Class Mom

by Laurie Gelman

  “Not if you’re in love. I would.”

  We both wait to see if she’s kidding. She is not. This is definitely something to revisit later.

  I turn to Vivs. “So, is your age the only reason you said no? I mean, do you love him?”

  Vivs sits down at the kitchen table and takes a deep breath.

  “I do. I mean, I think I do. How do you know?”

  “Oh, God.” I snort. “Don’t ask me. It took me years to figure it out.”

  “Great, Mom. Thanks. Good talk.” Vivs’s voice is dripping sarcasm.

  I roll my eyes at her. These are the mom moments that I love and dread all at the same time. I want to say the right thing, give her the right advice, but I’m not a hundred percent sure what that right advice is.

  “Well, I think you have to look beyond the dizzy infatuation you have right now and think about who you want to share the best and worst times of your life with. The passion will fade—it has to, or you’d never get anything done.” Vivs smiles at this. “But if you end up with your best friend, then you’ve made the right decision.”

  Vivs raises her eyebrows. “So Ron’s your best friend?”

  “Well, Nina really is, but Ron’s definitely a close second, or maybe third. The point is, you want someone you can stand being around forty years from now.”

  “But how do you know that?” Vivs screams, exasperated.

  “You know that when you get to know yourself better!” I raise my voice in frustration.

  At this Norman Rockwell moment of holiday joy, Ron and Max walk in the back door to the kitchen.

  “Uh, hi?” Ron asks with more than a little trepidation.

  “Sissy!” Max jumps ahead of his dad and into Vivs’s lap, giving her a big hug.

  “Buddy!” Vivs squeezes him back.

  “Hey, what about me, Maxilla?” Laura walks over and scoops up her little brother.

  “I got a helicopter and I was a ninja for Halloween,” Max chirps.

  “Tell me something I don’t know, brotha!” Laura puts him in a fireman’s hold and takes him into the living room.

  “Hi, Ron!” she calls over her shoulder.

  “Hey, Laurs,” Ron answers, still standing in the doorway holding a grocery bag. He closes the door and carefully walks to the counter, like he’s casing a minefield. He kisses my head and bends to hug Vivs. “Anything I should know about?”

  “Just girl talk.” I give him my sweet smile.

  “Ron, how did you know that Mom was the one?” Vivs blurts out.

  Okay, girl and boy talk.

  Ron looks leery but to his credit decides just to answer the question.

  “How did I know? Umm … Well, I didn’t at first.”

  I look up, surprised.

  “No offense, honey, but you were a lot to take on. No man in his right mind wants to live with a woman who gives him so much shit all the time.”

  Shit? I think to myself. He doesn’t know what shit is! I’ll give him … Oh.

  Ron continues. “But after a while I realized I was much happier taking shit from all three of you than I ever was with anyone else. So I knew.”

  “But he was forty-three at the time,” I needlessly remind everyone in the room. “And he’d already had a full life with crazy Cindy.”

  Vivs ignores my babbling and looks directly at Ron.

  “What if you had met Mom when you were twenty-one?”

  I can tell Ron needs some context at this point, so I chime in.

  “Raj asked Vivs to marry him. She said no and now he’s not coming for Thanksgiving. There. You’re all caught up.”

  “So, you’re asking would I have married your mom if I’d met her thirty years ago?”

  “Yes,” Vivs says.

  “Probably not, but I feel like that would have been a huge mistake. I can’t imagine my life with anyone else. Can you imagine your life with anyone else?”

  “Frankly, yes I can,” Vivs answers, a little too quickly.

  “Well, then,” says Ron, starting to unpack the grocery bag, “you have your answer.”

  Vivs goes back to tearing up bread and I thank God for the millionth time that I married the right man.

  * * *

  “What time are Nana and Poppy getting here?” Laura asks over breakfast on Thanksgiving morning. Ron has done his usual great job with bacon and eggs. He really doesn’t cook at all, but he manages this one meal without too much mess.

  “They’re going to church this morning and then they’ll be over,” I say while chewing toast.

  “They go to church a lot,” Max observes.

  “Okay, while I have you all here, this is how the day will play out.” I go into drill sergeant mode. “Vivs, you have to make sure the turkey is stuffed and in the oven by noon.”

  “Check.” Vivs gives me a salute.

  “Ron, the potatoes and turnips have already been made, so all you need to do is put them in the microwave when I tell you to. Repeat, when I tell you to.”

  “Jeez, a guy heats things up late one time and gets branded for life,” Ron gripes.

  I ignore him and move on. “Laura, you are on gravy-and-special-peas duty. You know the routine.”

  “Check,” says Laura. “Make gravy, hide gravy from Nana, let Nana make gravy, then swap out Nana’s gravy for mine. Easy.”

  “You say that now, but I think Nana’s on to us. Watch her carefully.”

  “What’s wrong with Nana’s gravy?” Max asks. “I love it.”

  “You’ve never had it,” Laura assures him. “You’ve only ever had my gravy.”

  “Lucky,” Ron says, and gives him a solemn nod.

  Let me just say that my mom has a good heart and no taste buds. Everything she makes has way too much seasoning. The problem’s getting worse as she gets older. I feel so sorry for my dad. Thank God, he has terrible sinus issues, so I don’t think he notices too much.

  “And don’t forget to dig out the gravy boat from hell,” I remind Laura. “It’s in the linen closet behind the old towels.”

  “Jeez, do we have to keep calling it that?” Ron sounds defeated.

  “What else would you call it?” I ask him. It was a wedding gift from Ron’s ex. She sent us a gravy boat shaped like a turkey, where the neck is the handle and the gravy comes out the ass. I insist on using it at least twice a year.

  He shakes his head. “I was thinking just ‘gravy boat.’ but whatever.”

  “Max,” I continue, “you are in charge of collecting leaves for the table. I want to see lots of different colors, okay?”

  “Okay!” he says, clearly feeling very important.

  “Okay,” I repeat. “I will set the table and make sure the pies get put in the oven once the turkey is out. Any questions?”

  I get a lot of blank stares.

  “Right, then. Let’s get to it. No TV until your work is done.”

  “I don’t want to watch TV,” Max says.

  “I was talking to Daddy.”

  As everyone scatters to do their chores, I clean up the breakfast mess and then sit down to check my email. Amid the usual Pottery Barn, Shopbop, and Amazon notices is a note from none other than Miss Ward.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  from: PWard

  Date: 11/25

  Subject: I’m feeling thankful!

  Dear Jenny,

  As I sit here in my apartment on this beautiful Thanksgiving Day with a bottle of wine and all four Twilight movies to enjoy, I just want to thank you for your hard work and friendship so far this year. I really think we make a great team! Having said that, I need you to be more on the ball with the field trips. We can’t let what happened at the recycling center happen again. Agreed? Great.

  Have a nice dinner!

  Peggy

  * * *

  * * *

  Ouch. I really can’t believe she went there.

  Peetsa and I chaperoned Tuesday’s field trip and, as predicted by me, the kids had a mass meltdown
when they figured out that they weren’t going to the “real dump.”

  Thank goodness for Suchafox! He was waiting for us by the front door of the plant, and when he heard the sobbing from inside the bus he came onboard and took charge. Within five minutes, he managed to convince the kids how lucky they were to be here instead of the dump, citing the really bad smell and the giant rats. Luckily, the kids bought this hook, line, and sinker—especially when he said he would show them how to turn a plastic water bottle into a pair of jeans. Suddenly they couldn’t wait to take the tour. Lulu looked so proud.

  “P.E. laundry room,” Peetsa mumbled to me as we walked the plant floor. I burst out laughing. Miss Ward gave us a stern look.

  At the end of the tour, Don was as good as his word. We sat the kids down in a cafeteria-type room and showed them a video about plastic being made into fabric. Peetsa sat with her son and I noticed Miss Ward sneak out the side door with her cell phone as soon as the movie started. I settled myself in the back of the crowd and leaned back in my chair. That’s when it happened.

  Don came and sat beside me.

  “Remember being so happy when we got to watch a movie in class?” he whispered.

  Calm down, Jen.

  “Yeah,” I responded with my usual wit.

  He rested his arms on his knees and leaned in so close I could see the light hairs on his ears.

  “So…” He smiled.

  “So…” I smiled back, trying to remember the last time I sat this near to a man who wasn’t my husband.

  “How do you think it’s going?” he whispered.

  “I think it’s going great.” I wondered whether we were talking about the same thing. I mean, I was sitting within inches of my high school crush. How much greater could it be?

  “Do you think the kids liked the plant? Lulu was really nervous about everyone getting bored.”

  “No, they loved it. I loved it.” I hoped my smile reassured him.

  “Mom!” Max was standing in front of me.

  “What?” I jumped away from Don. The movie was still playing and the kids were quietly watching. I focused on my son. “What’s up?”

  “Graydon’s not here.”

  Don and I looked at each other and sprang up. Thirty minutes of panic ensued while we put out an APB on Graydon, who had taken it upon himself to look for the bathroom shortly after the movie started. He had left the recycling center and gone to the main building, where the offices were, after judging it the “safest bathroom option.” Luckily, he didn’t run into any peanut butter or airborne dust on his journey, or Shirleen would have had my hide. As it is, I think he got a rash from the soap in the bathroom.

  I apologized to Miss Ward profusely and was classy enough not to point out that she was nowhere to be found for the first twenty minutes of Graydon’s disappearance.

  And now she throws it at me, on Thanksgiving? I think about a retaliatory email—something biting about drinking wine at ten o’clock in the morning and being a Twi-hard, but in the spirit of the day, I decide to take the high road. Instead, I text Don Happy Thanksgiving and thank him again for all his help with the kids on the field trip. And I am just a little bit thrilled when he texts me right back, Any time!

  * * *

  “Ah, that was a fine meal, Mother.” Ron pushes his chair back from the Thanksgiving table and pats his nonexistent belly. Sometimes he likes to pretend we’re an old couple from the 1950s. It’s one of those things that was cute the first five or six times but has since worn thin. I don’t have the heart to tell him he needs some new material.

  I have to say, dinner was delicious. Thanksgiving is one of those idiot-proof meals. Just make sure the turkey isn’t overdone, and you’re halfway there.

  “You really outdid yourself, girlfriend,” Nina calls from across the table. “Those peas were unbelievable.”

  Nina and Chyna always join us for holiday dinners, because we are the closest thing to family that they have in KC. Nina’s parents both died in a horrible boating accident on vacation in the Bahamas. Nina was only eight years old and saw the whole thing from the beach. She went to live with her grandmother in Topeka after that. She doesn’t talk about it much, but she did tell me that when her grandmother died, a lawyer handed her a check for $326,342 as some sort of compensation from the mega-resort where her parents were killed. Apparently, her grandmother had been holding on to it so Nina wouldn’t “spend it on clothes or drugs,” as the will put it. She was twenty-five and completely alone in the world. It was the perfect time for the dashing Sid to sweep her, and her money, off her feet.

  “The secret is nutmeg,” I tell her.

  “And about a pound of butter,” my mother chimes in. “Sweetheart, I swear you put in more and more every year. Your grandmother would be horrified.”

  “But not because of the taste,” I counter. “Granny would be shocked because butter is expensive.”

  “That’s true,” my mom agrees. “My goodness, that woman was tight with a dollar. She’d make my father drive twenty miles away to save ten cents on paper towels.”

  Nina smiles. I can tell she enjoys the family banter, since she never really had any of her own.

  “How is Garth doing?” my mother asks as she starts stacking all the dishes she can reach without getting up. Ron and my dad have wandered back to the television, and the girls and Max have gone to the basement to play Xbox.

  “He’s good. I really like him. He’s such a nice guy.”

  “What’s he doing today?”

  I pause for a moment. “He didn’t say.”

  “Well, you should have invited him for dinner today,” my mom admonishes me.

  “Mom, I barely know him! He barely knows me. It would have been weird to just randomly invite him to Thanksgiving.”

  My mom shakes her head. “I thought I taught you better than that, Jennifer Rose.”

  “You never taught me to invite strangers to dinner.”

  “He’s not a stranger and he doesn’t have any family in town.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he told me. How much do you know about him?”

  “Not much.” I shrug. “We don’t really talk.”

  “Well, maybe you should.” My mother pushes her chair back and yells at a surprisingly loud volume: “Okay! Everyone is on cleanup crew except Jen and Nina.” There are a lot of groans from the living room and basement.

  “Come on. Many hands make light work.”

  Everyone drags themselves into the dining room.

  “Do what Nana says or she’ll make you say the rosary afterward,” I warn everyone. Suddenly the pace picks up noticeably.

  “Oh, we’ll be saying the rosary anyway,” my mother assures me. That elicits even more groans.

  Nina and I grab the rest of the wine and our glasses and head into the living room.

  “Your mama just gave you a spanking, my friend.” Nina smirks.

  “I know, right? What’s her deal with Garth?”

  Nina shrugs. “So how is my class mom doing?”

  “Oh, you know, living the dream.” I start to tell her about the drama surrounding scheduling the parent/teacher conferences.

  “I don’t know if Kim Fancy ever got that stupid time slot. I’m hoping Sasha Lewicki stuck with it.”

  “Who?” Nina asks from behind her wineglass.

  “Sasha Lewicki. Her daughter is Nadine?”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “Oh, my God. Does that mean I actually know someone you don’t?” I’m sort of kidding, but not really. Nina makes it a point to know everyone because, as she says, “You never know where you’ll find a good lead.” As a freelance graphic designer, she is always looking for new clients. How she does it without pissing people off is beyond me.

  “They must be new.” She lowers her voice. “Still crushing on the old flame?”

  “Trying not to. But it’s kind of fun, you know?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do know.” She laughs.<
br />
  “Really?”

  She nods. “There is a dad in Chyna’s class who would be shocked to know the things I think about him.”

  “Stop it!” I never would have guessed.

  She nods. “But he never looks twice at me. You need to be careful. Old flames like to reignite.”

  “He’s not an old flame. I had a crush on him. It wasn’t mutual.”

  “Uh-huh.” She looks down at her belly and groans. “Why do I always overeat when I come here? Look at this shit!” She shows me a handful of stomach.

  “Wanna try Garth? He comes to your house.”

  “Maybe in the new year. I’ve got another month of overeating to get through first.”

  9

  * * *

  To: Parents

  From: JDixon

  Date: 12/5

  Subject: Miss Ward’s class is having a bash!

  To Be Sung to the Tune of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town”

  You better watch out. You better not cry.

  You better not pout. I’m telling you why.

  Miss Ward’s class is having a bash!

  I’m making a list of what we will eat.

  10:30 in the morning is when we’ll all meet.

  Miss Ward’s class is having a bash.

  We’ll need some bagels and cream cheese

  Some fruit and doughnuts, too.

  Some water, juice, tea, coffee,

  And some bottles of Yoo-hoo hoo!

  So, volunteer soon and don’t you be late!

  You don’t want to make the list of people I hate.

  Miss Ward’s class is having a bash!

  December 22, people. It is in the classroom right after the concert.

  The lines are now open, so run, don’t walk to your nearest computer and sign up to bring something.

  Cheerio!

  Jen

  To: JDixon

  From: SLewicki

  Date: 12/5

  Subject: Miss Ward’s class is having a bash!

  Hi,

  I will be out of the office until December 8.

  Thank you,

  Sasha

  To: JDixon

  From: PTucci

  Date: 12/5

  Subject: Miss Ward’s class is having a bash!