Class Mom Page 3

  I lie there and think for a minute. “Well, I guess—”

  “Tell your story crunching,” he interrupts.

  “Jesus, okay!” I grunt. “I guess I care more now because of Ron. When Vivs and Laura were small and I was a single mom, I think I felt I had something to prove. I was also young and stupid.” I flop to my back.

  “One more set, but take thirty,” Garth says.

  I roll on my side and look up at him.

  “I realize now that the things I do and say and write have a direct reflection on Ron and Max, too. I didn’t really think about Vivs and Laura when I was waging war against the world. But I’m starting to see why they were always upset with me.”

  “Sounds like you’re growing up,” Garth says, with more than a bit of wisdom in his words.

  “About time, I guess.” I smile and start crunching.

  4

  I am just finishing printing out the class lists I’m going to hand out at curriculum night when I get the call.

  “Mrs. Dixon?”

  “Hey, Ashley. Are you on your way?”

  “I can’t babysit tonight. My mom says I need to focus on school work and that you should just get over it.”

  I roll my eyes. Gotta love Ashley. She is the most inappropriate babysitter ever. Reminds me of me.

  “Uh, kinda leavin’ me hanging tonight, girlie. We have something at Max’s school.”

  “Yeah, I know, but my mom told me to tell you I’m sick. Wait, I think I was supposed to say that first.”

  “Okay, well, you tell your mom I said thanks.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  Damn. Ashley is so good with Max. Too bad I’m going to have to fire her seventeen-year-old ass.

  “Ron!”

  “Jesus, what? I’m right here.”

  Things have been a little tense with us since the camping-out night. I can tell he’s still waiting for some kind of explanation. I’m still waiting to think of one.

  “Ashley just canceled, so one of us has to stay home. I vote for me.”

  “And I vote for me,” Ron countered. “And I know somewhere in the prenup we established that a tie goes to me.”

  I want to argue, but I know he’s right. As class mom, I have to be there to press the flesh, kiss some babies, and talk about world peace. Oh, wait, that’s POTUS. I just have to be there.

  “Max!”

  “Mommy, I’m right here. Why are you yelling?” He is standing behind me wearing a pirate hat and a feather boa.

  “Sorry, just a habit. Ashley is sick or doing her homework or something, so Dad is going to stay home with you while I go meet your teacher.”

  “Okay. Can I watch TV?”

  “I’d say your chances are pretty good.”

  “Yes! Say hi to Miss Ward for me. I love her.”

  “You do?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay, then.”

  I kiss Max five times, grab the two platters of mini quiches I said I would bring, and head out the door.

  * * *

  Miss Ward’s classroom must be seen to be believed. Think Pee-wee’s Playhouse and then vomit Disney crap all over it. There isn’t one inch of space that isn’t covered in colorful, um, stuff.

  I almost don’t recognize Miss Ward, who is sitting on her desk putting on lipstick. She is wearing a purple leather miniskirt and a pink low-cut V-neck sweater that couldn’t possibly be any tighter. Her blond hair is in a messy ponytail. The best part of her getup is the thigh-high black boots. They’re not quite stilettos, but they make her look like a life-sized Bratz doll.

  As I approach her I can’t help but wonder what happened to Sister Mary Perfect.

  “Hi, Miss Ward.”

  She leaps up and hugs me.

  “Jenny! I’m so happy you’re here! Are those mini quiches? Yum. What time is everyone coming? I’ve been ready for an hour.”

  “They should be here any minute.” I put my trays on a table next to an impressive platter of sushi. “Wow, did you bring this?” I ask, a bit too loudly

  “No. Nadine Lewicki’s mom sent it. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

  “Very.” I’m actually impressed. I didn’t think Sasha read my emails, what with all the out-of-office replies. Not that I asked for sushi, but still.

  “Max says Nadine has never been in class. Is she okay?”

  Miss Ward seems taken aback by the question.

  “Well, it’s not something I can really talk about. But her mom and I are in close contact.”

  “It seems like her mom works a lot. Oh, by the way, Max wanted me to tell you hello. He says he loves—”

  “Um … Jenny?” Miss Ward suddenly has the “I’m the teacher, take me seriously” look on her face. “Can you just respect that tonight is a getting-to-know-you party and not the time to get into personal issues about your child?”

  I open my mouth and close it again. I am speechless, and believe me when I tell you that does not happen often. But it wasn’t until that moment that I noticed the crazy eyes. Miss Ward has crazy eyes. I recognize them from Ron’s ex-wife, Cindy. It doesn’t make her a bad person, but it’s definitely noteworthy.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll save my thoughts for conference day.”

  At this point, other parents start to trickle in and I get busy playing hostess.

  “Are you the class mom?” a breathy voice from behind me demands.

  I turn, and a large woman with short red hair is standing there, huffing and puffing like she’s just run from the parking lot. She is wearing an orange ribbed sweater and a brown skirt. Pinned to her sweater is a big button that says, “It’s No Joke.”

  “Yes, hi, I’m Jennifer Dixon, and you must be Shirleen Cobb.”

  She looks shocked. “How did you know?”

  “The pin. Allergies. ‘It’s no joke,’” I say solemnly.

  “Well, exactly. That’s what I want to talk to you about. I think you need to—”

  Thankfully, I am saved from finding out what I “need” to do by another parent, this one asking me where to put the brownies. I excuse myself from Shirleen and show a skinny blonde dressed all in black where to put her goodies.

  And so it begins, my first evening with my fellow kindergarten parents. I am definitely the most, shall we say, marinated of the group. Most of the couples look to be in their early thirties.

  As I scan the room, I notice a really tall couple over by the birthday calendar. I think it’s nice when tall people find each other. Short people, too, although I feel sorry for their kids because, let’s face it, they don’t have a shot. I see the blond woman with the brownies talking to another woman also dressed entirely in black, their heads bent together as they take in Miss Ward’s ensemble. The two men at their sides must be their husbands. One of them is very good looking. Hmm … I notice he’s checking out Miss Ward, too. The other husband seems to be picking wax out of his ear.

  Across the room, a couple is looking at the turtle tank. They have their backs to me, and I can’t help but notice that the guy sure can fill out a pair of jeans nicely. As I’m admiring his butt, he turns around and I get a look at his face. Ho-ly shit! Goose bumps spread across my body as I recognize him. Don Burgess. He’s such a fox. The words come to my head before I can stop them, because back in high school you never heard one without the other. “Don Burgess he’s such a fox.” It’s like it was his full name. Today it would be a hashtag. #donbur gesshessuchafox.

  Every high school has a Don Burgess—the one guy that every girl wants to be with and every guy wants to be. But Don took his coolness to another level. It was effortless. His jeans never looked new, but never looked old, either. He drove a lime green Dodge Charger and brushed his hair with his fingers. Best of all, he was sooo rock ’n’ roll. Not in a skeezy way, just a super-cool way. The permanent expression on his face let you know he was in on some cosmic joke that you would never be groovy enough to understand. If he smiled at you in the hallway, it was as though the angels
had come down from heaven for that brief moment and filled you with light. If he talked to you, forget it. The first time for me was junior year, when he bumped into me in the cafeteria and said, “Whoops! Sorry, Jen.” I felt as though I’d been hit by a truck. He knew my name! You’d think he had asked me to prom by the way I reacted. I was high on life for a week.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  I look up and he is standing right in front of me—dirty blond hair, green eyes, and just the right amount of stubble. Holy crap. Why does age look so damn good on some men?

  I let out a nervous giggle, like the total tool that I am.

  “Hey, Don, it’s me, Jen Burgess. Uh. I mean, Jen Howard.” I can’t even imagine how many shades of purple I am right now.

  “Jen! No freakin’ way!”

  I giggle again and attempt to moderate my pulse.

  “Wow. You grew up gorgeous!”

  He leans in to give me a hug, and a whiff of Polo by Ralph Lauren immediately transports me back to the hallways of East High. That was his scent, and it always lingered for a good thirty seconds after he had passed by. Now it was on my clothes. The normal me would be thinking how weird/pathetic it is that he still wears his high school cologne, but clearly normal me is nowhere to be seen. I back away and take a stab at acting cool.

  “Do you have a child in this class?” I find asking the obvious is always nice.

  “Yep. Lulu. Who’s yours?”

  “Max.” I start looking around to see if anyone is watching me talk to Don Burgess (he’s such a fox). Like anyone would care.

  “So, are you married?”

  “I am. My husband’s at home with Max. Our babysitter canceled on us so I had to come alone. But he totally would have been here.” Shut up, diarrhea mouth, I think to myself.

  “Cool. Ali—that’s Ali over there.” He points to the woman still looking at the turtles. She waves.

  “We’re not married, but we co-parent Lulu. It works, I guess.” He shrugs and gives me his trademark Don Burgess he’s such a fox smile.

  I feel dizzy, like I’ve been out in the sun for too long. I realize I’d better keep moving; otherwise, I risk making a complete fool of myself.

  “Well, I’m paid to mingle…” I say, and start to walk away.

  “Hey remember the P.E. laundry room?”

  Of course I remember the P.E. laundry room! I want to scream, but instead I respond with that witty giggle I have recently adopted and, get this … a thumbs-up. Could I be any dorkier?

  I get back to the job at hand and leave my high school crush to charm someone else. I glance around, and over by the book nook I notice a shortish woman with mousy brown hair and a guy who is a total hunk. They can’t be together. I don’t want to generalize, but let’s face it, hot goes with hot, average goes with average, and so on down the line unless there is a large amount of money involved. But that would mean she has the money. I wonder if that’s why Miss Ward is all tarted up tonight. Between Don Burgess and this guy, my time would have been well spent putting on some lipstick.

  After Miss Ward’s presentation about all the “super-fun” things the kids are going to learn this year, it is time for me to give my spiel. I stand up on a chair for maximum effect.

  “Hi, everyone. I’m Jennifer Dixon, your class mom. Perhaps you have seen my emails?” I smile at the hunk, but notice that he’s holding hands with his Mrs. She must be loaded. Don is standing behind him and gives me a thumbs-up.

  As I continue, I get a few grins, but mostly blank stares, plus one toxic glare from Asami Chang. Tough room. Luckily I was planning to make my remarks brief. I’m much braver in writing than I am in person.

  “I have brought copies of the class list for everyone. I also sent it to you in a PDF. If you have any questions, you can always call or email me. All my contact information is at the bottom.”

  At this point, I look up and see Nina walk in, wearing a megawatt smile and a fabulous aqua blouse that really brings out the blue in her eyes. I feel like I need to end with a bang to impress the woman who put me in this power position, so I add, “Here’s to a great year!”

  As everyone turns to the refreshment table, Nina walks over.

  “Way to whip them into a frenzy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m better in print.”

  “Have you made any friends yet?”

  “Shirleen Cobb and I had a moment.”

  “Ah, the allergy mom.”

  “And, oh my God!” I drop my voice to a whisper. “The hottest guy in my high school is a parent in this class! I just made a total idiot of myself talking to him.”

  “Which one is he?” She looks around. “That guy?” She motions toward the guy with the rich wife.

  “No. He’s over by the food. Dirty blond hair and jeans.”

  Nina spots him and raises her eyebrows in approval.

  “Not my flavor, but he’s pretty damn cute.”

  “Are you kidding me? He’s totally hot.”

  She shrugs. “I can see how he would have been gorgeous in high school.”

  For some reason, this irritates the crap out of me.

  “Shouldn’t you be bothering your own classroom instead of checking on mine?”

  Nina laughs. “Nope. It’s my job as PTA president to visit everyone. Oooh! Is that sushi? Nice touch.” She makes a beeline for the California rolls.

  As she leaves, the two women in black approach me minus their husbands. They both have long straight hair and are dressed in turtleneck sweaters, black jeans, and over-the-knee boots. They are both as skinny as I believe a woman can be and still be called a woman. Their only difference is one is about six inches taller than the other, and one is blond, the other brunette. In my head I immediately dub them Dr. Evil and Mini-Me. Dr. Evil speaks first.

  “Hi, I’m Kim Fancy, Nancy’s mom.”

  Seriously, her daughter is Nancy Fancy. Who would do that?

  “Hi, Kim. I think Nancy and Max sit at the same table.”

  “Oh, really? Nancy never said anything.”

  “Well, neither did Max, but their names are on their seats.”

  I turn to Mini-Me.

  “I’m Jen.”

  “I’m Kit’s mom, JJ Aikens.”

  “O-KK,” I joke. Nothing. Mini-Me just stares.

  “When are you planning the parent cocktail night?” she asks.

  “Sorry? The what?”

  Dr. Evil looks at me like I have two heads.

  “Every year the class mom organizes a cocktail party so the parents can get to know each other.”

  “Really? Is that new?”

  “Uh, no,” Mini-Me says condescendingly. “We started it in preschool.”

  “Well, okay. I’ll start thinking about it.” In my head I’m counting the ways I’m going to exact my revenge on Nina. Mini-Me interrupts my thoughts.

  “We both have really busy schedules, so the sooner you can pick a date, the better.”

  “Okay. Good to know.”

  “Can’t wait!” Dr. Evil says, and they both smile and walk away. I make a mental note to get the backstory on them.

  I turn away, looking to rip Nina a new one, when I bump into the extremely tall couple.

  “Hi, Jen? I’m Peetsa and this is my husband, Buddy.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Yup. Just like the food. We’re Zach Tucci’s parents.”

  “Oh, my gosh, Max talks about Zach T. all the time.”

  “Same here,” Buddy says, and then he blushes. “I mean, Zach talks about Max.”

  I think I like these two despite their intimidating height. Buddy has jet black hair that he wears brushed back, dark eyes, and a nose that might just be a little too small for his face. Peetsa can only be described as a classic Italian beauty. Think Sophia Loren, but with smaller boobs and lips.

  “We should set up a play date,” I suggest.

  “Your place or mine?” Buddy says, and immediately blushes again. Oh, jeez, this guy is going to be fun to tease.
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  Peetsa rolls her eyes. “He means we’d be happy to host. By the way, we love your emails. It’s the first time I’ve ever laughed out loud reading something from a class mom.”

  “Thanks. I try to have fun with them. I’ll host the play date. Max just got a remote-control helicopter and he’s dying to show someone.”

  “Is Max your only child?” Peetsa asks me.

  “No, I have two older daughters.”

  “Oh, do they go here?”

  “Well, they used to. Do you have any besides Zach?”

  “Our daughter Stephanie is in sixth grade. Kinda crazy how long we waited between kids, huh?”

  I decide to hold off telling her just how not crazy six years between kids sounds to me.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to set up a play date. By the way”—she leans in to me—“is it me, or does our teacher look like a hooker?”

  It’s official. I love this woman.

  “Maybe she has a paying gig after this?” I offer.

  “Buddy can’t take his eyes off that sweater.”

  “What?” Buddy blushes. “It’s a nice color.”

  Peetsa laughs and pulls him away.

  I turn to grab something to eat, and bump into two women, one tall with short blond hair and the other even taller with really short brown hair, scoping out the brownies. Encouraged by my last parent encounter, I put on my friendly face and say hello.

  “Hi. I’m Jen.”

  They both smile.

  “Hi, I’m Carol, Hunter’s mom,” says Blondie.

  “And I’m Kim, Hunter’s other mom,” says Short Brown Hair.

  I don’t know why, but the two-mommy thing takes me by surprise. Unfortunately, when that happens, my ability to rebound isn’t stellar. I start to babble.

  “Oh, wow! How great. Good for you! We should have a play date. Does Hunter like helicopters? Or do you guys try to keep him away from gender-specific toys?”

  SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I scream in my head. Boy, this night is one for the record books.

  They look at each other and start laughing.

  “Breathe, Jen,” says Kim … or Carol. I’ve already forgotten who is who. “We know you’re cooler than this. Unless someone else writes your emails.”