by Nolon King
Alec and Lena scrambled out of the back. Natalie stayed in the driver’s seat, though I couldn’t see her through either the tint or the glare. Making a phone call? Or avoiding the rest of us?
She must’ve finished whatever she was doing because she got out of the car, stunning as always. I wanted to think of her as a skinny bitch, even though I didn’t really like that word, because that would make all the times when she didn’t want to hang out with me feel better. She wasn’t a B-word, like so many of the other moms. Smart, assertive, and the kind of friend you really want to have? Absolutely.
We all pretend we’re not comparing, but when it comes to Natalie, I think we all are. We all looked up to our Natalies. Beautiful without showing too much. Strong yet soft. Demure as she was brazen, depending on either her mood or her need.
Everything about her was natural, easy, and enviable.
MILF.
Mom I’d like to fuck.
A mom all of us want to fuck. I mean, not really. Once in high school, twice in college, drunk at a party all three times, and just because. Why wouldn’t I be curious?
Our sons were best friends, so really, it would make sense that we would become best friends too. It was only a matter of time. Except that the boys were growing up fast, so if something was going to happen with Natalie, sooner was better than later.
I watched as she kissed both kids and sent them on their way, but she wasn’t getting back in the car and—
Yes!
I wondered if Natalie was coming over to talk, or if she had business in the office. Maybe she’d like to grab a cup of coffee. Except … Susan. Like Natalie would stop if she also had to chew the cud with that cow. Not that Susan was fat. In fact, it looked as if she might be back to bingeing and purging again.
“Natalie!” I called out, when it became obvious that she was walking fast and about to pass us.
She stopped, but somehow still managed to appear like she was in motion, saying — Sorry ladies, I’m in a rush this morning — without being mean about it.
Natalie gave us a wave that was probably meant mostly for me. “Hey girls.”
“Hey Natalie,” Susan said. “Don’t you think the kids are getting too much homework? Especially math?”
Screw you, Susan.
Natalie was obviously in a hurry, and Susan wanted to have the same conversation that every other dumbass mom had been having on that same patch of lawn since the school was laying its foundation.
“What are you up to?” I asked Natalie, turning ever so subtly away from Susan.
She held up a check and waved in the air. “I have to take our tuition check into the office. Like an idiot I didn’t realize that it was due today, and Ryan is going to New York, so the house was a little chaotic.”
She turned and was about to say goodbye.
I touched her lightly on the arm. “You know Constellation has autopay now, right? We announced it at the CPA meeting at the beginning of the year. You might want to come to the next one. There’s going to be a lot to cover and …”
Oh, fudge.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Natalie said.
Then she followed my eyes to see why I stopped talking.
Theresa Akers: Slut Mom.
I supposed every school had one, so why would ours be any different? Sure, Constellation charges a hefty tuition, but like every other school worth its caps and gowns, it also offered scholarships and financial aid. More than its share, actually. I don’t like to brag about it, although I did tell Natalie once, and Susan several times just to shut her up, that Frank and I sponsor two students in addition to our own.
I’m glad Slut Mom’s daughter isn’t one of them.
Susan scowled at Theresa, but Natalie gave her a wave.
Slut Mom had made her first unfortunate appearance at the beginning of the year, showing up in her wretched Ale Mary’s uniform every weekday since. Her daughter Emily had perfect attendance. Of course she did — how could a divorced waitress at a bar earn enough to take her daughter on vacation?
The woman’s uniform is obscene, especially so early in the morning. Short shorts. A top cut so low that her barely there boobies are practically falling right out of it. I don’t have a problem with the scholarships, really I don’t. Like I said, Frank and I pay for two ourselves (so, that’s three tuitions total). It’s that Theresa Akers is the kind of trash that I — and all the other moms at Constellation who can afford to — pay good money to keep our husbands away from.
“She’s single you know,” I told the girls, though I was pretty sure I had told them before.
Susan leaned in, which is why I suddenly smelled frozen waffles. “What’s with women disrespecting themselves? Have you seen any of that story about that escort service? The one that had the leak?”
“You mean Rosebud, right?”
Of course I’d heard. I’d spent hours reading all about it. Frank liked the trades, but I liked to follow what he was doing without being bored, so I always read Hollywood Hunted. And last night I read it for hours.
“Right,” Susan said. “So many of those men involved had families. How can women be okay with being home wreckers? It’s—”
“I’m sorry,” Natalie interrupted, “but I really gotta go.
My hand was back on her arm, gentle like before. She gave me a smile.
“Are we still on for tonight?” I asked.
That look on her face said that she forgot.
“Girls Night?” I prompted.
“Right! Every time Ryan leaves I get stupid. I’m really sorry.
“Don’t mention it at all. Can you still make it?”
It was sad how much I wanted her to say yes.
And how happy I was when I saw her reassuring smile.
“Of course,” she said.
Natalie scampered off with her check, leaving me alone again with Susan.
As I listened to the woman bitch about how the civics teacher was poisoning Owen’s mind by saying positive things about Jimmy Carter’s presidency, I made a mental list of everything I’d need to make sure tonight was perfect.
Chapter Three
Monday Night …
NATALIE
Fuck.
I would seriously rather go without toilet paper for a week, or work retail, than waste any more of my life at one of these stupid Girls Nights. I was dying for a drink, but to get it, I’d have to walk past a swarm of Constellation Parent Association moms, all cackling and gossiping with Lynette. Somehow, that seemed even more dangerous.
My burner phone buzzed with another text from Victor.
Why didn’t I throw it away after I sobered up this morning?
I already decided that I’m not doing it. Didn’t I?
The thing has been buzzing all day, but for some reason I couldn’t make myself get rid of it. Maybe because I haven’t found a single job opening I’m qualified for — I spent half the day searching through JobMart and other similar sites. But it seems as though a college degree is the baseline, on a par with “must be alive.” Even some of the entry-level positions said I would need experience in the form of an internship.
I can’t even afford to live on an entry-level salary, let alone spend months in an unpaid internship just to qualify to get paid peanuts.
And my degree is more than a decade old. I’m going to be competing with the latest batch of college kids, who can afford to get paid shit because they’re still living in their parents’ basements or they’re sharing a two-bedroom apartment with half a dozen other recent graduates.
What if Victor is my only choice?
Even if it’s a terrible option, it’s better than being homeless with kids. Or worse, being homeless and losing the kids to Ryan.
Who am I kidding? He’d be better off financially if he wasn’t paying private school tuition. Maybe he’d even be able to get ahead on all the debt he’s racked up.
Holy shit, what if he’s already planning to leave me so he can do just that?
I’ve been thinking in terms of divorce, but he could shut down the company, move to another part of the country, and start over again with one of his mistresses. If all that debt is in both our names — and it totally could be, he’s that kind of rat bastard, I’m realizing — he could change his name and disappear, leaving me holding the bag of IOUs.
If that happened, Victor would be my only way out.
My phone buzzed again. I ignored it again. The last text had definitely been impatient, demanding that I confirm my acceptance of the job he’d offered ten texts ago.
Of course I wasn’t going to confirm my acceptance of anything. I was going to find a legitimate way to support myself and my kids.
I didn’t mind volunteering at the school as I minded all of this. Ever since Alec went into kindergarten, I had fundraised and baked and chaired committees. It was part of being a good parent, and it made me happy to know that I was doing something that made a difference not just for my kids, but for others too.
But I did mind that my children were with a sitter while I was stuck here at Lynette’s.
It’s not that Lynette is desperate, exactly, but she has this way of looking at me that makes me want to go fetal. I can usually come up with a conflicting appointment when she tries to corner me into lunch or a mani-pedi or whatever other new time-waster she was in the mood for.
But every so often she has me clenched so tight that I agree with her just to get out of the moment.
“More wine?” Susan asked, approaching me with a bottle of Chardonnay.
“Sure,” I said, holding out my glass. Third one’s a charm.
At least everyone was talking about school. Half of the time these Girls Nights turned into impromptu infomercials for essential oils, handbags, candles, soaps, anything weight loss, and twice now — the only two meetings that were any fun — sex toys.
Tonight’s topic: over-involved versus absentee parents. I still can’t believe there’s an argument. As annoying as helicopter moms are, that’s way better than not being there at all. I get the feeling that Lynette is trying to prove a point with Susan, not like that’s any surprise. She’s just so awkward about it.
I added my two cents to the conversation so that no one would think I was rude, then drifted to the other side of the room as quietly as I could while Lynette repeated the same argument she’d been making for the past half hour, but with slightly different words.
Her place is obnoxiously large, thanks to her husband Frank. He’s a successful entertainment lawyer, and according to Lynette, “always in such high demand.”
The only thing she liked to do more than show off her wealth was to talk about her perfect husband. But she had to be wearing beer goggles, or dollar goggles, I guess, because the guy was revolting. Their home was littered with pictures, but they were like exhibits in some monstrous museum. The guy triggered my gag reflex. Involuntary, but true. He’s that gross. Enough to make me sympathetic toward Lynette. I sure as hell couldn’t imagine having to fuck that bowl of jelly.
At least he’s not cheating on her.
My phone buzzed again. I took a large swig of wine.
“Do you need to get that?” Roberta asked.
“It’s been ringing a lot,” Susan added.
Then Lynette said, “Sometimes us girls have to screen our calls, isn’t that right, Natalie?”
“Uh, right,” I agreed. “I guess I got on some list because I keep getting all of these spam phone calls. I just changed my settings so that the phone buzzes instead of rings when it’s someone I don’t know.”
By the time Victor had buzzed me another couple of times, I was pretty buzzed myself. Maybe a little more than buzzed. I would’ve given anything to be home alone with a blender full of margaritas, packing Ryan’s shit into boxes and throwing it out of our bedroom window onto the lawn.
But since that wasn’t an option, I let myself get sucked into the conversation. Until it turned into a competition for who had the best husband.
Susan said, “Marty is a gift that God has given me to cherish and nurture forever.”
Roberta said, “We’re still best friends, even if it’s a rollercoaster. I still like that feeling in my stomach, both on the rise and after the fall. Damon still does it for me.”
Gabrielle said, “We grow and mature because of consistent change, and that helps us to renew our bond.”
I have no idea what that meant, but it sounded like bullshit.
Lynette went next. “Frank and I still have date night twice a week, but the days are always different because of his schedule. And sometimes he’s so busy that we’ll go without date nights for almost a month. But then he’ll make it up to me with something special. We went to Greece the last time.”
“We still fuck every day that Ryan’s home,” I lied. “Sometimes twice.”
The room froze. Susan went all bug-eyed and choked on her Chardonnay.
“What?” I smiled at the crowd and took another sip. “It’s like Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs with our relationship. After twelve years, we’ve reached the tip of that triangle.” Another sip, and then I whispered like it was a secret, barely managing to keep a straight face. “That’s all self-actualization is. The realization that you can have too much stuff, but you can’t have too much sex.”
“I think it’s wonderful that you and Ryan have such a great sex life,” Lynette said. “And that you’re so open about it. What do you say ladies, anyone else want to share?”
Ha. Choke on that, Susan.
But before the storytelling could start, Theresa walked in. Or waddled in, I should say. Poor girl was so pregnant it made my belly ache just to look at her.
“You told me to just come right in,” Theresa said, looking at Lynette.
“Of course. Girls, you all know Theresa.” Lynette looked like she was handing them each a gift card for Nordstrom.
The gaggle tittered, all except me. Maybe because I was suddenly feeling very pissed off, because I could see where this was going, and I didn’t want any part of it.
“It’s great that you could make it to Girls Night,” Lynette said, grabbing a glass and a bottle then walking over to Theresa. “And to see you outside of school, and out of that uniform!”
Lynette laughed, and the girls laughed with her.
I bit my bottom lip.
Roberta whispered to Gabrielle, even though everyone in the room could obviously hear, “Too bad her closet doesn’t have anything larger.”
“Probably because tight clothes turn you into a tight ass,” I said, loud enough to prove that I wasn’t a coward.
The tittering stopped.
I didn’t. “At least Theresa has the body and self-confidence to dress how she wants to. And she isn’t ashamed to be who she is.”
Theresa shot me a look: Thank you.
I gave her one back: Of course.
Even though I’ve never stuck up for her before. I guess something good had come out of my meeting with Victor — I no longer felt like I held the moral high ground when it came to calling other women sluts. I vowed to never do that again.
“Anyone else?” I looked at the gaggle, one at a time.
Lynette said, “Mariella made us some delicious strawberry bruschetta. You’re all going to love it. Warm strawberries and crunchy sugar -- the girl knows how to caramelize! I’ll be right back.”
Then Lynette took her lily-livered self into the kitchen, just as my burner started to buzz.
I glared at the girls, smiled at Theresa, then joined Lynette in the kitchen.
She turned around, surprised to see me.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” Lynette asked, like she didn’t know.
“Why would you invite Theresa here just to make fun of her? It’s bad enough that you do it at school. But asking her over so that you can make fun of her in the comfort of your home is cruel.” I shook my head, getting angrier by the second. “I don’t even know what to say, Lynette.�
�
She set down a tray of admittedly gorgeous strawberry bruschetta, then turned fully around and gently set a hand on my arm. “Let me give you some friendly advice.”
I was already angry, her hand on my arm made me angrier. I shook it off. “I don’t need friendly advice. I need you to keep me out of shit like this.”
She reached out to touch me again, wisely thought better, then sighed and said, “Natalie, you’re beautiful. You don’t even realize how much you have going for you. Or how perfect your life is. You need to protect that at all costs because it won’t get easier as you get older.”
Then she glanced back at the kitchen door. “Theresa? She doesn’t have what we have. Her husband left her and now she’s scrambling and desperate. She dresses that way for a reason.” She lowered her voice to not quite a whisper. “Would you really feel comfortable leaving a woman like that alone in a room with your husband?”
No, I wouldn’t. But I didn’t blame Theresa for that.
“I would have no problem trusting Theresa because I don’t make assumptions about people I don’t know.”
“You’ll change,” Lynette said, so smug that I wanted to slap her. “You’ll get older, and then you’ll better understand how important it is to be aware of the company you keep.”
I stared into her eyes and said, “You’re right, Lynette. I should be much more aware of the company I keep.”
Naturally, she didn’t get it.
I wanted to go back out there and rescue Theresa, but I didn’t even know where to start. Whatever Lynette was up to with dragging this poor woman through the mud, it wasn’t my problem. It couldn’t be my problem.
Money was my problem, Alec and Lena were my problem, and Ryan was my motherfucking problem for sure. Same with the burner phone that wouldn’t stop buzzing, and that I would have to throw in the garbage as soon as I left Lynette’s.
“I’m leaving.”
“Wait! I’ll be nice to Theresa tonight, I promise.”
“You better be,” I said, grabbing a piece of bruschetta, because there was zero chance that I was leaving without one. “But I’m not going to stay here and babysit you. I’ll check in with Theresa tomorrow.”