Rich smiled weakly.
Vera clapped her hands once. “Let’s get a sense of who wants it, and then we’ll figure out an election timetable. This position is up for a public vote.” She smirked. “There’s no way around that, unfortunately.”
“I nominate Cassie,” Bree shouted.
“Nominations aren’t necessary,” Vera snapped. “Cassie can throw her name in if she wants.”
“I do, then,” Cassie said. Her voice poured out of her like honeyed bourbon. “I’ve got significant leadership experience, and as a litigator, I excel in public speaking.”
“You can save the resume for the election, Cass,” Vera said briskly. “Your name is noted. Anyone else?”
I opened my mouth and immediately closed it. How in the world could I compete with a stunningly attractive, intensely intelligent lawyer who wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable in public?
“I’m in,” said a male voice from the back of the room.
Thirty heads whipped around in his direction.
“Oh, you certainly are,” whispered the woman next to me.
He was what could only be described as dreamy. Imagine James Taylor in his sexy Sweet Baby James phase, all decked out in Timberlands, L.L. Bean flannel, and Warby Parker eyeglasses. A smidge of silver gleamed in his beard, just enough to make him human. The retro glasses slid a bit down his beautiful nose, and if he turned around, I’m sure his jean-clad butt would give Springsteen’s a run for his money.
If the women in this room were doing the voting, he would win. Everything. Even things he didn’t want.
“I’m a single dad,” he said, his deep voice tempered by a natural shyness. “Janie McMurphy is my fifth-grader. She’s a good kid, like I’m sure all of yours are, but she struggles with her schoolwork, and social situations are sometimes tough for her. I’d like to represent parents who have kids who don’t fit the standard, you know?”
The women in the room made a chorus of sympathetic sounds. Vera did not reprimand him for campaigning early and took to staring at him instead. I glanced at Cassie. Eyes narrowed, she assessed her opponent.
Could the brilliant, therapy dog–loving, almost ex-husband–dating lawyer win against the soft-hearted single dad hottie?
This could get interesting.
I felt someone tug my sleeve.
“Say something,” Heather said. I’d been paying so much attention to Hot Dad I hadn’t noticed her come in. She crouched next to my chair, irritating the woman sitting to the left of me. Kylie stood next to her, rubbing her eyes.
“You were supposed to stay outside,” I hissed.
“Kids are not allowed,” Vera announced, bringing everyone’s attention to us. “I’m sorry, but this is a board meeting. You’ll have to leave.”
Heather stretched to her full, not very impressive, height. “You don’t let kids in, but you’ll let someone’s dog sit up front?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, directing my comment toward Cassie. “My friend doesn’t realize your dog’s purpose.”
“What purpose?” Heather said. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a therapy dog,” I explained, my theory losing steam as I saw the horrified look on Cassie’s face. “I . . . think.”
“Riker is not a therapy dog,” Cassie said. “I don’t know why in the world you’d think a Doberman would work in a therapeutic capacity. I mean, who would think that?”
I could feel my face flame with the heat of a thousand suns. “I’m sorry—”
“I had his attendance cleared with Vera in advance,” Cassie interrupted. “Riker was at the groomer today. He had his anal glands expressed, and I thought the process might be traumatic. I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
Sometimes, I wish I could stamp life’s moments with an emoji. Every single person present was making the wide-eyed, shocked face, mouths formed into perfect O’s.
“Ew,” Kylie said. “What’s an anal gland? It sounds disgusting.”
“It’s necessary sometimes,” Cassie said, her snippiness fading as she talked to my daughter. “He’s a well-behaved dog, sweetie. Would you like to pet him?”
“I don’t know,” Kylie said, backing into Heather. “I’m sort of allergic.”
Cassie smiled pityingly at her. “That’s too bad.”
“We are getting so off track,” Vera said, slightly desperate. “Should we close the books on this race? We have two candidates, Cassie and . . . er . . . Janie’s dad.”
“Sawyer,” said Hot Dad.
Of course that was his name. The audience sighed.
“Sawyer,” Vera said. I thought I detected a note of huskiness in her voice. “Okay? Can I get an aye?”
“Nay,” Heather said. “You have one more candidate.”
Vera tossed her baseball hat on the table in exasperation. “And who would that be?”
“Me,” I squeaked. “Ally Anderson.”
“Stand up,” someone said in the back. “We can’t see you.”
I stood quickly, and my knees cracked, obviously protesting my idiocy.
“Mom,” Kylie said.
“In a minute, honey.” I cleared my throat. “Uh. Okay. I’m a . . . mom. Of Kylie here.” I nudged Kylie forward.
“Mom,” she said again, this time with more vehemence. I could hear a noise, the sound of a motor purring.
“I work at Stylin’ on Grand Avenue. I know, kind of an obvious name. I cut hair. There. At the salon.”
“Mom!”
The sound grew louder, and I realized it was Cassie’s Doberman. He was standing, teeth bared, ready to pounce.
“Get rid of that!” Cassie shrieked at me. “It’s upsetting him!”
“What?”
Kylie pointed at the floor. Sandy’s zombie teeth, still covered in fake blood, lay between me and the dog. They must have fallen from Kylie’s pocket at some point.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching for them. The Doberman snapped at the air. I quickly drew my hand back.
Cassie moved to grab his collar, but it was too late. He lunged forward, barking like crazy.
Kylie screamed.
I did what any sane mom would do. I kicked the teeth toward him, grabbed my daughter’s hand, and ran like hell.
“So now I know you wouldn’t have my back in a zombie apocalypse.”
Heather, Kylie, and I sat at my mom’s kitchen table, recovering. Mom stood at the counter making hot cocoa (organic, free-trade, nut-free). We’d told her all about the Doberman drama, taking turns to give her each of our perspectives.
“I was thinking of Kylie,” I said to Heather. “Kids first. And I think you can take care of yourself just fine. You’re alive, right?”
Heather accepted a steaming mug from my mother. “Barely. Cujo would have feasted on my arm if Cassie hadn’t gotten him under control.”
“His anal glands were bothering him,” Kylie said. “It’s a thing,” she added when my mom raised an eyebrow.
“Why would someone allow a dog into a school board meeting?” Mom joined us at the table, sighing as she slid into her seat. Her gray hair was pulled back from her face, revealing tired eyes, and she grimaced while she rubbed at a shoulder muscle. Mom had fallen down the Pinterest rabbit hole the night before while planning Kylie’s new bedroom. Then she’d spent most of the afternoon with Matt, hauling furniture and measuring windows and talking through all sorts of pseudocontractor stuff.
“The owner is kind of a big shot,” I explained. “Cassie Flores. She’s a lawyer who throws her weight around when she can.”
My mom grunted. “La-di-da. She’s not too bright bringing an irritated Doberman into a crowd like that.”
Kylie finished her cocoa and took the mug to the sink.
“Get ready for bed, little warrior,” I said. “Pajamas, teeth, backpack ready for tomorrow.”
“And meditation,” Kylie said as she kissed Heather and Mom good-night. “Radha taught me a mantra.”
My mom scrunched up
her face a little. “A mantra? For a ten-year-old? And who is this Radha person?”
Kylie glanced at me nervously, and I suddenly felt like a top candidate for Worst Mom of the Year Award.
“She’s, um, going to be the daughter of Mom’s client,” Kylie explained, while my heart skipped a couple of beats. “She’s completely cool. Like, the best.”
Heather, likely noticing my tension, did her part to dissipate it. “What is it, this mantra?”
“You breathe in and think, I am. Then you breathe out and say, ‘Present,’” Kylie said proudly.
Heather tilted her head, thoughtful. “Isn’t everyone present? I mean, you’re here. Everyone can see you. Doesn’t that mean you’re present without having to announce it to the world?”
“Not that kind of present, Auntie Heather. Like, where you really see things, really hear things, really . . . smell things, I guess. Though that might get kind of gross.”
Heather didn’t laugh, and I loved her for it. “Well, I guess that’s kind of like having superpowers, if you can see things others can’t. It takes a special person for a mantra like that to work, so I guess you’re pretty special.”
Kylie beamed. “That’s what Radha said.”
“Enough of the new age talk,” my mom interrupted, giving Kylie another hug. “Off to bed with you. School tomorrow.”
“I’ll be in to tuck you in in a minute,” I said.
I could hear Kylie chanting her mantra on the way to her room.
After Heather left for her apartment, my mom said, “Kylie’s a good kid. She’s got a pure heart. I can’t wait until we can give her the new room.”
“We?”
“Yes. It’s a family project, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” I toyed with my mug. “You know that woman with the scary dog? Matt’s dating her.”
My mom went silent, her mouth a thin line. “Well,” she finally said. “How are you with that?”
“Not great. But I decided to put my mind to other things. I’m running for school board. At least I think I am.”
“You think?”
“It was kind of a weird nomination process. To be honest, I don’t know if I have much of a chance, but I’m going to try.”
“Look at the fools we have running for president. You have every chance to make it to the school board.”
“Thanks?”
“You know what I mean. Did I raise you to be afraid?”
“No.”
“You’ve always dived into the deep end headfirst. Why would this be any different?”
“I’m older, and I’m realizing other people have passed me up,” I said. “I didn’t go to college. I’ve had the same job for fifteen years.”
Mom snorted. “That’s what you’re using to measure success? Look at me.”
I did. At her sloped nose and blue eyes. At her straight hair and long, thin neck. So different from me, but so, so comfortingly familiar. I met the gaze of the eyes that had watched me grow into the woman I was.
“You’ve always been smart,” she said, steel behind her words, “but you didn’t always know what to do with it. Now you do. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
I couldn’t look her in the eye anymore, so I hugged her, tightly and fiercely. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’ve got a quiet house now,” she said, gently extracting herself from the embrace. “Use it for thinking. You need a plan. It’s time for a shopping list.”
I used the silence for one thing, but it wasn’t thinking. It was snooping. First stop, Facebook. I went directly to the parents’ group page.
District 168 Parents: New Post
Vera Pastorelli: We have three candidates for the open school board position: Cassie Flores, Sawyer McMurphy, and Ally Ackerman. A debate will be held the third week in October, and the election will take place the first Tuesday in November, just like in national politics. Best of luck to all candidates!
Ally Ackerman? Oh, no way.
Ally Anderson: It’s Anderson.
Bree Nguyen: What is?
Ally Anderson: My last name.
Bree Nguyen: Oh. Okay. I’m sure someone will take care of it. It’s just a typo.
Someone “Liked” Bree’s comment. Seriously? I saw the little three dots pulsing at the bottom of the post. Who else was commenting? I couldn’t wait.
Sawyer McMurphy: Thank you, kindly.
Who actually said stuff like “thank you, kindly”? Did he think he was a cowboy? I didn’t care how hot he was, Sawyer McMurphy was a poser.
I watched the “Likes” rise on his comment, rolling like a slot machine. Sawyer McMurphy might have been a poser, but he certainly was a popular one. Ten “likes.” Twelve. Eighteen? Seriously?
Cassie Flores: I’d like to begin by thanking the current school board for this opportunity. I am more than prepared to devote my time, brainpower, and creative energy to making this school board the most dynamic, effective force for positive change within District 168. If anyone would like a “Cassie for School Board” T-shirt, I’ll have them in sizes small through double-extra-large at the beginning of next week.
T-shirts. Ohhhkaay.
I had to follow that up. But what in the world was I supposed to write? I needed to type something, quickly, or everyone would focus on them and forget about me.
Ally Anderson: Thank you. I want to saw that weather I win or loose, I will work hard for the students of District 168. I’ve have lived in the district all me life and I am a proud product of the school system myself.
I sat back and waited for the “likes” to come in.
One . . . and . . . nothing.
Then I reread my post. Oh no! I had to go over these things before I hit “Send.” I stabbed at the computer, searching for the “Edit” button. Shit!
Cole Flounders: I hope the school system’s English program currently focuses more on grammar than in your day, Ally! Hope you don’t become “loose”—ha ha!!
Bree Nguyen: Haha, Cole! Glad to see we’ve all got a sense of humor about this race!
While I was reading Bree’s comment, Sawyer McMurphy racked up forty-seven “Likes.”
I had to come back with wit, something sly and smart.
“Mom?”
Kylie stood in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.
I closed my laptop. Wit could wait. “Come here, sweetie.”
She nestled into my shoulder. “My eyes won’t stop hurting.”
“Let me see.” They were swollen and red, the puffiness distorting their shape. I ran through everything she’d been exposed to today, any possible culprit. The problem was, there were just too many. Stress? Something she ate? Something she touched? I hadn’t let her get near Riker. Was it that she simply breathed in his vicinity?
I needed to get the eye drops and an antihistamine. I needed to get a cool washcloth to soothe her eyes until the meds kicked in.
But for the moment, all I could do was hold her.
CHAPTER 11
“We can’t afford this.”
Matt, Kylie, and I were sitting in my car in front of the wellness center. It was raining, the moisture bunching up the leaves and making Chicago hell on earth for mold allergy sufferers. Still, the majesty of the center was evident. And intimidating. I could see why Matt gazed at it suspiciously, grinding his teeth.
“Dr. Indigo is in the back,” I said. “Her office is a little down-to-earth. Well, down-to-earth mother.”
We made a run for it, the three of us huffing and puffing, though we hadn’t run far. It always seems more taxing on the body to run in the rain. Shaking off the freezing drops, we followed the impossibly gorgeous receptionist up the old wood staircase, and Matt stared at me when I kicked at the door.
“Is that necessary?” he asked.
“It sticks,” Kylie said. “No biggie.”
She didn’t appear to have any lasting anxiety from our last visit, or at least she didn’t show it. I had no idea what Dr. Indigo had in mind for today, but I
secretly hoped it wouldn’t be too way out there—Matt didn’t have the patience for it.
We paused at her office door. Dr. Indigo sat at her desk, motionless.
“Why are you hesitating?” she said. “Come in.”
We sat down quickly.
Dr. Indigo shook Matt’s hand. “You’re here to check up on me?” she asked, but there was a touch of humor in her question.
Matt cleared his throat. “Actually, yes. You’re a board-certified allergist?”
She pointed to some framed documents on the wall. “Have a look.”
Much to my embarrassment, Matt actually did. He scrutinized each of her diplomas and certifications, and then, when he was finally satisfied, took his seat.
“What I would like to know,” he said, “is what you’re doing to address Kylie’s peanut allergy. That would seem like the place to start, right? With what we know for sure?”
“I agree,” Dr. Indigo said.
“I thought you did desensitization therapy,” I added, both emboldened by Matt’s questions, and still haunted by the cafeteria incident. “Is Kylie a candidate? Can we get her started?”
I’d contacted the few doctors who administered the therapy in the Midwest—all had waiting lists of well over a year, and many of them were still conducting trials, meaning Kylie might get a placebo, unbeknownst to us. It was one reason I’d come to Dr. Indigo—when I called to set up the first appointment, the receptionist wouldn’t tell me if she had a wait list. I figured it was worth the chance to see if she’d take Kylie on.
“I’ve already started Kylie on the therapy,” Dr. Indigo said.
“What?” Matt shouted. “Without our knowledge? That’s illegal!”
Dr. Indigo smiled. “I already began her therapy. I’ve yet to start the exposure. I would need your permission for that. And you’d need mine. I take very few patients in this area. I wanted to get to know your daughter, your level of commitment, and I needed to study her blood work again. After evaluating all of that, I’ll decide when it’s time we begin the exposure.”
“What kind?” Kylie said. “Is this the one where you give me a tiny bit of a peanut so my body gets used to it?”
“Exactly,” Dr. Indigo said, turning to my daughter. “It’s one way for your body to learn to calm the dog.”
The Other Family Page 13