The middle-aged, kind-hearted man, known for wearing silly neck ties and Converse sneakers with his suits cleared his throat. “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Green. I’m sorry to bother you, but . . .” He paused. The pause made me worry. Was one of my kids hurt? Did one of my kids hurt someone else? Had I flaked out on another PTA event and let everyone down? What was it this time? Why the pause? Speak, damn it, speak. “Well, I think it would be best if you came down to the school so we could chat in person.”
This can’t be good. What did those little fuckers do? “Mr. Lopez, you’re kind of scaring me.” I half-laughed, half-cried. “Is everything okay? Are Julie or Lila in any kind of trouble?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I should have said that from the start. Your children are perfectly fine, Jessa. Lila is—second grade, right?—she’s in recess at the moment. And Julie was just dismissed from technology with Mr. Jackson. He’s actually the reason I’m calling.”
I let out a sigh of relief. So that’s what this was about. “Did my daughter forget to hand in her flash drive? I assure you I gave it to her this morning. She can be so—”
“Actually, that’s what I was hoping to talk to you about at our meeting. Do you think you can come see me directly after dismissal? I can arrange the after school program to take Lila and Julie for a few minutes. They can get a start on their homework. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, sure, but . . . I’d really like to know what’s going on. I’m a little confused.”
“I’d rather we speak in person, Mrs. Green. There is nothing to worry about. This is only a matter of clearing up a few concerns with Mr. Jackson. He will be present for our meeting, as well.”
Who’s this Mr. Jackson, dude? And what the hell did Julie do to piss him off? I’d been a very involved P.S. 28 parent for seven years now. I’d never heard of a Mr. Jackson but I knew Mr. Lopez very well, and even though I was being summoned to the principal’s office, his tone assured me I had nothing to worry about. “Well, Mr. Lopez, I guess I’ll see you at three o’clock, then. Would you like me to bring you a coffee or something?”
“No, thank you very much, Jessa. That won’t be necessary. I’ll see you at three.”
“Okay. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“You, too.”
Easy for him to say. How was I going to concentrate on anything else for the next few hours?
I was a last minute Molly, in every sense of the word. I lived less than a mile from school—five short blocks to be exact—but I never walked. On the rare occasion we did hoof it, the kids made me haul their hefty backpacks, and we had to stop to pet every neighborhood dog and sniff every growing flower and/or weed along the entire ten-minute walk. Plus, every second of my time was valuable. I usually left the house and hopped in my car at ten to three, making a brisk I’m-totally-not-late-I-just-lost-track-of-time-folding-laundry dash into the schoolyard just as the kids were being dismissed by their teachers.
Not today.
Today I was early. I scored a parking spot right across the street from the front entrance of the school and brought my notebook to jot down some final ideas for the stepbrother story while I waited. The alarm on my phone broke me out of a scribbling trance just as the front doors opened and the first class came pouring out into the fresh October air.
Stepping out of the car and locking it with a beep-beep-beep of the key fob, I crossed the street to greet my girls after their school day. First came Lila with a big, toothless grin and a handmade art project, still dripping with undried glue. “I made it for you, Mom! Isn’t it awesome?”
I took it from her, careful to only hold it by the index finger and thumb. “Beautiful, baby. How was your—”
“By the way,” she started, hopping from one foot to the other, then twirling around, then handing me her backpack. “Jack told me that Joseph likes me. Why do I have to be so pretty, Mommy? All the boys like me and I think they’re gross and Mrs. Clarke thinks I should be nice to them even though I think they smell and I just want to sit next to Olivia without Jack and Joseph making kissy faces at me. It’s so gross. Can I just stay home tomorrow? Please, Mom, please?”
“Come up for air, Lila. You’re making my brain dizzy.” I leaned down to kiss the top of her head, where her braids had come loose and started to frizz. My kids never came out the way I sent them in—runway models at seven in the morning, escaped convicts by three.
“Can I have a playdate with Olivia today, Mom? We want to—”
There was that word. That word created by Satan himself. Playdate. My entire body tensed at the mere sound of the two syllables. I could barely tolerate my own children, let alone someone else’s. I was a crafty mom, a baking mom, a volunteer mom, but a playdate mom I was not. Besides, I had a meeting with the principal today. Lila was beat. “Sorry, babe. We can’t today. After your sister comes out, you’re going down to afterschool for a few minutes. I have to meet with Mr. Lopez.”
Lila’s eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. “What did she do?” she sang, curiously.
Shaking my head, I laughed and tipped her chin up to me. “Nothing. No one did anything. Mr. Lopez wants to meet with me about the new technology teacher.”
“Oh, Mr. Hottie?”
“What did you just say?”
“Mr. Hottie.”
“No, his name is Mr. Jackson.”
“I know what his name is, Mom, but that’s what all the older girls are calling him. And some of the teachers, too.” She giggled, covering her mouth.
I arched a discerning brow and gave Lila a playful pat on her freckled cheek. “None of that, silly girl. Women be nuts around good-looking dudes. Now, where the he—heck is your sister? I’ve got a meeting.”
And there she was. In tears. Heading toward me like a bull charging a matador.
“What’s the matter, baby gi—”
“I hate you! You ruined my life! I hate you so much. I want to move in with Dad. Change my school, right now! This is all your fault!”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. What’s going on?” Thankfully, Julie’s class was almost always the last one out of the building. Most of the mom crowd had dissipated, but I pulled Julie off to the side and out of earshot. Lila shuffled along, following us, her arms immediately flying around her sister’s neck.
“What’s the matter, Jules?” Lila asked, wiping Julie’s tears away with the sleeve of her shirt.
“She’s what’s the matter!” Julie barked, not even bothering to look my way.
“Me? What did I do? I haven’t seen you since this morning. Does this have anything to do with Mr. Hot—I mean, Mr. Jackson?”
Julie snapped her head up from out of Lila’s embrace and her narrowed eyes seared right through me. This is what they mean by “if looks could kill.” I should be dead. Stone cold dead, right here on the pavement. “What, Jules. Talk to me. What did I do?”
“Come on, Lila. Let’s go to afterschool. Mom has to meet with Mr. Lopez, as if this isn’t embarrassing enough.”
Before I could intervene or get a word in edgewise, Julie was ushering Lila back into the building. Lila simply shrugged as she looked over her shoulder. She mouthed, “Don’t worry. I love you,” as she was carted off, leaving me completely speechless, motionless, and spineless. Who’s the mom, here? How did I let that happen without an explanation?
Regaining the pair of steel balls I grew after the divorce, I straightened my posture and marched after my kids. Their little feet were a lot faster than mine, though, and they knew the building much better than I did. Once inside, I looked left and then right to see what direction the girls disappeared to but was stopped short by the loud bellow of the security officer at the entrance. “Sign in, Green. He’s waiting for you.”
Sheesh. No wonder the kids felt like they were going off to prison every morning. I wasn’t about to argue with the bouncer-like man in uniform, but I was concerned with leaving my kids—especially Julie—in such a harried state. “Do you know which way they went . . .
George?” I stifled a chuckle, George didn’t find it amusing, and waited for his response.
“Cafeteria. But you can’t go down there until you sign in. And even after that, they’re waiting in the office. Short for time today, so chop chop. Get your license out.”
George saw my face at school at least three times a week. He probably had my address and ID number memorized at this point, but this was his job. He kept our kids safe. I did as told and prayed Lila was comforting Julie like the little mommy she was. This wouldn’t take long. I’d get to the bottom of today’s meltdown soon enough.
By the time I scrawled my messy signature on the sign in sheet, the school secretary, Miss Nancy, was calling my name from the doorway of the general office. “Mrs. Green, Mr. Jackson is waiting for you.”
Ah. The infamous Mr. Hottie. I stood tall and unhooked my hair from behind my ears, allowing it to flow in loose waves, framing my naturally made-up face. My daughters and I had very different tastes in the opposite sex, so I had little faith in how hot Mr. Hottie actually was, but I still wanted to make a good first impression. Those things had the tendency to stick with you like an obscene childhood nickname or an STD.
“Right this way,” Miss Nancy said. “Mr. Lopez had to step out due to an unexpected budget planning meeting. Mr. Jackson will tell you everything you need to know.”
Her orthopedic shoes squeaked against the shiny commercial tile and she disappeared behind her cubicle with what I thought was a tsk tsk tsk from her Granny-mauve painted lips.
When I stepped inside Mr. Lopez’s office, my knees almost buckled and I clenched my teeth to prevent my jaw from meeting my toes. Mr. Hottie was not only hot, he was fucking drool worthy. Slim but muscular, dressed in a pair of khakis and a light blue polo shirt, he stood tall, a good foot taller than my five-foot-four. His hair was styled but shabby in that just-screwed-around-in-the-teacher’s-lounge sort of way and his eyes—caramel infused with gold flecks—sized me up from behind sexy, black-rimmed glasses. Suddenly the melody to Hot for Teacher hummed through my frazzled brain as I worked up the nerve to reach out and shake his hand in introduction.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Green. I’m Mr. Jackson. Please have a seat.”
Anything for you, Mr. Hottie. I watched his biceps flex and his chest bulge underneath the soft cotton of his shirt as he sat behind Mr. Lopez’s desk. I had no idea why I was here, but I was awfully happy I was. I would have to nonchalantly ask Miss Nancy or the PTA if the technology department needed any extra help. Screw my deadline! I’d volunteer five full days a week just to have a peek at this guy getting his tech-geek on.
“So, Mrs. Green—”
“Please. Call me Jessa, Mr. Jackson.”
“Jessa.” He nodded, smiling. Luscious, full lips parted to make way for a straight row of perfectly white teeth. “Chris. I hate the formalities, too. I think of my dad every time a student calls me Mr. Jackson.”
I giggled empathetically. “I think of my ex-husband every time someone calls me Mrs. Green.” Did I just say that out loud?
Chris laughed through his nose, licking his lips as he pulled himself closer to the desk and focused on the flash drive sitting in the center of Mr. Lopez’s paper-lined desk. “Well, Jessa, the reason I asked to have this meeting with you today is because of what we found on the . . . um . . .” He picked up the flash drive and handed it to me with a smirk I couldn’t quite read. His fingers grazed mine and my smut-writing, sex-depraved soul wanted to wrap my palm around those deft, thick digits and . . . “Are you aware of what’s on the drive, Mrs., I mean . . . Jessa?”
Snapping out of my daydream where Mr. Hottie sweeps the papers from Mr. Lopez’s desk and takes me across the mahogany surface, Miss Nancy listening in on us doing the nasty amongst report cards and school lunch forms, I tilted my head in question. “No, I was under the impression it was blank.” It was blank. It had to be blank. Please, God, tell me David’s porn was not saved on that flash drive.
Chris adjusted the top button of his polo and fidgeted uncomfortably in the swivel chair. “Well, I’m sorry to inform you that it definitely was not blank. In fact, at first we thought it was a . . . creative . . . project Julie was working on, but upon further . . . inspection . . . it’s clear the contents of this drive were not written by your daughter.”
“The contents of the drive? I’m not following.” I was suddenly agitated by this back and forth guessing game between myself and the school staff. I had rights as a parent and I wanted answers now. Standing from the chair, I leaned over the desk and slapped my palms against the wood, trying not to raise my voice. “Mr. Jackson, can you please tell me what the hell is going on and why my daughter was crying at dismissal today? I’m getting a little tired of being in the dark where my children are concerned. If this situation is not rectified within the next five seconds, I’m afraid I’ll have to notify the Board of Education on the matter.”
“I really don’t think you want to call the BOE on this. They might have to get the police involved. Social workers, therapists. The whole nine.”
“Police? What the fu—” I stopped myself from further condemnation and noticed the shit-eating grin on Mr. Jackson’s face.
“Relax, Jessa. I’m kidding. I think I have it all figured out, but I wanted to meet with you in person so you were aware of how it all went down without any hearsay from Julie or her friends. You know how ten-year-old girls can be, I’m sure, and rather than play a misconstrued game of telephone, let’s settle it adult to adult.”
“Settle away! I’m still waiting to hear what the hell is on that drive and why it landed me in the principal’s office.” I was close to panting out of frustration, good looks, nerd-swagger, and a teacher’s crush long forgotten. I dropped back into the chair with a humph and waited for his reply.
Arching a dark, bushy-but-well-groomed brow, Chris took an elongated breath and presented me with a printed copy of—Oh, no! Oh, hells, no. It couldn’t be! This wasn’t happening. This was that flash drive?
“Oh. My. God.” The words fell from my lips as the words burned my disbelieving eyes.
“Yeah,” Chris expelled, leaning back in the chair with a loud creak.
My eyes skimmed the printed words on the white paper and my cheeks flushed with red-hot heat. Words like “cock,” “pussy,” and “clit” stood out as if in bold, exaggerated lettering. My Sex and Intimacy for the Romance Writer exercises stared back at me. My deepest, darkest erotic ramblings caused my stomach to churn with embarrassment and my heart to sink into my rectum. “She’s going to hate me forever. I’ll never make this up to her. Nothing I can buy or give her will ever cure this kind of embarrassment. I totally screwed up. I am the worst mom ever!” Tears pricked my eyes and started to roll down my cheeks without avail.
Chris was up and at my side faster than I could say mom-fail. “Hey, Jessa. Calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Tell my moody, sensitive, preteen daughter that. Her mother writes about sex for a living and now all her friends and teachers know about it. She’ll pack her shit and have her father making her a bed at his new place with her, by the time we pull up to our house. I cannot believe I let this happen. I’ve been so distracted. I’ve been so. . . absent.” I started to wail, my shoulders shaking with each sniffle, snot running from my nose like a river of shame.
“Here.” Chris offered me a box of tissues, kneeling beside me. “It’s not as bad as you think. You know she’ll be over it in a few days. Just let the dust settle and then—”
“And then, what? Just keep at it? Continue hiding behind a pen name and a computer screen while the entire school knows that Julie and Lila Green’s almost forty, divorced, stay-at-home mom sits home all day and misses bake sales and book fairs because she’s home writing erotic love stories to feed her family?”
“Well, when you put it that way.” He stood, towering over me, his crisp cologne mixed with the scent of Expo marker infiltrating my hopeless brain.
�
�You’re not helping, Mr. Jackson.”
“Chris.”
“Whatever.”
Placing a palm over my trembling hand that gripped the armrest of the chair, Chris attempted to comfort me but only awakened a sensation that was clearly inappropriate at a time like this, in a situation like this, between two people like us.
“Jessa, I think what you do is really cool and you should be proud of yourself for providing for your family while doing something you love.”
“Huh!” I scoffed. “I could have gone back to work and written for a reputable magazine, but instead, I took the easy way out.”
“Easy? I read your work, Jessa. It was good. Really good. And I’m not just talking about the smutty stuff. You’re a talented writer. Your kids will understand one day.”
“My kids cannot understand any of this. Ever. I hope she didn’t read too much of it. Oh, dear God. My innocent baby’s eyes. Please tell me she didn’t read any of this?”
“Relax. She shrieked as soon as she saw the title of the folder. She didn’t see anything. I can assure you.”
“But you—you read it?” Embarrassment strangled me, making me wish I could fade into the threadbare upholstery of the chair.
Chris nodded, smiling. I had to give him credit for remaining professional, considering the nature of the contents and the secrets he’d just revealed about me. What a first impression, Jessa. Even a raging case of herpes has a chance of disappearing sooner or later.
“Listen.” Chris returned to his seat behind the desk and his eyes softened with encouragement. “You are a great mom. I’ve heard nothing but good buzz about you around the school. Your children are stellar students. Always prepared, always respectful, almost always happy.”
“Thank you,” I managed to croak, still uneasy about my major parenting mishap.
“One day, you’ll look back and laugh at this whole thing.”
“One day, but no day soon.” I rolled my eyes, unable to look Chris in the face.
#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 14
