Class Mom

by Laurie Gelman

  “Well, she’s really good at it, that’s for sure. If she talked about it with you, I’m sure she’s already coming up with ideas. It may take her some time to get out of her funk and get working, though.”

  “I get it,” he says. But I wonder if he really does.

  After Garth leaves, I check my phone and see it has blown up in the past hour, thanks to Asami’s email. Everybody wants the 411 on my class mom demise. Peetsa, Ravi, and Kim Alexander all express their concern with a “WTF,” and Shirleen Cobb is not at all happy about having to teach the new class mom all about Graydon’s many needs. Only Suchafox sees a silver lining.

  Maybe now you’ll have time for coffee with me.

  I really need to make sure we’re talking about the same type of coffee. But before that, I’d better figure out which one I want.

  * * *

  I stroll up to the school the next day to wait for Max to come out, and I see what I have been dreading—all the mothers from my class standing around in little klatches, talking and drinking Starbucks. Normally I would be one of them with my grande skim chai latte, but because of my class mom shame, I have been avoiding this scene since the new year started. For the past couple of days, I have had Ron leave the store to do pickup, but today I decide to face the music.

  As I walk toward the front of the school, I can’t help but feel like everyone is talking about me. I know I’m just being paranoid. I walk up to Peetsa and Ravital Brown.

  “Oh, my God, Jen, we were just talking about you. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Did you write that email from Asami as a joke?” asks Ravi. “That was so funny. Best one yet.”

  I gave them both a hug. I’ve missed them.

  “No, sadly—this time the joke’s on me.”

  “So it’s true?” Peetsa gasps. “One of Hunter’s moms tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t believe her.”

  “Well, believe it.”

  “Jeez. Are you okay?” she asks. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “You were away and I didn’t want to bring you down over the holidays.”

  I tell them about my conversation with Principal Jakowski and they react exactly how I would expect my besties to react. Outraged! Infuriated! Bent on revenge! Until I mention the accusation of racism.

  “I mean, come on, it was a joke!” I say, exasperated.

  They look at me and then at each other and then at the ground.

  “What am I missing?” I ask.

  Ravi takes the bullet.

  “Well, I have to admit when Asami asked me what I thought of the phrase ‘your people’s lust for power,’ I said I thought it was a little off. I mean, now that I know you, I see you were being funny, but at the time I didn’t know what to think.” She looks at her shoes.

  “Hey, we all love your emails,” Peetsa adds, “but people are really sensitive about racism. I know you meant it as a joke, but maybe the class email isn’t the best place for it.”

  I look at both of them and am about to say something when a swarm of kids runs out the front door. In the sea of winter jackets, Max is easy to spot in his leopard-print coat. He’s carrying Zach B. on his back.

  “Hey, Mom. Zach B. is riding me like I’m a horse.”

  “Well, you do look like an animal in that coat.” I smile.

  I look up at Peetsa and Ravi, who are hugging their boys.

  “Ravi, I’m sorry if I offended you. Really. It was a thoughtless thing to write.”

  Ravital shakes her head.

  “Trust me, I wasn’t that offended.”

  “Oh, God, I’m really going to miss your emails,” Peetsa moans.

  “What, you don’t like personal-hygiene tips in your class emails?” I ask. “I found that very helpful. A bath! Who would have thought?”

  As we are walking to our cars, Peetsa asks me about Nina.

  “You know, I haven’t spoken to her since Christmas. She and Chyna came over for dinner, but she was still not herself.”

  “Wow, when she goes to the dark place she really pitches a tent.” Peetsa shakes her head. “What did she say about the class mom stuff?”

  “I haven’t talked to her about it.” I shrug. “Jakowski told her what he was planning and she said she didn’t want to get involved.”

  “That’s cold.”

  “I know, right?” Suddenly I feel vindicated. “I really think she could have put the kibosh on this whole thing if she had just taken her head out of her ass for five minutes.”

  Peetsa is shaking her head and laughing.

  “Too harsh?” I ask.

  She puts her thumb and finger up to show me an inch.

  I buckle Max into his car seat and as I slide into the minivan I check my phone. I’m rewarded with a text from Don.

  You look nice today. Very fit.

  I immediately look up to see if he’s watching me.

  How the hell would you know?

  I caught a glimpse as I was pulling up to get Lulu.

  Oh. Well, thanks. What are you up to?

  Taking Lulu to dance class. You?

  Max has Scouts.

  So … still no coffee?

  Not today!

  But there is the hope of someday?

  Absolutely.

  I put the phone in my purse and start the minivan. Texts from Don have become kind of a regular thing. I’m enjoying the sparring but can’t help but feel that I’m doing something wrong, like picking my nose in public. Then that feeling gets me pissed off, because I’m just having fun and it feels good to have the attention of someone besides Ron and it doesn’t mean anything and can’t I just have a friend who is a guy, dammit? Welcome to the cocktail party in my head.

  I pull out of the school’s parking lot and decide to not think about it any more today.

  * * *

  For the next couple of weeks my life goes back to its normal, dull housewifey routine, although without the class mom crap to annoy me I find I have a bit of spare time on my hands.

  “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” I can hear my mother say. I never fully understood what that meant until I realize that I’m spending most of my spare time either flirty-texting with Don or concocting a plan to sabotage Asami’s picture day efforts. My thoughts go from the benign (tell the kids not to smile, or else) to the macabre (light a fire in school so the sprinklers go off and soak everyone’s hair. Braid that, Asami), but I don’t want to do anything that will hurt or upset the kids, so my options are limited. I consider asking Don to be my accomplice, but realize I want to take either all the credit or all the blame, depending on how things go down.

  Garth is pushing me harder than ever, and I have to say I’m pleased with the results. My usual post-holiday five pounds didn’t materialize, so I’m looking and feeling better than I ever have.

  “Any plans for the long weekend?” Garth asks as I’m finishing my final set of lunges across the basement floor.

  “Nothing much. You?”

  “Well, nothing yet, but I thought if you were up for it we could go to Wichita on Saturday. This charity I work with is having a scaled-down indoor mudder at Hartman Arena.”

  “An indoor mudder?” I take a swig of water. “They do that?”

  “Actually, this is the first one.”

  “Sounds dirty and smelly.”

  “I’ll be disappointed if it isn’t,” Garth assures me. “I think you need to get a look at what you’ll be facing. You’ve only ever seen it on YouTube. I just want you to get a sense of the scale. What we’re going to see still isn’t a full mudder, but it’s the best I can do in Kansas in February.”

  “It’s not a bad idea. Can I bring Max?”

  “Sure!” says Garth as he gives me a huge smile. “Aren’t road trips just the best?”

  * * *

  I’m standing with Peetsa and Ravi, waiting for the kids to get out of school. It’s warm for January so we don’t have our heads and faces covered as we usually do. I see Don Burgess stan
ding with Kim or Carol Alexander, and I wave. Don holds up his phone and gives me a shrug. He’s wondering why I haven’t answered his text from this morning. I told him I was going to Wichita with my trainer this weekend and he’s been bugging me for details.

  Are you going to have coffee with him?

  I take my phone out of my pocket and type a quick response.

  I never disclose my coffee-drinking plans.

  The girls and I are talking about our plans for Martin Luther King weekend. Peetsa tells us she and Buddy are packing up the kids and taking them skiing at Buddy’s parents’ place at Snow Creek. When I mention my big road trip to Wichita to observe the mudder, they are pretty impressed. Ravi says she doesn’t have any plans so I ask if Zach B. wants to join us on our road trip. Selfishly, I know it will go better if Max has a buddy.

  “He’d love to,” she says, and then her face lights up. “Oh, my goodness, does that mean I’ll have a Saturday to myself?”

  “And a Friday night, if you’ll let him sleep over.”

  Just then the bell rings and the kindergarteners start pouring out of the school. Normally they are a pretty wild bunch, but today I notice a lot of heads down and even a few kids crying. When I locate Max’s leopard coat, I can see that he looks very unhappy. When he sees me, his little face crumples and he holds out his arms.

  “What is it, baby?” I get down on my knees to hug him. Peetsa and Ravi are doing the same thing with their kids. They both give me a “What the hell?” look.

  “Max, sweetie, what happened?” I pull his head away to look him in the face.

  “He’s dead. We saw him.”

  “Who’s dead?” I’m thinking the class fish.

  “Martin Luther King. Someone shot him with a gun and they put him in a box just like Rufus.” Rufus was our pet guinea pig. He died last year of natural causes and he’s buried in a shoebox underneath the wild rhubarb that grows in the backyard.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Where did you see the picture?” I ask as I mentally compose a hate letter to Miss Ward.

  “Mrs. Chang showed us.”

  “What?” Peetsa, Ravi, and I say all at once.

  The boys cry louder.

  I really want to go back into the school and find out what the hell happened, but I can’t leave Max like this.

  “Did he really die?” Max asks through his sobs. “He was so nice and helpful.”

  I can tell this is going to open up the death discussion again, and I’m just not up for it. Memories of Max dealing with Rufus’s death come flooding back to me. He cried for days. Ron was at a loss, so he brought home a book that someone at his store recommended called Something Is Wrong with Grandma. It’s supposed to help kids understand and deal with death, but all it did was convince Max that something was wrong with his grandma. It took him months to get over his fear that my mother was going to keel over any second.

  “You know, he died a long time ago, and it was very sad. But he did so many amazing things in his life and when you think about it, he now has a whole day for people to remember how good he was.”

  “Where did they bury him?” Max asks me. I give Ravi and Peetsa a desperate look, because how the hell would I know?

  Ravi comes to the rescue: “I think he’s buried in Atlanta, right near where he grew up.” That sounds about right. I give her a grateful smile.

  Peetsa looks at all three boys.

  “Did Mrs. Chang show you a picture of his grave?” she asks, trying to get a clearer idea of what they saw.

  “No, it was a picture of him lying in a box with his eyes closed,” Zach T. says. His eyes start to water.

  Oh, good God. No wonder they’re traumatized. Showing a picture of a dead body in a casket to five-year-olds. I turn to Max.

  “Hey, can you sit with Mrs. Tucci in her car for a minute? I want to go talk to Miss Ward.”

  “Why don’t I take all three of you to our place for hot chocolate?” Peetsa offers.

  The boys nod and smile. Proof once again that chocolate solves just about all of life’s problems.

  “Want me to come with you?” Ravi asks me.

  “Sure. P., we’ll be over in a little while.”

  “Sounds good.” Peetsa waves as she hustles the boys to her car.

  Ravi and I head into the school and march right down to room 147.

  “You can do the talking,” she says as we reach the door.

  “Count on it.” I wink at her.

  As we enter Miss Ward’s colorful classroom, I can see we are not the first parents to arrive. Dr. Evil is leaning over the front of Miss Ward’s desk and speaking in low but severe tones. As we walk in I hear Kim say, “… and I’m sick of it.”

  “Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but we have some really upset little boys on our hands.” I look directly at Kim Fancy. “Was Nancy upset, too?”

  “About what?” Kim’s slight scowl tells me she’s both annoyed and confused.

  “Hi, Jen. Is this about the Martin Luther King presentation?” Miss Ward asks, as if she’s asking how the weather is.

  “Uh, yes. Max and his friends came out of school really freaked out from seeing a picture of a dead body.”

  “A what?” Kim and Miss Ward ask at once.

  “Weren’t you here for Asami’s presentation?”

  “No.” Miss Ward actually looks contrite. “I, um, had some papers to grade, so I went to the teachers’ lounge while she did it. When I got back, she told me she had already dismissed them.”

  “Seriously? You let a parent dismiss the kids?” I’m a little surprised. I’m also wondering what kind of papers a kindergarten teacher needs to grade.

  “Well, I wouldn’t normally, but she seemed to have things under control. You say she showed them a dead body? Whose?”

  “Martin Luther King’s,” I say, exasperated. “He was in his coffin. Max is completely traumatized. He came running out of school crying.”

  Miss Ward and Kim look at each other. Kim shakes her head and walks out of the classroom. What the hell?

  “Well, I will certainly talk to Asami about it and find out what happened,” Miss Ward assures me. She pauses and smiles sardonically.

  “Jenny, it’s so funny to have you complaining about her. She complained about you constantly.”

  “Yes, it must be hilarious for you.” I turn quickly and almost hit Ravi as I’m walking out. I totally forgot she was with me.

  As we head down the hall, Ravi seems to read my thoughts. “I can’t believe she left the class alone with a parent. Is that normal?”

  “Depends on whose world you live in.” I sigh.

  12

  Saturday morning at 7:50 sharp, Garth arrives at my house, his usual ten minutes early. I’m just clearing breakfast away for Max and Zach B. They are bleary-eyed from their sleepover and I predict a car nap in the not too distant future.

  “Hey, Garth. Want some coffee for the road?”

  “No, thanks. Brought my own.” He holds up a Starbucks cup. I immediately think of Don and laugh to myself.

  “What’s your poison?”

  “Grande triple-shot latte with extra foam.” He smiles and cheers me.

  “Well, that will put some punch in your pumpkin.” I cheers him back with my mug. “We’ll be ready in five.”

  I’m halfway up the stairs when I yell over my shoulder.

  “Okay, boys, lock and load. Wheels up in five. Bring a couple of pillows. Let’s move it, monkeys!”

  I hear Zach B. say, “Your mom talks weird.”

  I check my phone and find a text from Don:

  Have fun in Wichita.

  I smile. This is the weirdest relationship I have ever had. We text all the time and know everything about each other’s lives, but we never meet up for that much-talked-about coffee.

  We decide to take my bitchin’ minivan so we have room to stretch out and the boys can watch a movie. Don’t judge me. I wish I were the type of mom who has endless ideas for car games and the energy to
play them, but I am not. What I do have is an endless supply of DVDs that I pull out for any car ride longer than forty-five minutes, because that is Max’s breaking point.

  The boys snuggle up to their pillows in their car seats as we take off and about ten minutes into The Lego Movie, they are passed out.

  “So what is the charity you work with?” I ask Garth as I steer the van onto I-35 South. The weekend morning traffic is light.

  “The Wounded Warrior Project.”

  “You know, my mom volunteers for them. She hosts a Proud Supporter event every year with her church group.”

  “I know. That’s where I met her.” Garth seems to smile at the memory.

  “Were you helping out at the pancake breakfast or something?” I sneak a look at him.

  “Something like that.”

  “Wait, are you a vet?”

  He nods. “I did two tours in Afghanistan.”

  “When?” I say a little too loudly. Shit! I check the rearview to make sure the boys are still sleeping.

  “Oh, 2004 to 2006.”

  “Were you in combat?”

  “Well, I wasn’t there for the weather.”

  “Did you get hurt?”

  He shrugs.

  “I took some shrapnel in my left side. I got off easy compared to some of my friends.”

  “Holy shit! I can’t believe I didn’t know this about you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It never came up.”

  We both stare at the windshield, watching miles of highway slip beneath us before I speak again.

  “Do you mind talking about it?”

  He chuckles.

  “No, not at all. What do you want to know?”

  I think about that for a minute and self-edit the inappropriate questions that race to the tip of my tongue.

  “Um, what do you guys miss most when you were over there?”

  “It’s different for everyone,” he muses. “Everyone misses home in one way or another. Could be your family, your bed, wearing jeans, normal food. For me, it was Campbell’s tomato soup.”

  “What?” I start to laugh. “Tomato soup?”

  Garth nods. “Don’t ask me why, but the whole time I was away I craved tomato soup. When I came back, I couldn’t get enough of it.”