I still hadn’t said anything, so he continued.
“Your mother is a really nice lady. I’m glad she’s feeling better.”
“Um, I have to go,” I stammered, realizing I had forgotten about the child gushing blood in my back seat. “Thank you for my phone.” I got in the car and drove away as quickly as I could.
“Isn’t Mitch nice, Mom?”
“Mm-hmm” was all I could get out. I couldn’t think about Mitch, what with Draper still quietly whimpering and holding a huge wad of Kleenex to his nose.
“I said sorry to Draper,” Max informed me. “He said it’s okay.” In the world of eight-year-olds, they were already at bygones. I wished mothers were that easy.
We pulled into the driveway of an extremely large Tudor-style house with a silver Tesla parked by the garage. Wow. Alison Lody is Alison Loaded! As I rolled to a stop, Draper jumped out of the back seat and ran to the front door yelling, “Mom!” and sobbing anew.
“Stay here,” I said to Max as I hauled myself out of the minivan and walked to the door. Draper had already run inside, and I found him in his mother’s arms. I only had a second to take in the glamorous foyer I’d stepped into. I saw a lot of marble and gold leaf and a huge staircase. It was like I’d stumbled onto the set of Dynasty—the eighties version. The only thing missing was Alison with shoulder pads and a perm. As it was, she had tight jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a blue cardigan on her petite body. What I like to call rich-people casual.
“Hi, Alison. I’m so sorry about this.”
“What happened?” she demanded more than asked.
“Max hit me with a stop sign,” Draper helpfully informed her.
Alison looked at me in stunned silence.
“Well, technically yes, that’s true but it was an accident,” I started to explain, but she cut me off.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. Thank you for bringing him home.” With one arm around her son, she used the other to gesture toward the front door.
I had no idea what to do. I couldn’t tell if she was pissed off or just really easy-breezy about bloody noses. As I headed to the door I heard a sweet voice say, “Mrs. Dixon?” I turned around and at the top of the sweeping staircase stood Hanna, my favorite safety patroller, in a fluffy pink robe. At that point the pieces snapped together like Lincoln Logs. Martika works for Mrs. Ali aka Alison (click) and was filling in as a patroller for Hanna and Mrs. Ali (click) because Mrs. Ali was helping out Mrs. Pam (Pam Mitchell, who was supposed to be on duty today: click).
“Hi, Hanna.” I tried to keep my voice neutral. Hanna Lody. Wow. Was she adopted?
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to safety patrol today.”
“That’s okay, sweetie. Feel better. Hey, do you know where Aaron was?” I realized I had yet to solve that little mystery.
“He got back from Arizona today.”
“Hanna, go back to bed, please,” Alison said crisply. She turned to me. “Thank you again for bringing Draper home.”
“Well, um … thank you for trying to help out Pam. That was nice of you.”
“I don’t even know her. She called me out of the blue. Don’t let me keep you.” She pointed to the door again.
She couldn’t have been making it any plainer that she wished me gone, so I headed to the minivan where Max was, I’m sure, waiting to find out how much trouble he was in. We had a silent ride home, and when we got there I suggested he get right to his homework.
So as I watch my son do just that, I’m wishing my coconut water had a little rum in it. Max tests the waters of my anger by asking what we are having for dinner.
“Leftovers,” I say as I open the fridge.
“Again?” I can tell he’s trying not to whine, but he wouldn’t be out of line if he did. Thanks to the two-turkey fiasco this past weekend, I’m sure we’ll be eating it until Christmas.
* * *
Thanksgiving was a lot of work. I hosted ten for dinner, plus I had Nina, Garth, and Chyna staying with us the whole weekend. My parents were there, of course, and Raj came with Vivs, which meant I was doing double duty cooking dinner and trying to figure out what was going on with them. I really missed Laura (who was still in Europe) for obvious reasons but also because she is the biggest help with meal prep and the best gravy maker. I was forced to serve my mother’s salt-infused concoction and it tainted everything it touched. Nina said she could hardly notice, but she, like everyone else, was chugging a lot of water.
God, it was good to see Nina. I knew I missed her, but I had no idea how much until I had a daily dose of her for ninety-six blissful hours.
Vivs and Raj seemed to be having a hard time readjusting to each other. I guess distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder; sometimes it just makes it less tolerant. Their relationship has never been smooth sailing, but this particular weekend it was a white squall. Vivs was on Raj for everything he did and didn’t do. And she definitely couldn’t let it go that he took it upon himself to have a fully cooked twenty-pound turkey delivered from a local deli without telling anyone, including me, who had already cooked a twenty-pound turkey. It was a sweet gesture, but it created a tryptophan nightmare.
“He’s driving me nuts,” she told Nina and me while we were washing the last of the dishes from dinner.
“How is he driving you nuts?”
“I don’t know. He’s just always there … breathing.”
I banged a pot on the counter. “Oh, no. Not breathing!” Nina cracked up.
“Mom, stop. I never realized what a loud breather he is. And chewer! Did you hear how loud he was chewing at dinner?”
I look to Nina for help.
“You know…” she began, then took a sip of wine. “Usually if your partner’s personal habits are starting to bug you, it means you need some time apart. But all you two get is time apart. You should be all over each other.”
“Like Nana and Poppy!” Vivs neatly pivots the topic away from herself. “Oh my God, what is going on with them?”
My parents had indeed been exceptionally affectionate with each other all evening, which only added fuel to my coitus-interruptus theory. I told them about my weird phone call the other day and Vivs couldn’t stop cringing.
“Where does this little beauty go?” Nina held up the gravy boat from hell, which Ron’s ex-wife, Cindy, gave us as a wedding gift. It’s a porcelain turkey where the neck is the handle and the gravy comes out the butt.
“In the special place of honor with the rest of our priceless treasures.” I gesture toward the linen closet in the hallway just outside the kitchen. “Behind the old towels.” I turned to my daughter. “Nina’s right, you know. You need to figure out where your hostility’s coming from. Because if his chewing bothers you now, in ten years you won’t be able to breathe the same air as him.”
I’m not sure if they figured anything out, but Raj left two days early. Vivs claims they haven’t broken up.
* * *
“How about I make turkey tacos?” I ask Max.
“Okay.” He shrugs without lifting his head from the table.
My computer pings while I’m cooking. I glance over and what to my wondering eyes should appear but an email from Sylvie Pike. Oh, joy.
* * *
To: JDixon
From: SPike
Re: Safety Patrol
Date: 11/27
Hi,
Are you free for a quick powwow tomorrow morning after drop-off? I’ll meet you at 8:15 in the safety patrol room at the back of the gym.
Thanks,
Sylvie
* * *
Hmmm … now, that sounds like a command performance. I email her back that I will be there. Jesus, is it really only Monday?
10
* * *
To: Mrs. Randazzo’s Class
From: JDixon
Re: Remember me?
Date: 12/03
Hello, Fellow Parents!
It has come to my attention that I have been negl
ectful in my communications with you guys and I apologize. But I have had a shiny new toy to play with called safety patrol and it’s been keeping me very busy.
Exciting news from Mrs. Randazzo! She has finally decided on a field trip for our offspring. About time, am I right? I thought they’d never leave the classroom. To reinforce all they have learned about Native Americans this fall, the class is going to the Shawnee Indian Mission in Fairway on December 14th from 10 a.m. to 11:30. I don’t have a lot of details right now, but I’m guessing there will be some beading involved.
After the debacle that was the SignUpGenius (all the notifications ended up in my spam folder, so I never saw them), I’m going back to doing it old school. So, if you are interested in chaperoning this super fun trip, please email me back. As always, early birds get the yummiest worms, so type fast. We’ll need three parents.
While I have you, I want to give you a heads-up about the class holiday party—December 21st in room 402, right after the Christmas concert. I’ll be soliciting for refreshments next week. As for Razzi’s holiday gift, we (and by we, I mean I) have decided to give her a giant white coffee mug that all the kids will write messages on. Shirleen Cobb has offered to fire up her kiln and reenact a scene from the movie Ghost to get the mug made. When I have it in my hot little hands, I will commandeer the classroom one afternoon to have the kids decorate it.
Always a pleasure!
Jen Dixon, Safety Patrol Monitor and On-the-Job Class Mom
* * *
I’m humming “Sunday Morning” by Maroon 5 as I send my latest offering to my class. Ravi and Shirleen were right: I’d really been delinquent with the class updates. But after my “powwow” with Sylvie Pike, where I was gently told that I needed to “get it together,” I have pulled up my socks and gone overboard to stay on top of things, including checking in with the safety patrollers and parents daily to make sure everyone knows to show up. If that’s what I have to do to avoid Sylvie’s disappointment, I’ll do it. Despite the fact that she’s a pain in my ass, I like her. I found myself opening up to her about my troubles with Vivs and she was a very sympathetic ear, which was nice. I get the feeling there is a really fun person in there somewhere, just dying to come out. I’m thinking about inviting her out for girls’ night with Peetsa … maybe in January.
I slam out a group note to Chloe, Carlo, and a kindergarten parent named Christmas Angel O’Toole (she’ll be the first to tell you it’s on her birth certificate) reminding them they are all on duty tomorrow, before I grab my keys and gym bag and head to spin class.
I’m convinced these classes are the only thing keeping me from resorting to pills and booze. No matter what is going on in my life, I can forget about it for a blissful forty-five minutes while Carmen takes me on yet another musical adventure through my past.
As I’m driving to Fusion, I start thinking about Mitch the homeless guy. I talked to my mother about him during one of our morning phone calls last week.
“Oh sure, I know Mitch,” she told me. “He’s a regular at the shelter.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous at all?”
“Why would he be dangerous? He’s just homeless, Jennifer, not a criminal. He does odd jobs for us at the church.”
“How did he end up on the streets?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I don’t want to talk to him!”
My mother doesn’t even try to mask her frustration.
“Jennifer, you really should try to get over yourself. You’ve watched your father and me help needy people your whole life. I’m really disappointed that none of it rubbed off on you.”
She’s right. I did not inherit their inexhaustible kindness to people in need. Sometimes I feel like the missing link. It would have been nice to receive that gem in the gene pool instead of freakishly large bunions. But I made a lot of promises to the universe when my mother was sick—mostly about being a better person—and I need to start following through.
And I will, right after Carmen’s class.
* * *
* * *
To: JDixon
From: SCobb
Re: Class Trip
Date: 12/04
Jennifer:
I’d be happy to go on this trip. I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but I’m one-fifteenth Kickapoo. Bud and I take Graydon to the Powwow every year. He loves the funnel cakes.
Shirleen
* * *
A red-headed Native American. Wow. You learn something new every day. And Shirleen, on a field trip? This should be good. I wonder if I should go along as well, just to show I’m still relatively on the job, all evidence to the contrary. I’ll see how many volunteers I end up getting. Participation usually takes a big nosedive in third grade. Parents just aren’t as excited as they were in the cute years, and really, who can blame them?
We had our first snowfall last night and then the temperature plummeted, so this morning’s drop-off was what my gran would have called a Turkish bazaar. (Her repertoire of inappropriate phrases is legendary. We thank God quite often that she died before being PC was mandatory. She never would have made it.) Sherlay DeJones looked particularly miserable in her parka and vest. I don’t know if she had her curlers in, because her hood was up.
The sound of my email pinging startles me.
* * *
To: JDixon
From: ALody
Re: Class Trip
Date: 12/4
Jen,
I’ll chaperone this trip.
Alison
* * *
She really has a way with words, doesn’t she? So, it will be me, Shirleen, and Alison Lody. Wow. Did I piss off a witch?
It’s ten a.m., so I call my mother to check in. She answers on the first ring.
“Jennifer, good. I was waiting on your call.”
“You can always call me, Mom. Phones work both ways.”
“Well, I need you to drive your father to the club for his lunch meeting.”
I love how my mother refers to the Kiwanis Club as “the club.” It sounds so fancy.
“Sure. What are you up to?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to go out.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“Of course I am. It’s just too damn cold.”
“Okay! I’ll be over at eleven forty-five.”
“Oh, sweetheart, on your way could you pick up Dad’s prescription at the CVS?”
“Anything else?”
“As long as you’re there, I could use some Pronamel and your dad needs Preparation H. He has a hemorrhoid the size of a golfball.”
“TMI, Mom. See you in a while.”
As I hang up I can hear my mother say, “What is TMI?”
* * *
I’m driving with my dad and conversation is light as usual. My father is a man of few words.
“So, what’s new at the Kiwanis Club?”
He shrugs. “Same as always. Helping kids.”
“How do you think Mom is doing?”
“Great. More energy than ever.”
“And you guys are good?”
“Yup” is the only answer I get, but I see a little blush come to his cheeks.
As we pull up to the club, Dad asks if I want to come in and say hi to “the guys.”
“Maybe when I come back and get you. I’ll be back around one thirty.”
“Okey-dokey. See you then.” It takes him three tries to hoist himself out of the car and then he shuffles toward the door. God, I hate watching my parents grow old.
Since I’m out, I decide to pop by the store to see if Ron wants to have lunch with me. I drive into the Fitting Room parking lot and scurry to the door, trying to keep the freezing-cold air from permeating my coat.
I find Ron in the back, at his desk and on the phone. He looks up and smiles as he continues his conversation.
“That sounds good. Let me check with Jen and get back to you. Right. Okay, bye.”
“W
hat’s up, sugar booger?” I lean down to give him a kiss. “What do you have to check with me about?”
“Rolly and Janine are coming to town next weekend and want to have dinner with us.”
“Great!” I sound excited because I actually am. The Schraders have come to town four times in the past couple of months and we always have such a great time with them, albeit a drunken one. I’m not one to judge, but Rolly and Janine can drink like sailors during Fleet Week. The last time we went out we closed down the restaurant playing this crazy drinking game that Janine suggested, called Never Have I Ever. Someone says something they have never done, and you have to take a drink if you have actually done it. We were at Outback Steakhouse (Ron had a coupon) in a back booth and pretty sequestered from the rest of the restaurant. Janine suggested the game just as we were finishing the third bottle of wine. She could have suggested cow tipping at that point and it would have sounded good to me.
The questions started off innocently enough: “Never have I ever jumped out of an airplane” (Ron had to drink on that one) and “Never have I ever dined and dashed.” But all too soon the statements got pretty racy. I’m proud to say I drank more than anyone else, proving yet again that I have left very few stones unturned in my life. Thankfully, Janine and Rolly seemed to get a big kick out of promiscuous me.
“Never have I ever had a threesome,” Janine said and while I tossed back another sip of wine I was surprised that she hadn’t.
“Not even in your slutty Ice Capades years?” I asked dubiously.
She shook her head. “Too many gay men.”
“Never have I ever spit instead of swallow.” I wink at Janine. She doesn’t budge. Wow, respect.
“Never have I ever kissed someone while married to someone else.” Rolly’s gaze roamed our little circle mischievously.
You've Been Volunteered Page 10