You've Been Volunteered

by Laurie Gelman

  “Get in the van,” I tell him. “And just because you said that, I’m buying pods instead of liquid. No more slime for you.”

  * * *

  I can’t help but wonder if Max’s turn to the dark side has anything to do with Ron not being around as much. He’s been spending a lot more time at the Fitting Room, his sporting goods store. About a year ago, he had a little idea to start offering a free yoga class on Saturday mornings at the back of the store in the hopes of increasing traffic. Gisele, one of his summer employees, taught the class, and it took off like Max at bath time. I’m not sure what the bigger draw was—the fact that it was free, or the fact that Gisele has this charisma that makes you want her to touch you. I’m not kidding. Ron and I both have a crush on her.

  Soon he had to add a class on Sunday to handle the demand, and now it’s up to four times a week and Gisele works for him full-time. Yes, it’s true. My jock husband is an out-of-the-closet yogi. He’s even studying to become an instructor, so he can teach it himself. He now charges $5 for the class, this little idea has brought a whole different clientele into the store, and Ron is the go-to guy in KC for yoga gear. I never knew there was so much equipment: mats, straps, blocks, blankets, bands, and bolsters. The back of the store now looks like the prop room from the set of Fifty Shades of Grey. Do people really need all that stuff? Probably not, but who am I to argue? I hope they nama-stay all day, because Max still has to go to college.

  Our trip to the grocery store is quick and quiet. I’m still tied up in knots over the “I hate you” comment, and Max is a world-class sulker. It can be hours before he comes out of his funk. It’s so annoying when your kids inherit your worst character traits.

  When we get back from the store, I throw one of my new pods in the laundry machine, turn it on, and head upstairs to make dinner. Max is already in front of the TV, watching his show.

  After chopping a few veggies and throwing a bottled marinade on the chicken, I sit down at the kitchen-counter office and check my emails.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: PTucci

  Re: Guess who’s back?

  Date: 8/28

  Hey there!

  You can’t see it, but I’m doing my happy dance that you are back as class mom! I didn’t know you had said yes. Let me know if you need any help.

  xo Peetsa

  * * *

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: SCobb

  Re: Guess who’s back?

  Date: 8/28

  Jennifer—

  Welcome back. How is your mother? Did she use the hypoallergenic sheets I sent? You can’t be too careful after chemo. Graydon has just come from the doctor and we have confirmed the only allergy he still has is to peanuts, so please make sure our teacher knows to have a peanut-free environment in her classroom.

  Shirleen

  * * *

  Yes, it’s true. Graydon Cobb is no longer in need of a size 8 husky hazmat suit to get through life. To everyone’s delight, he has outgrown most of his allergies. And he now carries an EpiPen.

  “Graydon’s got an EpiPen and he’s not afraid to use it,” Max announced to me after a play date. I don’t mind telling you I found those words both reassuring and terrifying.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: JJAikins

  Re: Guess who’s back?

  Date: 8/28

  Jen,

  Hey lady! What’s up? Hope you had a good summer. Can’t wait to get the kids back in school! Let’s try to meet for lunch and catch up.

  JJ xoxo

  * * *

  I always seem to forget that JJ Aikins is in our class. You’d think I’d remember someone I dubbed Mini-Me for the first year I knew her. But after the Kim Fancy kindergarten drama I have rarely heard from her except in class emails. Her mother picks Kit up from school because JJ works full-time at Halls in Crown Center. So, to get a kisses-and-hugs email from her is suspicious, to say the least. What, oh what, could she be after?

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: ALody

  Re: Guess who’s back?

  Date: 8/28

  Jen,

  Uh, nice to meet you? Allow me to guess some of those “boring details” that you say you left out of your email. Let’s see … your medication is no longer working, you were raised in a barn (not uncommon in these parts, I’m told), and you put no stock in the old adage “You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” You should really check your class list before you assume that you know everyone and vice versa. We are new to the school and my son, Draper, is in Mrs. Randazzo’s class. So, if you wouldn’t mind taking the time to tell me some of those useless details you seem to assume everyone knows, I’d appreciate it.

  Thank you.

  Alison Lody

  * * *

  Wow. First impressions work both ways, lady. How the heck did I miss her name when I copied and pasted the class list? I’d better get this woman schooled in my ways toot sweet and defuse this righteous indignation thing she’s got going on.

  * * *

  To: ALody

  From: JDixon

  Re: Guess who’s back?

  Date: 8/28

  Hi Alison

  My apologies! I didn’t see your name on the class list that I copied and pasted from the PTA. Just so you know, I play things a bit fast and loose as class mom. You’ll get used to me. And trust me, it saves you from having to read a bunch of boring stuff. But I have attached the PTA briefing below that will give you an idea of upcoming events this fall.

  Welcome to William Taft and sorry I missed your name.

  Jen

  * * *

  That should make her feel better. I’m really the Gandhi of class moms, when you think about it.

  I get up to turn on the oven and hear a ping from my computer. To my surprise, it’s an email from Mrs. Randazzo. That was quick.

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: WRandazzo

  Re: Questionnaire

  Date: 8/28

  Dear Jen,

  Thank you for your prompt reply. I have a few suggestions for you.

  First, please send Max to school with some diapers. There is no physical way I can monitor his bowels and teach him the alphabet at the same time. To paraphrase Regis Philbin, I’m only one woman.

  Second, I looked up both necrophilia and narcolepsy and all I can say is potato/potahto. He’ll figure it out one way or another.

  And finally, instead of an after-school program, why don’t you just send him to a homeless shelter? That way you don’t have to think about him at all. I can always call you if he doesn’t show up for school.

  Looking forward to a great year.

  Thanks,

  Winnie R

  * * *

  Oh my God, the sass! The irreverence! The lack of protocol! I write back immediately.

  * * *

  To: WRandazzo

  From: JDixon

  Re: Questionnaire

  Date: 8/28

  Mrs. Randazzo,

  So good to have you teaching my offspring again!

  xo Jen

  * * *

  Oh, didn’t I mention that Vivs and Laura both had Razzi? My bad.

  * * *

  I look at the clock and realize Ron should have been home by now. I grab the phone and dial his cell.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey. Where are you? Dinner’s in forty minutes.”

  “Sorry, babe. I got hung up here. I’ll be about another hour. Can you keep a plate warm for me?”

  “Sure. Try to get home before Max goes to bed.”

  “Roger that. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  We really need to talk about the hours Ron has been clocking at the store the past few months. At first, I was afraid he was having an affair—I mean, he was there almost every night! And my mother was fighting cancer! How could he? But I did the drop-by o
n more than one occasion, and every time I found him sitting at his computer poring over inventory reports and account updates. Lately he’s been a little better about getting home for dinner, but he still misses more than he hits. I keep asking him if there’s anything to worry about and he assures me there isn’t. But my Spidey sense tells me otherwise, so it’s time to get out my lasso of truth and force it out of him. And yes, I’m well aware that I’m mixing my Marvel metaphors.

  I put the chicken and veggies in the oven, run down and throw the laundry in the dryer, punch the boob on the bag for good measure, and head back upstairs.

  With a few minutes to kill, I join Max on the couch and see what’s happening in the world of American Ninja Warrior.

  To my delight, he slides over and hugs me.

  “I don’t hate you, Mommy,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know,” I whisper back. “I’m glad you said sorry. Want to eat dinner in front of the TV?”

  I know I shouldn’t be rewarding him for his earlier behavior, but I figure, what the hell? I want to see if the California Kids make it through, too.

  * * *

  Max is asleep and I’m catching up on my gossip, courtesy of TMZ.com, when Ron finally walks in the back door, looking exhausted. His khakis are rumpled and his white polo shirt has a coffee stain on it.

  “Hey. Sorry.” He nods to the plate on the table. “Thanks for this.” Sitting down, he attacks the chicken and veggies like he hasn’t eaten all day. I don’t even bother to ask him if he wants it heated up.

  “How was your day?” I join him at the table.

  “Fine,” he says through a mouthful of food, and I’m glad Max isn’t here to witness this lapse in manners. Ron shakes his head. “Crazy day.”

  “Crazy good?” I start my fishing expedition.

  Ron shrugs and shovels another forkful into his mouth. I don’t say anything, but I raise my eyebrows and don’t even blink. It takes a few moments for him to realize that I mean business tonight. He takes a big gulp of water and wipes his mouth.

  “This is really good.” He smiles.

  “Crazy good?” I repeat without shifting my eyes from his face.

  “Yes, crazy good. Anything else you want to know?”

  “Just everything.” I shrug. “Babe, what’s up? The yoga stuff can’t still be why you’re working late every night.”

  “It’s not.” Ron wipes his mouth again and sighs. “I’ve wanted to tell you about it, but I really wanted to think it through first.”

  “Think what through? Can I help?”

  He smiles. “You can. I just know you will have a very strong opinion.”

  “Does it have anything to do with me and Max? I mean, will we be affected by it?”

  “Indirectly, yes, but it mostly has to do with the store.”

  I’m not going to lie. I’m more than a little relieved to hear that it isn’t me. But then another worry sets in.

  “What about the store? Are we in trouble?” My heart starts to beat a little faster.

  Ron leans back in his chair and stretches his arms behind him. I can’t help but admire this man I love. He’s always had a good body, but I have to say the yoga has really done wonders for his BMI. My fifty-four-year-old hubby has the body of a forty-year-old … a hot forty-year-old. I look down at my own saggy vessel and sigh.

  He considers me with his tired eyes and leans forward. I notice his black hair is finally showing some gray around the temples. At least he still has most of it.

  “For the past few months, I’ve been looking at the possibility of opening a few yoga studios.”

  “Really? That’s huge. Where? Like, another city, or here in KC?”

  “I’m thinking about studios in Branson, Topeka, and Lawrence plus one here in town.”

  “Why so many all at once? Shouldn’t you start small?”

  “I already did with classes at the back of the store. I’ve been doing some research and it seems there is a real market for more of a modern-style yoga studio … clean lines, light and minimalistic. If I get the right locations, I really think they’ll take off. And we’ll brand them with great merchandise and a soothing ambiance. A place you go for yoga, but hang out for the tranquility. Maybe even offer meditation classes.”

  I’m genuinely impressed. “Can we afford it? I mean, is the store doing that well?”

  “We’re doing fine, but expanding is going to mean a big loan and even more time at work. There’s a lot to consider.”

  I take a deep breath. “It’s exciting.”

  “I think so, too. But we’re really going to have to cut back on our spending for the next few years. I mean way back.”

  I don’t consider us big spenders at all. I mean, my favorite store is Target.

  “Where do you want to trim the fat?” I really can’t think of where we overspend.

  Ron yawns. “Well, I’m happy you’re off caffeine. We save almost four hundred dollars a month now that you’ve stopped going to Starbucks.”

  “That is total bullshit,” I say as I do the math in my head. Two trips to coffee heaven a day times six dollars each time—what with the obligatory snack and all—and I’m ashamed to realize I was spending that much. Ron’s eyes challenge me to disagree.

  “Well, I don’t do that anymore, so … you’re welcome. Where else do I overspend?”

  “Since you asked, I think we could save a few bucks not buying designer brands.”

  “What designer brands?” I demand, hoping he doesn’t bring up the Prada boots I splurged on when Max was born.

  “You always buy things like Tide and Cascade instead of generic brands. That can add up.”

  The fact that Ron considers Tide a designer brand is pretty amusing, but I go along with him.

  “Okay, so store brands from now on, got it.” I’m already preparing for the complaining he will do when I switch out his precious Charmin for generic TP. “What else?”

  “You could start clipping coupons.”

  I cringe. I’d rather give myself an enema.

  “Or, you know, you could clip them for me, and I will use them.” I think that’s a good compromise.

  Ron yawns again. “Okay. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m bagged.”

  “Sure,” I grumble as I put his empty plate in the dishwasher and refill his water glass. Then something occurs to me.

  “Hey, how long have you been seriously thinking about this?”

  “Probably three months.” He gets up and takes the water from me.

  I feel a little twinge in my stomach. “Why haven’t you talked to me before?”

  He sighs. “I don’t know. I think maybe if I didn’t tell you then I wouldn’t have to go through with it, you know? While it was my secret, I didn’t have to commit.”

  “And now that I know?”

  He gives me his best Ron Dixon grin. “Full steam ahead, baby.”

  We head up the stairs. When he is this exhausted I normally offer up sex, because I know he’ll decline but I’ll still get points for initiating. I also want to know so much more about his franchise plans.

  But I have to let this poor man get some sleep.

  3

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: SPike

  Date: 9/7

  Re: PTA rules regarding emails.

  Hi Jen,

  My name is Sylvie Pike and I am the new president of the PTA. I know we haven’t met yet and I apologize for that; however, you did miss the PTA introductory breakfast on August 25th and that’s where I touched base with all the other class parents. (I say “parents” instead of “moms” because we have a couple of dads this year too!)

  I just wanted to make sure you got my message about including me on your list when you send emails to your class. It’s the easiest way for me to make sure the PTA message is being properly communicated. Rumor has it there has already been a bit of a lapse on your watch. So please, always keep me in the loop with your emails to your
class.

  Looking forward to a great year.

  Sylvie Pike

  President, PTA William H. Taft Elementary School

  * * *

  Ouch! I wince. It’s only the third day of school and I’m already getting smacked by the PTA prez. That has to be a record for me. I probably should have gone to that introductory breakfast but truthfully, I hate those things. I’m not good at small talk and I always seem to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Like two years ago when I asked Gilly Walker when she was due. How could I have known her bump was actually a result of not having pooped in nine days? I felt terrible.

  Ron comes by the kitchen-counter office and rubs my shoulders.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he growls sexily in my ear. I know what he’s after and I shoot him down immediately.

  “Nope. Not a chance. Too much to do today.”

  He frowns. “You’re no fun.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Why are you still home, anyway?”

  “Dentist at ten.”

  “Have you been flossing?”

  “I did today.”

  “Well, that should fool him.”

  I look at the clock and see it’s 9:30. Ron is obviously looking for a little jeans-around-the-ankles action. Clearly, we will be cutting corners in more than just our spending. But if I’m being honest, I should take it when I can get it. Ron’s been so tired lately, he’s practically asleep before he hits the pillow. Last night I timed him, and he went from awake to snoring in seven seconds.

  I do the math in my head and figure a quickie is probably doable, so I turn and give him my sexiest smile.

  “Soooo … you’d like to drill my cavity before you go? Is that what you’re saying?”