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weren’t estranged, it just never occurred to them to call each other. They sent Christmas cards, some Christmases. It took Ricky forever to get the hang of email, but once he was on email, they emailed. Ricky “wasn’t much for typing,” though. So they didn’t email very often. Point being, Theresa knew what Ricky was saying in evoking their lack of mother — he was acknowledging that they had for years depended on their mother to give a shit on everybody else’s behalf. Their mother giving a shit was the only thing that kept the family together. It was their mother who, at Christmas, made sure everyone had a present for everyone else. It was their mother who always passed the phone to Ricky when Theresa called on Christmas Eve. Their mother gave Theresa Ricky’s news throughout the year (the divorce, the knee operation) and gave Ricky Theresa’s (the divorce, tenure).
    â€œThe women of our mothers’ generation,” Theresa said to her friends. “That’s what they do, right? That’s their job — to give a shit so the rest of us don’t have to bother —”
    Jenn was sprawled on the loveseat shaking her head tightly as she spat an olive pit into her palm. “I get so mad, I get so mad,” she interrupted. “My mom hauling out the address book every year and writing Christmas cards to everyone she’s ever met in her life. I mean it takes her days . Then she carries them all over to Dad’s chair for him to sign. It just — it infuriates me! Like he’s had to put any effort into it whatsoever. Gavin — he doesn’t get why it pisses me off so much when I’m sending a present to his mom or someone. He always goes, Hey, can we go in on that together? And I’m like, No, we fucking can’t! I went shopping for your mother . I put actual thought into it. It took me an afternoon of my own free time !And I bought her a card and I wrapped the present and I’m going to drop it off at the post office . Do you know why you didn’t do any of that? Because it’s a pain in the ass! It’s effort ! But now you wanna get in on it? No! Go and get your mother a present yourself if you want to send her a present.”
    Everybody laughed. Jenn was playing up her anger for effect, because who among them hadn’t tried to get in on someone else’s present, piggybacking on another, better person’s kindness? Her friends were being angry in solidarity with Theresa, dredging up their own slights and outrages and laying them neatly down like place settings — napkins, knives and forks.
    â€œSo what happens when women stop giving a shit?” asked Ruth then, trying to turn things into a seminar all of a sudden. You could always hear the ‘y’ when Ruth said “women” — womyn . Just like she wrote it. They all loved Ruth, but she never “punched the clock,” as Dana liked to say. Her students all adored her, because she was like them — what her friends referred to, in private, as a “true believer.”
    Theresa spoke next in order to shut Ruth down — to avoid the classroom discussion her question was meant to provoke and get back to her story. “The real question is,” she said, “what happens when they all die off, our mothers?”
    It was not the nicest way to get things back on track. Everyone else’s mother but Theresa’s was still alive, so every brow but her own was pinched in existential dread. But at least the attention was back on Theresa. This was her particular gift, she knew, after years of running seminars and sitting on panels. She knew how to manipulate the attention of others — to get it where she needed it to be. She knew how to be ruthless when she had to and she knew this was a trait she had inherited.
    â€œWhat happens, I guess,” said Theresa, “sometimes at least, is that people, sons, step up, the way Ricky