Are We There Yet?

by Kathleen West

  Meredith had told Sadie that every woman she knew had fallen under the spell of a bad boy at some point in her life. Perhaps they were actually lucky Sadie was having this near-ubiquitous experience when she was still so young, before college transcripts or permanent records. Officer Larson had assured Bill and her that nothing from this blip would show up on background checks. The DA had decided against pressing charges. Sadie wouldn’t face consequences beyond Whittaker’s suspension, and that would end by the following afternoon.

  “I’m going,” Meredith told Nadia about the ethical parenting group.

  “Well, I’ll be there to support you,” Nadia had said. She’d added a pink heart emoji to the message.

  That sentiment annoyed Meredith, especially after she’d seen her at the park with Alice. Who does Nadia think she is? Meredith wondered. Switzerland?

  On her way to the junior high, Meredith stopped at home and slipped on a new top from Anthropologie and her favorite green pants. She curled her hair, too, going for loose waves that seemed like she hadn’t tried too hard. If she looked unperturbed, others would assume she was.

  “Where are you going?” Sadie had asked. She was snuggled up on the couch with a book while Bill worked from home in his study, loosely supervising her. They’d confiscated her phone for the duration of the school days, forcing her to fill her suspension with wholesome activities. Meredith had noticed that she and Bill had each used the word “wholesome” more in those few days than ever before in their lives.

  Meredith didn’t think the news of the photos had spread much beyond her immediate friend group. She’d told Lacy Cushing, but Lacy was a vault when it came to secrets. Plus, Lacy was married to Walt, whom she’d encouraged to adhere to the Elm Creek Soccer board’s no-tolerance policy. Later, she’d gotten a sympathetic text from Grace Heffernan that she answered with a quick “We’re handling it.” It turned out Sadie had told Mikaela about the photo during an evening when they’d let her have her phone. After that, Meredith made her promise not to tell anyone else. She kept Sadie’s phone on the kitchen counter or in her own pocket. “Reputations,” Meredith had said, not quite looking at her daughter, “are incredibly hard to repair. Better to just keep them intact.”

  “Why should I say I’m suspended, then?” Sadie had asked.

  “Tell them you’re sick.” This was the first time that she’d asked Sadie to lie. Of course she and Bill valued honesty, but this situation called for discretion.

  Meredith knocked on Jason Whittaker’s doorjamb when she arrived at school. “Are you joining us for the ethical parenting group?” Her smile felt tight at the edges.

  “I’ve got your copies.” Whittaker pulled a stack of taupe-colored papers from a bin on his filing cabinet and handed them over. “I’m impressed you’re still willing to facilitate given Sadie’s circumstances.” Meredith eyed the fake plant on his desk. Now that she knew it was artificial, she wondered how she’d ever been fooled.

  “It’s possible to practice ethical parenting in times of adversity.” She’d rehearsed this response. “In fact, it’s arguably the most important time.”

  Whittaker put his palms up. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Will you be sitting in?” Meredith hoped he’d make an appearance at the beginning to give the group some legitimacy. But then she preferred that he leave. Parents might not be as open about their challenges with a school administrator in the room.

  “I thought I’d stop by to greet folks.” Meredith felt her eye twitch. She hated the word “folks.” It sounded so affected.

  “Perfect,” she said.

  “And then I’ll see you tomorrow, right? For Sadie’s reinstatement meeting?”

  Meredith nodded and retreated from the office. She repositioned her nylon grocery bag on her shoulder, feeling the weight of the pumpkin chocolate chip muffins she and Sadie had baked the night before, along with her favorite rectangular porcelain serving dish and some thick paper napkins. She glanced at her Garmin and found there were eight minutes before the meeting convened, enough time to arrange the chairs and lay out the snacks.

  When she arrived in the conference room, a mom she knew from elementary, Lynne Graham, had already commandeered the head of the table. Meredith visualized the RSVP list from the week before and didn’t remember Lynne’s name. She hoped she’d have enough copies.

  “How are you doing?” Lynne asked, her eyebrow cocked.

  Meredith startled at her conspiratorial tone. Lynne wouldn’t know about Sadie. “I’m fine.” Meredith smiled. “Great.” She set the copies down on the table and began counting chairs.

  “I’m so glad to hear it,” Lynne said. “It’s basically everyone’s worst nightmare, right? I’m so surprised it was Sadie who did it first, though. She’s been such the straight-and-narrow type. I mean, what a shock.”

  Meredith dropped her bag on the floor, forgetting about the breakable serving dish.

  “Are you okay?” Lynne’s smile looked snide.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh.” Lynne’s forehead wrinkled. “Did you forget that Larry is on the Elm Creek Soccer board?”

  Meredith wilted. She had, in fact, forgotten that Lynne’s husband was on the Elm Creek Soccer board. She’d called Walt Cushing about Tane and Teddy, but she hadn’t thought about the other board members who’d find out about the photo. She hadn’t thought about their spouses and children.

  Meredith bent down and pulled the serving dish—unscathed from the fall, thank goodness—from her bag and placed it in the center of the table. “Of course Larry is on the board.” Meredith kept her eyes on her treats. “I had forgotten. But, Lynne, can you help me out? I’d really like to keep this as quiet as possible. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, but just for Sadie’s sake.”

  “Well, sure . . .” Lynne trailed off as Meredith pulled the muffins out and arranged them on the tray. “But I think it might already be sort of widespread? And now with that graffiti at Elm Creek Park? I’ve seen it in a few neighborhoods, too. That’s related, right?”

  “Ethical parenting?” A seventh-grade mom that Meredith recognized as Jess walked in.

  “Welcome!” she said, grateful for the distraction from Lynne’s insinuations. “I’m so glad you could be here. Jess, right?”

  Jess slung her handbag onto the corner of a chair and grabbed a muffin from the tray. “These look amazing,” she said. “I’m really excited we’re doing this. There’s so much to talk about, especially in the new junior high frontier.”

  Meredith nodded as a couple of other moms walked in. She could see Jason Whittaker in the hallway just outside the room, chatting with Nadia.

  “I mean,” Jess continued, “talk about the ethics of all this social media stuff.” She took a bite and then pointed at the muffin with her free hand. “Delicious!” she mumbled, mouth full. Other parents got settled. Meredith tried to make eye contact with each one, to welcome them. Jess swallowed and kept talking. “I know all about the Finstas, right?” she said. “But now it’s really Snapchat you have to worry about.”

  Meredith held her breath. A surge of nausea overtook her as she sat among the women.

  “Right,” interjected another mom. “I read that that’s where they post their”—she paused, leaned forward, and whispered—“nudes.” Meredith gripped her copies. “How scary, right?” the woman continued. “Of course, our kids are still far too young for that sort of thing. Can you imagine?”

  “Not too young, unfortunately,” said Elizabeth Hunt, whom Meredith knew from book club. “In fact, Alexandra told me she heard rumors this week about kids sending nudes. Meredith, have you heard anything about this?” There was something accusatory about Elizabeth’s inquiry.

  Meredith shoved the top of a muffin in her mouth and motioned to her chomping jaw, stalling. Lynne jumped in. “I think it’s jus
t a couple of boys spreading things around.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Alexandra said something about the Elm Creek soccer team. Of course, I’m all for girls reclaiming their sexuality. Don’t you think part of ethical parenting is educating our kids about feminism? Both the boys and girls could be part of the fourth wave.”

  A chocolate chip caught in Meredith’s throat. “Maybe we could table the discussion about sexuality.” She coughed. The last thing she needed was people forming opinions about her and Sadie before they got to know them. The real Sadie was the UN Service Award. Meredith felt desperate to bury her Snapchat.

  “But sexuality has everything to do with ethics!” Elizabeth unzipped her jacket to reveal a “This is what a feminist looks like” T-shirt in bright pink. “In fact, Grace and I and the girls have started a radical feminism club.” She pointed at Mikaela’s mom, who lifted her sweater to show the same T-shirt. “We’re meeting with the girls again this afternoon. It might be perfect for Sadie given—”

  “It’s two kids from the soccer team,” Meredith blurted. She kept an eye on Whittaker and Nadia outside and willed the women to shut up. She had an agenda, and it didn’t include Sadie’s foray into exhibitionism.

  “How do you know?” Jess asked. She seemed guileless, but Meredith wondered if she’d heard the rumors, too. “Sadie isn’t involved, is she?”

  Shit, Meredith thought. “Absolutely not.” She shot a look at Lynne, whose eyebrows nearly reached her hairline. And then she added, “I heard about the photos from a friend.”

  Meredith pictured Alice’s face and felt furious. Alice had never really owned up to Teddy’s faults. All that mattered to the Sullivans was soccer. “I’m pretty sure Teddy Sullivan is involved.” It felt right to Meredith, saying Teddy’s name aloud. He should be the subject of the rumors, not Sadie. It wasn’t Meredith’s or Sadie’s fault that Teddy had sent the picture to kids on the soccer team. That had been inexcusable. “It’s serious,” Meredith continued, her words coming fast. “I guess the police are involved.” She stood then after delivering this last line. She didn’t want to see how Lynne Graham reacted or hear what any of the mothers said next. “I’m going to the restroom,” she said over her shoulder, “before the meeting starts.” She excused herself past Whittaker and Nadia, who appeared deep in conversation.

  She tried to keep her pace reasonably slow as she left, and she heard Jess say, “My Ian did say Teddy’s been absent a lot. And I know Alice and Patrick have been stretched pretty thin with work. I guess they missed the signs?” Meredith had put enough distance between herself and the other mothers by then that she didn’t hear any of their replies.

  Evelyn Brown

  The tension between her and Alice was the thickest Evelyn could remember, but she insisted again that week on doing Aidy’s Tuesday pickup. Alice had given her the sparest of details about Teddy’s continued suspension. Evelyn had opinions, grandmotherly and professional, about the situation, but she had decided not to ask any follow-up questions just yet about online school. It didn’t seem right to completely isolate him socially. The better course—what she would have recommended to Alice if she had asked—was integration with supervision.

  Evelyn had said to Alice on the phone that she’d pick up Aidy as usual, and then she’d announced that she’d make risotto for dinner. She’d stay and eat with the family whether she was invited or not, because she had to talk to Alice about Thanksgiving. It wouldn’t be easy, but the holiday was just three weeks away. If Evelyn was really going through with her plan—and frankly, she was determined to—she had to break the news now. “I know you’re busy,” Evelyn said before Alice had time to refuse her offer. “Let me help.”

  And by the time Alice had returned home that evening, dressed more casually than usual in wide-leg jeans and a turquoise blouse, the nutty smell of the Italian dish permeated the kitchen. Evelyn stood at the stove stirring as Alice collapsed on the sectional in the adjoining family room. She pulled the white chenille blanket, rumpled already from Aidy’s reading session, over her lap.

  Now, Evelyn turned off the stove, the risotto all done but for the Parmesan, and perched on the edge of the sofa near her daughter. A multicolor rug spread beneath her feet, its hues uneven like watercolor.

  “So,” Alice said. “Everything okay here? Where are the kids?”

  Alice peered through the archway into the dining room, checking for them. Evelyn followed her gaze and took in the gorgeous arrangement of orange flowers at the center of the Shaker-style oak table. Evelyn also surveyed the large square color swatches Alice had painted on the adjacent dining room wall, one a darker gray than her kitchen cabinets and one a lighter blue. Alice was always updating something or other, never satisfied though most of her house already looked like the “after” shots on a makeover show.

  “They’re upstairs. They’ve been fine. The dining room looks gorgeous. What are you doing with the paint?”

  Alice flashed a tired smile. “I’m experimenting for Thanksgiving,” she said. “And I’ve been taking photos for my professional Instagram.”

  Evelyn put her hands in her lap and stared at Alice’s profile, her slight physique. And then, though she couldn’t quite decipher Alice’s melancholy mood, Evelyn launched into her agenda. “I want to talk about Thanksgiving, actually.”

  “I ordered the turkey,” Alice said. “The heritage organic kind from that butcher in Liston Heights? Didn’t you like the darker meat?”

  In fact, Evelyn had found the fancy bird to be tougher than their usual Jennie-O, but there was no point in admitting it. “Actually, I’m hoping I can help you. You’ve been so busy, and there’s a bit of a crisis, right? I’m hoping to take something off your plate.” Evelyn looked back at the flower arrangement. The whole spotless house belied the turmoil that Evelyn knew her daughter was feeling. She pictured her own living room, the stacks of stray books on the end and coffee tables, teacups that Evelyn had forgotten to put in the dishwasher at the end of various workdays.

  “I’d like to have Thanksgiving at my house this year,” Evelyn said, definitive.

  “What?” Alice jutted her chin.

  “Yes.” Evelyn forged ahead. “I know you’ve hosted for years—”

  “At least ten years!” Alice interrupted.

  Evelyn had known she’d be upset. She lapsed into her therapy voice, an attempt to quell Alice’s anxiety. “I want to invite Julienne and her family. Did I mention she has two teenagers? Plus her husband? I think they’d be more comfortable at my place. And I definitely don’t want to impose on you by adding to the number.” Evelyn pointed at the dining table. Although it was striking in its simplicity, the matching benches definitely wouldn’t accommodate four more.

  “But I was already experimenting with centerpieces. I have a wholesale rug on order. I reserved the turkey.” She threw an arm out toward the dining room.

  “I’ll use the turkey.” Evelyn could concede to the dark meat if it made Alice feel better. “And I’m actually taking two things off your plate—you won’t have to finish the dining room. That would have been a challenge, right? And you won’t have to worry about the Thanksgiving dinner. You always kill yourself with that. Maybe instead you could just bring the cornbread rolls the kids like so much?”

  Evelyn looked at the watercolor rug, the places where the pink diffused into orange. She pushed away her guilt over Alice’s obvious distress, the tightness of her jaw and her simultaneously wild and hollow eyes. Evelyn felt bad about taking Thanksgiving, of course, but this was a onetime thing. And Alice was nearing forty years old. Evelyn had structured her entire life around her daughter. Now that she was middle-aged, there could surely be some balance in their relationship, rather than Evelyn always taking on the supporting role.

  “It might help,” Evelyn pressed on, “if you’d call Julienne again before then. I’d appreciate it if you’d put in a bit more effort. Especial
ly after . . .” Evelyn paused, not sure how to describe Alice’s therapy transgression. “What happened,” she said.

  Alice closed her eyes as she pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Okay, Mom.” She didn’t move. “Let’s have dinner. I know you’ll want to get home.”

  Evelyn’s anger sparked. Alice had waltzed in, her dinner made and her kids cared for. After everything Evelyn had done for her, all the sacrifices she’d made and continued to make, Thanksgiving at her house just one time didn’t seem like that big of an ask. Evelyn marched to the kitchen, lit the burner under the Dutch oven, and poured her premeasured Parmesan into the risotto. She stirred aggressively, then dropped the spoon next to the pan and grabbed her coat. “I’ll go now,” she said, hustling toward the impeccable mudroom. “Your dinner’s ready.”

  Alice Sullivan

  When Patrick called that night, Alice, too, had an agenda. With Thanksgiving on the horizon, she couldn’t wait any longer to confess her big mistake to her husband. But she decided to start with the other news: “My mom wants to host Thanksgiving this year.”