HappilyEverAfter: PennySavedPennyEarned as a new member you don’t have access to our archives. But from this moment on you’ll be able to read every conversation, even the ones that you don’t contribute to. However we strongly encourage you to show up and contribute. Participation is very important. We want to know our pod is a priority for you. So dive right in. Roll around in the dirt with us. Nothing is off-limits with this group.
PennySavedPennyEarned: Ooo, that sounds delicious. Have to admit I love gossip.
HappilyEverAfter: And we love mothers who gossip! Some pods are filled with such goody goodies. That’s not us.
OneWayAtATime: So let me set expectations and tell you how we work. We have a six-month vetting period. A chance for you to check us out and for us to check you out. If it’s not a match we go our separate ways, no harm no foul. But make no mistake—we want it to work out.
TortoiseWinsTheRace: Yes we do!
WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Okay, so can we get to last night? What does everybody think?
TortoiseWinsTheRace: I think Ruth Thorne has an incredible ass.
HappilyEverAfter: Gotta give it to her. She’s got a rockin bod.
PennySavedPennyEarned: I bet she works really hard at staying in shape.
WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Oh, I’m sure works her ass off for that ass. She just makes it look effortless.
OneWayAtATime: Unlike her daughter. Did you see Marley? Poor girl. She’s fat-ish.
PennySavedPennyEarned: I wouldn’t call her fat. Maybe a little chunky.
HappilyEverAfter: Must be hard when her mother’s so hot. To have to compete with that. Maybe she’s just given up.
OneWayAtATime: I’m sorry to say, I know it’s not PC, but if you’re a teenage girl, skinny is power.
TortoiseWinsTheRace: Stop it everybody. We can’t give our girls that message. We have to work against that, ladies. Come on. Btw PennySavedPennyEarned, we all have DD’s no sons, so we’re very big on girl issues.
PennySavedPennyEarned: DD?
TortoiseWinsTheRace: Darling daughter. DS is darling son. DW darling wife. DH darling husband.
WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: I agree with TortoiseWinsTheRace though the body image stuff is so tricky. You just want to give them every advantage. You want them to be popular.
HappilyEverAfter: Well, it was an interesting night to say the least. Do you think Study Right will make it?
OneWayAtATime: Maybe. It will take Gemma months to get back up to speed. If what Ruth said is true and she gives away half her tutoring packages, she runs the business on a very tight margin.
WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: If they truly are besties again I’m sure Ruth will step in. She’s loaded.
TortoiseWinsTheRace: Change of subject. Have any of your girls used the DivaCup?
PennySavedPennyEarned: I don’t get it. You have to wash it out in the sink. How does that work in a public bathroom? What’s wrong with tampons and pads?
WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Um—they’re expensive PennySavedPennyEarned.
PennySavedPennyEarned: You can buy them in bulk at Costco.
Whoops, that was close. Has she exposed herself on day one? Many moms choose misleading usernames. The opposite of who they really are. Who’s PennySavedPennyEarned? Of course, the mother who threw the kindergarten meet and greet. Who served lobster and mojitos.
Ruth’s head is spinning. She reminds herself that only the moderator knows her identity. And who is the moderator? TortoiseWinsTheRace? HappilyEverAfter? OneWayAtATime? The anonymity is both seductive and dangerous. She’s going to have to be very careful not to give herself away while trying to prove herself at the same time.
HappilyEverAfter: Ladies, I’m outta here. Gotta hit the post office before it closes.
TortoiseWinsTheRace: I hope we haven’t scared you off with our candor, PennySavedPennyEarned.
PennySavedPennyEarned: Absolutely not. I’m honored you invited me to join.
OneWayAtATime: Till next time mamas.
WhatYouSeeIsNotWhatYouGet: Ciao xxx
Ruth goes to the bathroom and looks in the mirror. Her eyes are bright, her pupils dilated. The last time she felt this way was when she got her acceptance letter to NYU. She was off to a new life. A new city. She’d reinvent herself. She’d find her people. She’d come back to California triumphant; she’d finally metamorphose into Ruth Ann Thorne the Great. Well, that never happened, but now that’s she gotten the Momonymous invitation, perhaps it will. She has the sense her life is about to change in a profound way.
She hears Marley’s heavy tread on the stairs and fights the urge to tell her to walk more delicately.
Marley grunts at her and goes straight for the cereal. She pours herself a huge bowl of Rice Krispies, sprinkles it with two tablespoons of sugar, sits at the table, and starts shoveling it in.
Ruth is not going to let Marley spoil her morning. “Guess what?”
Marley looks up at her dully.
“I got invited to join a Momonymous pod.”
Marley scrunches up her face. “What’s that?”
“You don’t know what Momonymous is?”
Marley shakes her head.
“Forget it.”
Marley sits upright, the edge in Ruth’s voice a warning. “I’m sorry, I just woke up. What is it? Tell me. It must be good. You seem happy.”
“I am. I’m happy,” Ruth says defensively.
Marley stands and hugs Ruth. Her daughter smells yeasty. She’s always had that bread smell in the morning. It was delicious when she was young, Ruth couldn’t get enough of her scent. Now, Ruth fights off her revulsion.
“What do you have going on today?” asks Ruth, already knowing the answer. Nothing, she has nothing going on today—she never does.
Marley shrugs. Her phone buzzes. She picks it up, smiles, and runs up the stairs.
A few minutes later the doorbell rings. A delivery for Ruth. Flowers from Gemma, who can ill afford them. Her favorite. Calla lilies.
Thank you for last night. You are my savior, reads the card.
Ruth grins. What a morning!
BEE
Bee and her friends are in the process of reclaiming the word slut. They call each other slut constantly, so many times that all the sting has been taken out of it. They may as well be calling each other honey or sweetie pie.
SLUTZ is the private name of Bee’s dance crew. Their public name is BeeBop7. Bee is choreographing a dance for the high school talent show. It’s gonna be lit!
On Wednesday, Bee sends a message to SLUTZ, a group chat consisting of Frankie, Abby, Coco, Shanice, Aditi, and Marley.
Rehearsal 6:30 Saturday night get ready to grind yo asses!!!
She probably should have sent Marley a coded text. If Ruth ever found out Marley was part of a group called SLUTZ, that would be the end of her. Ruth would never let her leave the house again. She’d probably pull her out and homeschool her.
Within minutes everybody has replied yes except Marley, which is no surprise. Joining Bee’s friend circle is a stretch for Marley, but Marley needs a bigger life and there’s no way Bee’s going to shrink hers just because Marley’s back in it. It’s time to woman up. They’re first years now, official teenagers. All of them have pubes, one of them has been fingered, and most of them have their periods. Bee caught Coco reading the back of the tampon box in her bathroom a few weeks ago.
“I can show you how to use them,” Bee said.
“I know how to use a tampon,” snapped Coco.
Bee knew she was lying and felt a flood of compassion for her. Back in fifth grade Bee was the only one with her period—it was a nightmare. She was so young she didn’t even know what a vagina really was. “It’s a hole?” she’d cried to her mom. “I have a hole down there?” “Actually, you have two,” her mother had said.
It seemed like the biggest bait and switch. Up until then it had been all girl power this, girl power that, girls are better, smarter, faster, and oh, yeah, there’s just thi
s one tiny thing, one little price to pay—you’ll have blood coming out of your hole every month for the rest of your life!
Now Coco is the only one who hasn’t gotten her period and being late is just as terrible as being early. Sometimes Bee wishes she were a boy. Everything right out there, including your genitals, just dangling there for everybody to see. Simple. Easy access. Uncomplicated. You could just say what you felt if you were a boy, instead of this constant stuffing of emotions, trying to keep them named, organized, neat. Her feelings were so big sometimes that she actually googled exorcism, which led to her watching the 1970s movie The Exorcist. It wasn’t scary in the least little bit. What was scary were Linda Blair’s white knee socks.
Bee texts Marley.
Marls you’re coming right?
Not sure. Got something with Mom
What? Eating pad thai and watching Titanic for the millionth time? COME!!
KK! comes Marley’s reply a minute later.
MARLEY
The SLUTZ crew occupies an entire lunch table. They’re watching dance compilations on Dubsmash. Marley is so nervous she can’t bring herself to look up. Her back feels permanently rounded. She’s probably growing a hump.
Bee scooches her chair closer to Marley’s. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.
“I don’t think I can come on Saturday,” says Marley.
Bee nods and offers Marley half of her sandwich. “Meat loaf with Sriracha ketchup.”
Even though Marley has already eaten two slices of pizza, she wolfs down the sandwich; she’s starving. Her mother hasn’t gone grocery shopping in nearly a week. She’s punishing Marley because she discovered she’d been making midnight visits to the pantry, devouring sleeves of Fudge Stripes and blocks of Tillamook extra sharp cheddar cheese.
Marley watches Bee take slow sips from her water bottle until one by one the SLUTZ depart, leaving the two of them alone.
“I know you’re afraid,” says Bee.
“She’ll kill me.”
“She’s already killing you. You’re a prisoner in your house. She treats you like a second grader,” Bee hisses.
“I’m not a prisoner.” Is she?
“Marls, it’s time. You need to break out. We need to break out! You’ll love these girls, I promise you. Just give them a chance. Everybody will be talking about us—everybody.” She leans forward, her eyes gleaming. “It’s gunna be sick!”
Marley’s skin prickles with excitement. Often Marley feels like she’s floating above her body. She needs to jam herself back into her chest, her legs, her—intimate parts (she can’t bring herself to say vagina, the word makes her deeply uncomfortable).
In the privacy of her bedroom she’s been studying Beyoncé’s moves, copying them in front of her mirror.
“What worries you the most?” asks Bee.
Marley imagines her mother watching her writhe onstage. “All of it.”
“It’ll be fine. We just have to give it a feminist spin. Here’s what we’ll say. We’re not ashamed of our sexuality. We aren’t letting anybody define our sexuality for us. This is a take back our bodies dance. It’ll work. They’ll buy into it. In the end, they’ll be proud of us. You’ll see.”
Bee’s confidence is powerful medicine; it always has been for Marley.
* * *
“Don’t stay up too late,” says Ruth as she pulls up to the curb in front of Gemma’s house.
“I won’t,” says Marley, her hand on the car door handle. Her mother does treat her like a second grader.
“Maybe you should just come home tonight. You know you don’t sleep well in Bee’s bed. I don’t want you to be tired and cranky tomorrow.”
“Bee’s got a blow-up mattress.”
“Really? Is that new?”
Her mother’s stalling. She doesn’t want Marley to leave.
“Maybe I should poke my head in, say hi to Gemma.”
“She’s working.”
“This late?”
“That’s what Bee said.”
“Oh, well, then.”
Marley hesitates.
“It’s fine, get out of here,” says her mother, waving her away.
Maybe she shouldn’t go. She can use her mother as an excuse. “But what will you do?”
Her mother’s face darkens. “What will I do? You mean whatever will I do without you, Marley? Not everything revolves around you.”
“I know that. That’s not what I was saying,” Marley squeaks.
“I’m going out for dinner, to the Harris’s restaurant. Madison’s been trying to get me there for years.”
“Really? That sounds fun, Mom!”
Her mother grits her teeth. Not the right answer, apparently. Her tone is all wrong. Too enthusiastic.
Marley gets out of the car slowly, just the way her mother likes it, and the second her feet touch the ground, her mother speeds off.
* * *
“Marley!” says Gemma, who is home after all, her car in the garage. Bee must have anticipated Ruth would try and muscle in on Marley’s evening, so she lied about it. She gives Marley a hug and pulls her through the doorway. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” Now that Marley’s in the house, all of her tensions dissolve. She’s committed to the SLUTZ. She grins at Gemma.
“Everyone’s in the basement,” says Gemma. “The pizza just arrived.”
* * *
They start by practicing the Booty Pop. Once they’ve got that down, they move on to the Shiggy and Thotiana. Then the Renegade.
On their last pass, all of them moving in perfect unison, Marley is exhilarated. What joy, what liberation to move like this! Squatting and jerking, jumping and chest-beating. Punching and wrist-crossing and pelvis-thrusting and clenching her fists. She’s never felt so powerful. Her body just knows what to do. She sees a move once and can immediately imitate it. The girls crowd around her, impressed. They compliment her. They decide to put her in the center of the group, in the front row, to showcase her moves. All eyes on her.
“Well?” says Bee, her face red with perspiration. “I can see you just hated that. You probably want to go home right now cause you’re such shit at dancing. You must be so embarrassed.” She punches Marley softly on the arm. “I knew you’d be good, I didn’t know you’d be that good.”
Marley lowers her head so Bee can’t see the tears of happiness filling her eyes.
RUTH
Ruth can’t shake her suspicion that the moderator of her mom pod is Madison Harris. She had impressed Madison at back-to-school night. And now she is part of a tribe. A very small, elite tribe that hasn’t invited any new members in since its inception. Sometimes it’s good to be a late bloomer.
Madison and her husband, Cliff, own a popular restaurant called Home Kitchen. Ruth Yelps the restaurant and sees that it has mostly four- and five-star reviews. Their specialties: meat loaf, pot roast and potatoes, buttermilk fried chicken, and according to the comments you can almost always score a seat at the bar.
* * *
Ruth arrives at Home Kitchen nine minutes later. The buttery smell of biscuits, cake, and fried food is overpowering. She’s already studied the menu and knows what she’s going to order—a Cobb salad. She allows herself carbs only at lunch.
She stands in the doorway and surveys the scene. She spies Madison across the room. She’s got a great body, Ruth has to give her that. Long, toned legs, a flat stomach, perky little boobs.
Ruth feels breathless as she realizes how much she wants a relationship with Madison, and not just a private, anonymous one.
Madison turns, sees her standing at the hostess desk, and walks across the room, a vacant smile on her face. “Oh, hi, do you have a reservation?” she asks.
There is absolutely no recognition in her eyes. Yes, Ruth is dressed down in yoga pants and Allbirds, her hair in a ponytail, but come on! Is Madison faking that she doesn’t know who she is? Is this some sort of a power play?
Ruth gives Madison her
own vacant look in return. “No, but I was hoping to sit at the bar.” She frowns then, a friendly little frown. “Do you—” She lets the question ride.
“Yes, we serve the full menu at the bar,” says Madison. She looks at Ruth, perplexed, then her face suddenly fills with warmth. “Ruth, I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you! You’re normally so—” She whirls her hand at Ruth.
So what?
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in Lulu,” says Madison.
Actually, Ruth’s in Stella McCartney, but she isn’t about to reveal that to Madison. Labels are nothing to brag about—that’s what her mother always said.
Ruth can’t resist a little verbal slap, payback for what Madison has just put her through. “So, you’re the hostess here?”
Madison laughs. “Hostess, server, dishwasher, all of it. My husband and I own the restaurant.”
“You own it? I had no idea. I was just shopping and thought I’d pop in for a quick bite before going home. Marley’s at Bee’s.”
Why did she say that? She sounds so desperate. Look, my daughter is hanging out with one of the most popular ninth-grade girls!
“Right. Okay. Let’s get you settled.”
Ruth follows Madison to an empty seat at the bar. A backless stool, how tacky. Whatever happened to making your customers comfortable? Encouraging them to stay awhile?
“Armand, this is Ruth,” Madison says to the bartender. “Treat her well. She’s a fellow Hillside mom.”
Madison winks at Ruth. She’s quite a winker. Or maybe she has a tic.
“Enjoy. Wish I could stay and chat. Duty calls, I’m afraid. Comp her meal, A,” she says while walking away.
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” says Ruth. This is going so well!
Armand slides a bar napkin in front of her. “You and Mads good friends?”
Mads. Her friends call her Mads. “We’ve known each other a long time. Tito’s martini, straight up, very dry, four olives.”
“You don’t look old enough to have a kid,” he says. He stares brazenly at her breasts and Ruth feels herself flushing—a wave of heat running down her body, from her neck to her groin.
Did I Say You Could Go Page 4
