focused on what might follow. Oh, God. Was this why she was so moody? She wasn’t even sexually active. ( Was she? ) She couldn’t possibly be pregnant. ( Could she? )
“It’s really important,” she said.
I knew I didn’t like that Jack kid she was spending time with over winter break. Her gay guy friends were so much nicer, smarter, and more mature than her straight guy friends. Or did I think that only because I considered them safer?
“What is it, honey?” I asked, holding her hand. I did so more to steady myself than her. My breathing was becoming increasingly shallow as I searched my brain, trying to think who it could be. I’ll kill him. Whoever it is, I will kill him with my bare hands.
Coco sighed deeply. “I can’t help you out on that serving thing in Madrid.”
I was equal parts relieved and infuriated. “Why not?”
“Because I look like a dork in black pants and a white blouse,” she stated unequivocally.
“Coco, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Mother, please! Don’t make me do it. You can’t make me do this. It’s totally bad for my self-esteem.”
Damn her and her self-esteem! Of course it’d be easier for me to let her off the hook. But didn’t she owe me a few hours of light labor for bringing her to Paris? And what about Solange? After all the thoughtful gifts she’d sent Coco over the years—cashmere sweaters, signed museum prints, the Harry Potter books. First editions! Only to be rewarded now by this relentless self-absorbed brooding and vain preening? This boorish self-involvement?
“Coco, I’m sorry. But I really do need your help. And so does Solange.”
She slouched resentfully and stared at her plate. Her eyes were moist with tears. “You’re trying to ruin my life, aren’t you? You want everyone to be
I stopped listening when she got to the need for family and love. I was remembering a professor I’d had in college. He was a Jesuit priest. I wished I could remember his name. He said Mass at ten o’clock on Sunday nights at a tiny stone chapel in the middle of that cold Wisconsin campus.
In his homilies, this old Jesuit always talked about desire, and how we were connected by our desires. He said the most basic human desire was the desire to be desired by one you desire. I remembered how the priest almost cried when he talked about it.
God, were we all so lonely? I sipped a second beer. I didn’t even like beer, but it traditionally came with moules frites, and I had appropriated for myself the beer that arrived with Coco’s meal.
Coco was still talking. “So this Maslow guy said you could tell who was self-actualized—meaning, who was at the top of the needs pyramid—because they were the people who were spontaneous and unconventional and really into peak experiences.”
“What’s a peak experience again?”
“ Mo-oooom, ” Coco said, exasperated by my ignorance. “You know, like when you have just a supergreat time, and it makes you feel really happy and inspired and totally, like, transformed. Like this.” She leaned across the table so close that our faces were almost touching. “This is totally a peak experience.”
I felt like reaching over and covering her with kisses. She seemed so happy. And hopeful. This was my daughter. I loved that she had the capacity to feel such joy.
“And Madrid will be fun, too, right?” I added cautiously, knowing that I was pushing my luck. “Won’t it be fun to see Solange?”
“Yeah,” she said softly. Then she took a deep, theatrical breath. “But I actually have to tell you something.”
Never mind the “actually.” I was too focused on what might follow. Oh, God. Was this why she was so moody? She wasn’t even sexually active. ( Was she? ) She couldn’t possibly be pregnant. ( Could she? )
“It’s really important,” she said.
I knew I didn’t like that Jack kid she was spending time with over winter break. Her gay guy friends were so much nicer, smarter, and more mature than her straight guy friends. Or did I think that only because I considered them safer?
“What is it, honey?” I asked, holding her hand. I did so more to steady myself than her. My breathing was becoming increasingly shallow as I searched my brain, trying to think who it could be. I’ll kill him. Whoever it is, I will kill him with my bare hands.
Coco sighed deeply. “I can’t help you out on that serving thing in Madrid.”
I was equal parts relieved and infuriated. “Why not?”
“Because I look like a dork in black pants and a white blouse,” she stated unequivocally.
“Coco, don’t be ridiculous.”
“Mother, please! Don’t make me do it. You can’t make me do this. It’s totally bad for my self-esteem.”
Damn her and her self-esteem! Of course it’d be easier for me to let her off the hook. But didn’t she owe me a few hours of light labor for bringing her to Paris? And what about Solange? After all the thoughtful gifts she’d sent Coco over the years—cashmere sweaters, signed museum prints, the Harry Potter books. First editions! Only to be rewarded now by this relentless self-absorbed brooding and vain preening? This boorish self-involvement?
“Coco, I’m sorry. But I really do need your help. And so does Solange.”
She slouched resentfully and stared at her plate. Her eyes were moist with tears. “You’re trying to ruin my life, aren’t you? You want everyone to be
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