“It’s really difficult to master,” Piper explained, resting her chin on her hand. “You have to be both smartandathletic. And one of my daughters is really good. She’s a perfectionist, and she likes that it’s exacting and difficult. But there’s no big payoff for Irish dance. The best we could hope for is like”—she paused and waved a hand in the air—“a touring company of Riverdance or something. There are no Olympics. No Division I college scholarships. And yet, here I am, spending thousands of hours and dollars, driving my daughter to Irish dance at a studio in Reston on I-66, going west,at rush hour, three days a week.”
Kiersten shuddered. She’d lived in the DC region long enough to experience the vehicular horror of westbound I-66 at rush hour.
“Do all your girls do Irish dance?”
“Of course not,” Piper snorted. “That would be too easy. One does tap and ballet. The other one sings and plays piano. They do musicals. Children’s theater. And where does it all lead?”
“Anorexia and madness?” Kiersten asked.
“Possibly,” Piper conceded. “Or if they are very lucky, they could grow up to be Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders.”
“What about Broadway?”
Piper shrugged. “My girls are talented. But I don’t know if they’rethattalented.”
“So why do it?”
“Because what if theyarethat talented?” Piper asked, her voice plaintive. “Am I going to be the person who sabotages their Broadway dreams? All because I was too lazy to do a little driving? And they enjoy it. Most of the time. Even Bella, who’s started to pull her hair out the night before auditions.”
“Doyouenjoy it?” Kiersten asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe it does matter,” Kiersten said slowly. “Is your family happy?”
Piper paused and seemed to consider the question. “Happy enough? But I mean ... happier than what? Amish people?”
Kiersten chewed on her lower lip and tried to find the right words. “I wish ... I wish we could just drop out for a while and see what it’s like. To have something to compare our modern insanity with.”
“Didn’t we all do that duringCovid?”
“That was different.” Kiersten shook her head. “I’m not talking about isolating and avoiding people. I’m talking about slowing down and finding a different way to do things. Like our neighbor.” She jutted her chin in the direction of the home next door, with its charming window boxes and a tasteful pumpkin display.
“You mean the Influencer?”
Kiersten’s eyes widened. “She’s an influencer?”
Piper nodded. “Half a million followers on Instagram. Hygge Mom, or Urban Chicken Mom, something like that.”
“What doeshyggemean again?”
“It’s like Scandinavian, for cozy and shit.”
“Well then, yeah,” Kiersten admitted. “Like her, but without aprons and a chicken coop.”
“Just quit ... everything,” Piper repeated in a soft voice.
Kiersten nodded dreamily. “All of it. No school. No sports. No tutors. No screens. No so-called ‘enrichment activities.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “An experiment. For the rest of the school year.”
Piper looked grave, as though Kiersten had suggested robbing a bank or going to Walmart on Black Friday. “No screens?”
“No screens,” Kiersten repeated. “We recreate our own childhood. We use our imagination. We play outside. We read.”
“What do you think would happen?”
Kiersten shrugged. “I don’tknowwhat would happen, and that’s why I’m afraid to try it. Maybe we’d still be stressed out and disconnected. Maybe that much time with our children would make us even crazier. Maybe they’d go into withdrawal if we took awayMinecraft. Or maybe we’d be relaxed. Happy. Free.”
Silence settled over the front porch as she considered the implications of the wordfree.
