You've Been Volunteered

by Laurie Gelman

  She shrugs. “Whatever you think. Hey, Merry Christmas, and thanks for all your help.”

  “You too.”

  14

  * * *

  To: Safety Patrol Patrollers

  From: JDixon

  Re: New Year/Old Rules

  Date: 1/5

  Dear Patrol Parents,

  Happy New Year! Hope you all had a great holiday and are well rested and ready for the rigors of the upcoming safety patrol season.

  First the good news … we are going to get new adult vests in three different sizes. No more wearing shredded plastic! You will now be looking sharp in neon orange that fits you the way it should.

  Now the bad news … we need to have a bake sale to pay for the vests. Obviously, we will need some baked goods to fulfill the “bake” part of the sale. Only homemade treats are acceptable. Kidding, of course! Bring whatever you want, just keep it nut free.

  The sale will take place January 21st in the school lobby at 3 p.m. I’ll need volunteers to help me man the tables too. Wow, there are lots of opportunities to start the new year on my good side, so don’t hesitate to start baking and volunteering!

  Happy days are here again!

  Jen

  * * *

  “What are you working on?” Ron asks. We are hanging out in bed waiting for the local news to come on. Well, not really the news—the lottery numbers they announce just before the news. Lately we have taken to trying our luck because hey, you never know.

  “I’m organizing the bake sale from hell.” I attack the keyboard like someone with a vendetta.

  “Why is it from hell?”

  “Because I have to organize it.”

  “Why would you volunteer to do that?”

  “I didn’t. I was volun-told.” I continue typing.

  “Are you doing the brownies?” He’s talking about my trademark sticky, chewy, five-napkin brownies, of course. I haven’t made them since the picture day fiasco in Max’s kindergarten year.

  “I would, but Asami still holds a bit of a grudge and I hate to poke the bear.”

  Ron yawns and puts his computer on his bedside table. “How is Asami?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m having coffee with her before pickup.”

  “Not at Starbucks, I hope.” He’s fluffing his pillows and burrowing in, which tells me I’ll be watching for the lottery numbers on my own.

  “No, Sergeant Money Police, we’re meeting at Dunkin Donuts.”

  He nods, satisfied. “Don’t forget your coupon.”

  I stick my tongue out at him. I don’t mind telling you, this belt-tightening really sucks. Christmas was pretty thin. Ron and I opted not to exchange gifts, although he did wrap up a desk calendar for me called “Words You Should Know to Sound Smart,” in the hope I’ll find other ways, besides profanity, to express myself. Let me just say it was an excrementous gift. Our presents to others were relatively lame, except for Max’s of course. I hated it. We are usually very generous, but this year we basically gave the equivalent of a book of coupons for hugs.

  We didn’t even go out on New Year’s Eve, and we ate at home almost every night except for the time we were invited to my mom and dad’s. And of course Laura was still away, so when I say it was low-key, I mean we were in the dead zone.

  The only significant news from the holidays was that Vivs and Raj broke up again. She assures me it’s final this time. She spent a week in Brooklyn and came back to KC with all her belongings. When I asked if she was okay, she blankly asked me why she wouldn’t be.

  “Why are you guys meeting?” Ron disrupts my mental grousing.

  “I’ve been feeling out of the loop lately and I’m hoping she can fill me in.”

  “And what makes you think Asami is in the loop?”

  “She just is. She knows everything that’s going on.”

  He shakes his head into the pillow.

  “It’s an illusion.”

  “What is?”

  “The loop. There is no loop.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “In my experience, the loop doesn’t exist. People are just living their lives, and no one person really knows everything that is going on.”

  Since this has never occurred to me, I take a moment to weigh its validity. I decide he isn’t in the loop either.

  “Lotto numbers!” Ron mumbles from his horizontal position. I had tuned out the television but clearly, he hadn’t.

  I grab my phone and take a picture of the TV screen. I left the tickets in the kitchen, so I’ll have to check them when I wake up.

  * * *

  I’m shocked and saddened to learn the next morning that we are not instant millionaires. I was so sure. Oh well, there’s always next week.

  Ron has taken Max to school, so I get an early workout down in Ron’s Gym and Tan while also doing a load of laundry. I’m finding it hard to get used to the smell of the most recent generic laundry detergent we are using. It’s way too floral. This is my fourth attempt to find something I like. The first two were supposed to be unscented, but for some reason they both made our clothes smell like wet dog. The third one had a hint of cotton candy—the kind you get in the summer at one of those traveling carnivals. Max liked it, but it made me sneeze.

  I’ve decided I need a girls’ night out. They have been few and far between since Nina moved, mostly because it’s left to me to organize them. I sent Peetsa a text early this morning suggesting this Friday night. I also reached out to Sylvie Pike, because I have a feeling she’ll be fun with a little jiggle juice in her system.

  After my shower, three texts are waiting for me. One from Peetsa saying Friday is great and asking where we should go, one from Sylvie thanking me profusely for inviting her, and one from Asami confirming our meeting at two o’clock today and asking if we can change the location to the vegan bakery on 39th Street. While I’m typing Sure, WhatsApp pops up on my screen and I see Laura is video-calling me. I push Accept.

  “Hey! What’s App?”

  Laura grimaces. I guess I’ve used that joke once too often. “Hi, Mama.”

  “Where are you?” It’s my standard first question these days.

  Laura sighs. “Somewhere in Germany … umm, Weimar? It’s really cold.”

  “It’s cold here, too. We missed you at Christmas.”

  “I know, I missed you guys, too.” She seems a little down. Her hair has grown out an inch or so and she wears it slicked down on her head. She also looks like she’s put on some weight. Her face is definitely more rounded.

  “How is Jeen?”

  “He’s good.” She brightens a bit and I’m heartened to see that at least there isn’t trouble on that front. “He’s so busy. How’s Nana?” I guess we’re done talking about Jeen.

  “She’s doing really well. She loves the scarf you sent her.” I pause. “So, what’s going on, sweetie?”

  “I need you to send me some money.”

  “Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  Laura frowns. “What do you mean?”

  I have always told Laura she could ask for money as soon as she needed it, and I meant it. But that was before the dark time—the time of clipping coupons and using generic tampons.

  “Sweetie, I’m sorry I haven’t told you before, but Ron and I have had to cut way back on our spending because of the franchise expansion.”

  “I don’t need a lot. Just a few thousand euros.”

  I let out a face fart. “In what world is a few thousand euros not a lot?”

  “Mom! I’m not kidding.”

  “Neither am I. We’ve had to use most of our savings, Laura. We don’t have that kind of money just lying around right now.”

  Laura sighs. “Should I ask Nana?”

  Hmm … My mother has been playing pretty fast and loose with her cash since the chemo. It’s not a bad idea.

  “Well, if you do, make sure to ask both Nana and Poppy together and tell
them you’d like it to be a loan.”

  “Okay.”

  We are quiet for a moment. Something is not right.

  “Can I ask what the money is for?”

  She shrugs. “Just living expenses.”

  “If it’s getting tough you can always come home, you know.”

  “I know.” Silence.

  “Anything else going on?”

  “No. I’m just tired. And I wish I could work here, but we never stay in one place long enough.”

  She doesn’t sound thrilled about this. But then she perks up.

  “I’m going to call Nana now. Do you think she’s home?”

  The clock tells me it’s ten after one.

  “Your guess is as good as mine. You know Nana.”

  At this Laura gives me a sad smile.

  “Aww sweetie, cheer up! I hate to see you so down.”

  “I’m okay. I’ll talk to you soon.” She clicks Disconnect and I’m left to wonder if there’s more she isn’t telling me.

  * * *

  I have never been to the vegan bakery on 39th Street, so when I pull into the parking lot of Mud Pie just before two o’clock, I’m more than a little curious. I was expecting it to be in a strip mall, but it’s actually located in a bright yellow house with white trim. There is a small outdoor patio, which obviously isn’t open on this cold January day, but I’m guessing it would be a nice place to sit in the summer.

  Inside is warm and welcoming. My olfactory sense is in overdrive thanks to all the delicious aromas coming at me. More than half the tables are filled, with people working on computers or having quiet conversations. I spot Asami sitting at a corner table staring out the window. When she sees me, she waves.

  “Hi.” I slip into the seat beside her and shed my parka like it’s the biggest burden I have ever carried. “I didn’t know you were vegan.”

  She gives me a confused look.

  “I’m not. But Jennifer, I’m glad you wanted to meet. I have something to talk to you about.”

  I thought this was my meeting but okay. I think I know what’s on her mind. Jeen told his family about him and Laura a few weeks after we found out. I will never forget Asami beelining toward me at school pickup, thinking she was going to freak me out with the news—much like I had wanted to do to her when we first heard. She had a look on her face that can only be described as galvanized. When she realized I already knew, it was like I’d thrown up on her favorite shoes. Since then we have barely mentioned it, our theory being that if we don’t talk about it, maybe it isn’t really happening.

  “Okay. Just let me get a cup of coffee.”

  “Try the cinnamon roll.” She waves our server over. I take the suggestion, and she orders tea and a scone.

  Asami looks good. It’s impossible to know how old she is, because she has looked the same for the four years I have known her. Her skin is as close to perfection as you can get when you’re past thirty, and her new bob hairstyle really suits her.

  “So, what’s on your mind?” I figure if I let her go first, she’ll be more generous with her gossip.

  “I think it’s time for the kids to come home,” she says with her characteristic brevity.

  “I wholeheartedly agree, but I’m curious why you think so.”

  “My sister is worried that Jeen is working too hard.”

  “You know, I just talked to Laura and she said he’s really busy. What’s he doing?” It’s the question I didn’t get a chance to ask my daughter.

  “Getting work for the band. Their tour was supposed to end in November, but Jeen didn’t want to come home. So he spends all his time looking for places that will book them.”

  Our waitress arrives at this point, so I take a moment to collect my thoughts and take a sip of what turns out to be delicious coffee.

  “Any idea how that’s going?”

  “We don’t know, but he called home the other day and asked for more money, which tells us he’s not making enough to survive.”

  I decide not to mention that Laura had just made the same request.

  “Did you send him any?”

  “I didn’t, but of course my sister did, although not much. It was basically enough for a plane ticket home, but she hasn’t heard from him since.”

  I take a bite of my cinnamon roll. Holy crap, is it good. This place is going to be dangerous for me.

  “How do you think we can convince them to come back?” I already know the answer.

  “Well, I was hoping you could come up with something. You have such a crafty mind.”

  That’s as close as Asami has ever come to giving me a real compliment. Unfortunately, I think she is overestimating my abilities.

  “I’m not sure we can make them come home if they don’t want to.”

  “But why don’t they want to? I don’t understand.”

  Before I can enlighten her about the sheer euphoria of touring Europe with a rock band, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Jen?”

  “Yes.” I’m already regretting answering.

  “It’s JJ. I’m the safety patrol mom for today, but I forgot that Kit has an orthodontist appointment. I’m really sorry.”

  I let that hang there for a minute. I look at Asami and roll my eyes. Man, this train is never late.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m here,” I say. “Have you tried to get someone to fill in for you?”

  “Yes, and no one’s available.”

  “No one? Can your husband take your spot?”

  “Yeah, right.” JJ laughs. “Seriously, can you cover me?”

  I close my eyes and pray for patience. “Well, I guess I can, but you’ll have to sign up for another day.”

  “Great! I owe you. Let’s have lunch sometime. Bye.”

  She hangs up before I can say anything, so I start to pull my things together. Asami is shaking her head at me.

  “What?”

  “They should have to pay you when you’re nice enough to fill in for them.”

  “Right? I’d be rich.” And with those words, an idea begins to form in my—how did Asami put it?—crafty mind.

  “I’ve got to get to school. Here.” I offer her a ten, but she waves me off. “It’s on me. I’ll be five minutes behind you. Keep thinking about getting the kids home.”

  “Will do.” I run outside, jump in the minivan, and peel out of the parking lot. It isn’t until I’m halfway to school that I realize I never got to ask Asami for gossip.

  15

  * * *

  To: JDixon

  From: SCobb

  Re: Bake Sale

  Date: 01/10

  Jennifer,

  I’m going to make nut-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, and dairy-free brownies for the bake sale. I’d like them placed on a separate table and well marked. I’ve been reading about celiac disease and I think Graydon may have it.

  Shirleen

  * * *

  Is she kidding? That kid lives on carbs and doesn’t miss a day of school. Last month she was convinced he had plantar fasciitis.

  * * *

  To: SCobb

  From: JDixon

  Re: Bake Sale

  Date: 01/06

  Shirleen,

  Thank you for being so considerate. I will make sure your brownies are put on a table next to the organic produce and water we are selling so as not to get contaminated.

  Jen

  * * *

  I smile. I really have grown to love Shirleen. And that thank-you I gave her is sincere. No one else would even think to provide for the immune-challenged kids.

  But thoughts about the bake sale are taking a back seat right now, because it’s girls’ night! Peetsa, Sylvie, and I are going to TGI Friday’s to get our freak on. I even have Ron’s seal of approval because it’s Ladies’ Night, so we can drink for free from six p.m. to seven p.m. Woo-hoo!

  I drive to the school to check on the safety patrol (all good) a
nd join Peetsa and Ravi at pickup.

  “Sorry you can’t come tonight,” I say to Ravi.

  “I know. I’m so disappointed. I hate going to Rob’s business dinners. They’re so boring.”

  Ravi’s husband works as a salesman at a high-end tire company, and they have to do a client dinner like every two weeks. I feel for her. When I have to go out for dinner with Ron and one of his brand reps, all they do is talk shop.

  “Next time we’ll make sure you’re free.” I turn to Peetsa. “Are you psyched?”

  She shrugs. “I guess. Hey, maybe I’ll meet a guy.”

  I’m not sure I’d want to meet a guy on Ladies’ Night at TGI Friday’s but I like her optimism.

  The bell rings and the kids come tearing out the school doors like the building is on fire. I don’t see Max at first, but then I spot him walking slowly toward me with Razzi. Ruh roh!

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “He isn’t feeling well.”

  “Oh no! Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

  I look at Max and his eyes are glassy. As I put my hand to his forehead, Razzi mouths, “One hundred and two.” My eyebrows go up.

  “He was fine most of the day. He just started feeling poorly about an hour ago.”

  I nod and thank her.

  “Feel better, Max.”

  He leans into me and I hug him. Not much can keep Max down, but a fever is his Waterloo, as it is for most kids.

  “Do you need to cancel tonight?” Peetsa asks.

  “I’m not sure. Let me get him home and see what’s what.”

  “Okay, just let me know. It’s fine either way.”

  I thank her and lead Max to the minivan.

  * * *

  Once I get my boy settled in his bed and give him some Children’s Motrin, he immediately falls asleep. I call Ron and fill him in.

  “So … should I cancel?” I really have no intention of canceling, but I may as well make him think he’s doing me a favor by staying home with his sick child. Ron takes the bait beautifully.