Class Mom

by Laurie Gelman

  I’ve seen enough PDA to last me a while.

  “Okay. Have fun, guys. Travis, it was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

  “I hope so.” He shakes my hand again. Call me lame, but that stuff goes a long way with me.

  As I’m heading to find the rest of my posse, Asami catches up with me.

  “Your nephew is very talented,” I tell her. “And he looks so much like you!”

  “Thank you. He is a classically trained cellist, but we always knew he wouldn’t stick with it. This really suits him.”

  I nod, and as we walk toward the front of the house, the music gets louder.

  “Are you going to watch the band?” she asks.

  “Not sure. I have to find my group. Is your husband here?”

  She looks down. “No. I came by myself to see Jeen.”

  “Well, I’m here with the Tuccis and Nina Grandish. You can hang with us if you like.” I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. Someone should check the weather in hell.

  “That would be really nice, thanks.” I think we’re both surprised that she has accepted my offer.

  I whip out my cell and text Ron to ask where he is.

  He responds pretty quickly: Up in the balcony to your right. I look up and see him waving at me. Nina and Garth are with him, but there’s no sign of the Tuccis.

  I lean over to Asami and yell, “Come on. They’re upstairs.”

  By the time we navigate the crowd and the questionably up-to-code stairway, Peetsa and Buddy are with the rest of the group. I’m getting a lot of funny looks as we join them.

  “Look who I bumped into backstage,” I yell just as the band wraps up “The Rain Song.”

  There are nods and smiles all around, but it is quite possibly one of the most awkward moments of my life, and that’s saying something.

  We all watch Lez Zeppelin for a while. These girls are amazing. Even if you don’t happen to enjoy the musical stylings of Robert Plant and Jimmy Page, you can’t help but appreciate what talented musicians these women are. The crowd is going wild, and even my little nerd group is grooving.

  As they wind down the show with “Stairway to Heaven,” Asami leans in and asks if I would be able to chaperone the class trip next week.

  “Didn’t you get any volunteers?”

  She shakes her head. “Not one.”

  I actually feel sorry for her.

  “Well, it’s hard sometimes. Just keep at them. I had to do a lot of begging.”

  “Being class mom is a lot tougher than I thought.”

  “Miss Ward doesn’t help much, either.”

  Asami’s eyes widen.

  “I know! I can never tell what she wants.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. She’s a tricky one.”

  I’m getting tired of yelling, and my throat is really dry. I turn to the group and suggest we head out before the stampede toward the door starts. They agree and we all maneuver our way down the deathtrap-like stairs, surprisingly get the correct coats from Miss Call Me Maybe, and go out into the cold, clear February night. As Ron strides away to get our car, Peetsa comes up and gives me a hug.

  “We’re heading home.” She then adds in a whisper: “I want a full report in the morning.” I give her an extra squeeze.

  “We are, too,” Nina says from the comfort of Garth’s arms.

  “Thanks, you guys, for coming. I know it meant a lot to Laura. Neens, I’ll call you in the morning. Garth, see you Thursday.” I blow them both kisses.

  I notice Asami is still lingering, so I offer her a ride home.

  “No, thanks. I have my car. I just wanted one more minute with you.”

  “What’s up? I’ll chaperone the trip if you want me to.” I’m starting to shiver.

  “Thank you, that would be great.” She pulls her collar up around her neck to stay warm. “But I just wanted to apologize to you for pushing you out as class mom. You didn’t deserve it.”

  Wow, an apology from Asami. I’m floored. I see Ron pull up in the car, so I only have a minute.

  “Well, I kind of did after the ‘your people’ comment. I really was just trying to be funny, but I know it was inappropriate and I’m sorry I hurt your feelings..”

  “I accept your apology.” She nods and turns to walk away. “Good night, Jen.”

  “Good night, Asami.”

  And that, children, is the story of how two mortal enemies found peace. And to think it all started with a sucker punch.

  16

  * * *

  To: Miss Ward’s Class

  From: JDixon

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: I’m back, babies!

  Dear Parents,

  Big, big news from room 147! Asami Chang and I have decided being your class parent is a two-mom job, so we will be splitting duties. Asami will handle the detail-oriented stuff that, let’s face it, I stink at, and I will be in charge of communicating with all of you. So if you’re allergic to snark, you better stop reading now.

  First, shame on all of you for not volunteering for the fabulous trip to the Quindaro Underground Railroad Museum. Asami is too nice to say anything, but I have put a black mark beside each of your names. The kids all had such a wonderful time after the initial disappointment when they found out there wasn’t an actual train ride involved.

  Moving forward, there are a lot of opportunities for you to get back in my good graces. First up, the William Taft Annual Book Fair! It’s happening March 10. The Parents’ Association needs 3 volunteers from each class to make sure no brawls start over who gets the last copy of Captain Underpants.

  More breaking news from room 147! Just after spring break, we will be having an Easter/Passover party! According to Miss Ward, these are not, repeat not Hallmark holidays and are therefore worthy of celebration. We will be decorating eggs and Jill Kaplan has volunteered to show the kiddos how to make charoset, which is a very yummy Seder treat. So, to that end, here’s a list of what we’ll need. Remember, there is no shame in offering to bring more than one thing.

  3 dozen hard-boiled eggs

  stickers

  small chocolate eggs

  a live rabbit (not really, just making sure you’re still paying attention)

  apples

  cinnamon

  grape juice

  fruit for Graydon

  water

  cups (already got you signed up, Jackie)

  wet wipes

  We will provide the PAAS egg-dyeing kits.

  Thank you for your cooperation. Response times will be noted and demerits will be given.

  Don’t thank me, I’m just glad to be back.

  Jen (and Asami in spirit)

  * * *

  I feel good as I click Send. I’ve missed having my little rant sessions to the class. I’m sure there will be a lot of surprised responses to the news that Asami and I are co–house parenting.

  It was actually her idea. A few days after the concert at Town Hall, she called and asked if I could meet her for coffee. I was a little unsure because, let’s face it, it’s one thing to have a cease-fire with someone, but quite another to all of a sudden become girlfriends.

  But I was needlessly concerned. As we sat down with our lattes on one of the couches at the Starbucks right by the school, Asami, true to form, came right out with it.

  “Jen, I don’t expect we will ever be friends, but I think we would make a good team.”

  “A good team of what?” I really wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

  “Class mothers. You have your strengths and I have mine. Together we could get the job done really well, don’t you think?”

  I looked at her skeptically. Was this Asami’s idea of humor?

  “Do you mean this year? Be class mothers together this year?”

  “Yes, exactly. You can write your silly letters and get people to participate, and I will make sure everything else runs smoothly.”

  I ignored the implication
that things didn’t run smoothly under my regime and gave Asami’s idea some real thought. I didn’t take long to realize it was a pretty good one, and it actually appealed to me.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Honestly, I don’t get your jokes, but people seem to really enjoy the wit in your emails.”

  I smiled at the backhanded compliment and raised my cup to her.

  “Here’s to strange bedfellows.”

  “Indeed.” Asami raised her cup, too.

  So here I am, back in the saddle with half the workload and permission to write ridiculous emails. I feel like I should go buy a lottery ticket and keep the lucky train rolling. But I can’t, because I have to start doing the heavy lifting for Max’s birthday party this weekend. So I grab my keys and sprint to the minivan to avoid the freezing rain we are being treated to.

  We are having his party at a place called Emerald City Gym. It’s one of those great play-zone places that have all kinds of fun things for the kids to do. The staff sets up and cleans up, so all we have to do is show up. I can’t help but think it must be the worst job ever to wrangle kids at one of these birthday parties. I’m planning on tipping well.

  Max has invited all the boys in his class, because “girls are gross” according to Graydon Cobb, who has apparently become the oracle of Miss Ward’s kindergarten class. Whatever pearls come out of his mouth are repeated at dinner tables throughout the greater Kansas City area, including mine.

  “Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg,” Max cheerfully sang one evening. “Graydon made that up. He’s so funny.”

  I guess we can add plagiarism to Graydon’s list of talents.

  Party City is my first stop this morning to pick up goody-bag crap. If I ruled the world, there would be no such thing as a goody bag. There would be an implied contract between the inviter and the invitee: I give you food and cake and some kind of activity, and you bring me a present. Why do I have to then give you a present? Isn’t that what the party is?

  When Vivs and Laura were small, you just gave candy at the end of the party—probably in a clear plastic bag with a ribbon … maybe. These days the gift bag is just that, a gift, and it’s supposed to be something that is in theme with the rest of the party. The pressure is crippling, I tell you.

  Max’s theme this year is ninja warriors, so as I walk the aisles of the store I keep that in mind. Little did I know that the ninjas have a whole aisle to themselves. Banzai! This party is practically going to plan itself. I pick up ninja masks and figurines and fake swords for the gift bags, along with two ninja piñatas, plus cups, tablecloths, plates, and napkins.

  After I pay and load my bags in the back of the minivan, I check my phone for emails and messages and I am surprised to see ten replies to the class email I sent out an hour ago. As usual, Sasha Lewicki’s out-of-office reply leads the pack. Is that woman ever in the office? I guess she’s at home taking care of her sick daughter. At least, I hope she is. Thank goodness every other reply is from an actual human.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From SCobb

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: I’m back, babies!

  Jennifer,

  I just googled charoset and it has nuts in it! Are you trying to kill my son?

  I will bring fruit for Graydon.

  Shirleen

  To: SCobb

  From JDixon

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: I’m back, babies!

  Shirleen,

  Please, this is not my first trip to the rodeo. The charoset recipe Jill is using has no nuts.

  Jen

  To: JDixon

  From CAlexander

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: I’m back, babies!

  Welcome back, Jen!

  You can put all the eggs in our basket (get it?).

  Also, Kim can do the book fair. What time should she be there?

  Thanks,

  Carol

  To: JDixon

  From RBrown

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: I’m back,babies!

  Jen,

  I hope this isn’t a joke and you are really back. I’m so excited!

  We can bring eggs for everyone. Also Zach is really excited about Max’s party on Saturday.

  See you then!

  Ravi

  To: JDixon

  From DBurgess

  Date: 3/5

  Re: I’m back, babies!

  Hey, Jen,

  Way to go, getting your old job back . You’ll have to fill me in. You know, a man could die of thirst trying to get a cup of coffee out of you. Just sayin’ …

  BTW, Lulu will bring in eggs for everyone.

  Cheers,

  Don

  * * *

  Poor Don—he must be so confused. After a five-month bout of flirty texting, I have pulled way back. He still texts about once a week, trying to meet up, but I’m either make-believe busy or actually busy—truthfully, more the latter than the former. I may never know what he really meant by “coffee,” but I’m okay with that.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From JJ Aikens

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: I’m back, babies!

  Jen,

  Well, this is quite a turn of events. I guess I should say welcome back, but I think you know it would be insincere. So I’ll just say we will bring eggs for everyone to decorate.

  JJ

  * * *

  Oh, mother of God. Am I being punked? I scroll through the other emails to find that yup, everyone wants to bring eggs. What are the chances? I definitely need to think of a better system. I peck out an email on my phone.

  * * *

  To: Miss Ward’s Class

  From: JDixon

  Date: 3/5

  Subject: Egg-cellent response!

  Me again,

  Thanks for the great and may I say timely responses! Shirleen, your charming email came in second place after Sasha Lewicki’s out-of-office reply, with a winning time of 58 seconds. Well done.

  It may surprise you to know that just about everyone offered to bring eggs. I guess the yolk’s on me! Since we don’t need 10 dozen eggs, I’m going to assign some of you other things to bring. See the list below, and thanks again for getting back to me so quickly.

  Eggs—Alexanders, Burgess/Gordon (two dozen each, please—hard-boiled)

  Stickers—Aikens Family

  Cups—Westmans

  Apples—Browns

  Grape juice—Kaplans

  Water—Changs

  Fruit—Cobbs

  Cinnamon—Zalises

  Wet wipes—Wolffes

  And the Batons will bring wine.

  Please bring all supplies on the morning of April 4 when you drop your kids off. I know, I know, it’s a month away. I’ll send a reminder email a few days before.

  As for the book fair, thanks to Kim Alexander and Peetsa Tucci for volunteering. Is there anyone else dying to straighten up books for 3 hours? No? Okay. Guess it’s on me, then.

  Jen

  * * *

  * * *

  After I drop the party supplies at Emerald City Gym, I stop by the Upper Crust bakery to give them the good news that I will need a ninja cake that feeds twenty. Not a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cake, a real ninja cake. I think I have a 50/50 chance of actually getting the right cake.

  My cell phone rings as I run to the minivan. The rain has stopped, but the temperature is now below freezing so I nearly wipe out on the icy tarmac as I yank open the car door. I sit down and grab my cell from my purse.

  “Hello,” I say, a bit too loudly.

  “Jen, it’s Asami. Do you have time to meet me for coffee?”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “No, I just want to talk to you about something.”

  “Is it about the class email? Because if you don’t want to bring water, I can bring it.”

  “No, water is fine. Do you have time to meet or not?”

&nb
sp; Now, that’s the Asami I know and love. I look at the clock on my dashboard and calculate how much I still have left to do before I pick up Max.

  “How about two o’clock at Starbucks by school?” I can’t imagine why she needs to see me, but whatever it is can’t take more than half an hour.

  “See you there.” She hangs up before I can say anything.

  * * *

  Asami is already waiting when I walk in at two o’clock on the dot, secretly patting myself on the back for once again stuffing ten pounds of potatoes into a five-pound bag.

  After I grab a chai latte, I join her on the couch. She has certainly made a brave choice of headgear on this cold, wet day. She is sporting a green hunter’s hat with eyes on the front and a lid that looks like a duckbill.

  “So what’s up?” I take a sip and ease my coat off.

  As usual, Asami comes right to the point. She leans toward me with purpose.

  “I think I told you once that I believe there is no such person as Sasha Lewicki, and now I’m more convinced than ever.”

  Really? This is what I had to rush here for? I never pegged Asami for the conspiracy-theory type.

  “How can you even think that? I mean, I know I’ve never met her, but I heard that Miss Ward goes to her house, like, three times a week and tutors Nadine.”

  “According to whom?” Asami raises a very defined eyebrow at me.

  “Uh, I can’t remember who told me. Why?”

  “Because I went to the address listed in her school file, and guess what? No one lives there. It’s one of those old abandoned row houses off Mission Street near the Walmart.”

  I really don’t know what to say. Do I want to ask how she got access to the Lewickis’ school file in the first place?

  “Maybe they moved. Or maybe it’s a misprint. There could be a lot of explanations.” I can’t believe I’m the voice of reason in this conversation.

  “Maybe, but then I Googled Sasha Lewicki, and guess what? All I found was some doctor who works at Kaiser Permanente in California and a girl at Boston College who puts inappropriate pictures of herself on Instagram.” She pauses for what I guess is effect or drama, then says, “There is no Sasha Lewicki in Kansas City.”