There’s that question again.
“I guess. As okay as can be expected.”
“When is she due?”
“September.” I see the clock on the microwave and realize I have to go. I stand and grab Peetsa’s hat off the counter.
“Hey, thanks for this.”
“No problem. Grandma! That’s some pretty big news you’re leaving me with.”
“Yeah, well, I like to light up the room before I leave.”
“Mission accomplished.” She stands and gives me a hug. “Try to have a good time. When are you back?”
“Wednesday. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.” She walks me to the door and waves until I get in the car.
* * *
Vivs is next on the errand train. I’m having lunch with her at her desk. She has to try some new foods that Jenny Craig is pushing, so she asked me to join her for a free low-cal meal.
While I’m waiting for her to finish up with a client I check my email on my phone and find one from Razzi.
* * *
To: JDixon
From: WRandazzo
Re: Class Birthday Parties
Date: 3/15
Hi, Jen,
Something has been on my mind for quite a while and I wanted to share it with you. It’s about classroom birthday celebrations. Can you please ask the parents to use a little more restraint? I so appreciated that when we celebrated Max’s birthday this week you just brought a snack, a candle, and a book. That’s all it should be. This fad of hiring a balloon clown or a juggler to help the festivities along is getting to be too much for me. The petting zoo left a smelly mess in my classroom, not to mention the goat almost bit me. So tell them to take it down a notch, and that it doesn’t mean you love your kid less.
Thanks, and have a great break.
Winnie
* * *
She’s right. The one-upmanship that has been going on is ridiculous. I’m about to shoot off a stern email to the class when Vivs tells me she’s ready and leads me back to her cubicle, where an impressive spread of diet food is laid out.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?” I ask her as we sit down to sensible portions of stuffed pizza bites and egg, cheese, and turkey sausage burritos.
“Hungry and tired all the freaking time.” This is her stock answer these days. Ever since she told me about her pregnancy all her animosity has gone away and we’re back to talking every day.
“At least you don’t have morning sickness.”
“True,” she says as she stuffs a pizza bite into her mouth. I do the same and am pleasantly surprised.
“Wow. That’s actually not terrible!”
“Say it louder, Mom, I don’t think Caroline out front heard you.”
I ignore this. “So, you know we leave tomorrow. Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine! I got through the first ten weeks without you. I think I can get through the next five days.”
“Why are you snapping at me today?” I take a bite of the turkey sausage burrito but keep my thoughts to myself.
“Sorry. I’m just … arrrrgh! There’s too much going on.”
“I know,” I tell her, and I really do. Pregnancy is a bitch at any time, but going through it without a partner is brutal. “I really wish you knew who the father is.”
“Again, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to be with him anyway.”
“I saw TJ at the gym,” I tell her.
She stops chewing. “You didn’t say anything to him, did you?”
“I thought about it, but no. I just said hello.”
She scowls, and her voice rises several decibels. “Why would you even do that?”
“I wanted to see if he’d at least act uncomfortable with me, but he was just doing his arm workout as though he hadn’t slept with my daughter.”
“Cripes, Mom, just stay away from him, okay?” Vivs is disproportionately annoyed, in my opinion.
“Got any of the cheesecake?” I ask as a way to change the subject.
“God, I hope so.” She walks to the fridge at the back of the office.
* * *
After stopping at UPS to drop off three returns to Amazon, I head to school to pick up Max. Thank God, it’s finally stopped raining, but the wind has picked up so I wrap my arms around myself as I walk from the parking lot. March has most definitely come in like a lion. I’m happy to see the Chloes are at their safety patrol post and a parent I do not recognize is with them. A small glow of satisfaction flows through me. We’re in the home stretch for the school year and there have been very few patrol incidents. Go, me!
I approach Ravi, Peetsa, Alison, and Asami, huddled together against the biting breeze.
“Jen, you’re so lucky to be getting out of this weather,” Ravi greets me.
“I know, I can’t wait.” I spy Jackie Westman in my peripheral vision and excuse myself from my friends to make a beeline toward her.
“Jackie! Permission slip!” I bellow in a fruitless effort to embarrass her. I secretly admire her ability to not give a crap if she’s the worst at handing things in. There is a quiet dignity to her laziness.
“I’ll give it to Razzi,” she yells back, and I turn before I even reach her. I’ve done all I can do.
The bell rings as I head back to my group and the kids come streaming out. I spot Max holding onto his baseball hat so it won’t blow away.
“Mom, can I go to Draper’s?”
I shake my head.
“Not today, babe. We have lots to do before we leave. We need to find your bathing suit.”
They all groan at me.
“Sorry! Am I the only one going somewhere warm?”
“I think you are!” Peetsa laughs. “Lucky duck.”
20
* * *
To: Mrs. Randazzo’s Class
From: JDixon
Re: I love you guys …
Date: 3/18
Dear best, best, best, best friends,
I realize we are all on vacation, but I want you to know I am still here for you. And believe me, it’s not always easy to be me being here for you. I don’t like being the bad guy. I’m not the bad guy. I’m the good guy. I try to be a good person, I really do. But it’s been a tough year and I’m tired of cutting coupons. I am. I hate it. But I do it because we are going broke and my husband says saving twenty cents on paper towels is going to keep us going and who am I to argue? I’m old and flabby and he’s not. We’ll need money for the baby, not to mention my parents aren’t getting any younger. And let’s face it, I’m no spring chicken, although some guy by the bathroom did ask me to kiss him, so there’s that. Do you think I put out a loose vibe? I don’t think I do, but you never know what people pick up on.
Oh yeah: Razzi wants me to tell you to stop bringing your kids things on their birthday. The goat poop was just too much. She’s a party pooper! Actually, the goat was the party pooper. “Pooper” is a weird word.
I love you all.
Jennifer Rose Howard Dixon, class mom forever and ever. Amen.
* * *
Yup. I actually sent that. As God is my witness, I don’t remember even writing it. But apparently, I did. And now the world knows just a little too much about me.
Oh, I was drunk, no question about it. And that would be my excuse, except I believe I have mentioned that being drunk isn’t an excuse for anything. Damn my words of wisdom for coming back to bite me in the ass.
How I came to write such an email is kind of a weird tale, so bear with me. We got to Las Vegas without much fuss. Only one drama marred the trip—when I realized at the airport that I had left my phone on the kitchen table. Mild panic flooded my system as it registered that I wouldn’t be one hundred percent available for Vivs. I was going to go home and scrap the trip until Ron, my trusty voice of reason, told me I could carry his phone. I immediately texted Vivs and Laura and asked that one of them FedEx me the phone to the Venetian ASAP, to which Laura replied, “Chill, Mom,” and Vi
vs replied, “Who is this?”
On the airplane, Max got to meet the pilot and they made him an honorary co-pilot. The fact that he was one of seventeen honorary co-pilots on board that day didn’t make it any less special for him. You’d think we were headed to Disney, with the number of kids on the plane.
We were picked up at the airport by one of Rolly’s employees—a short brown-haired guy in his late twenties named Steve. He whisked us to the hotel in the longest, whitest limousine I have ever seen. Max was rendered speechless for a good five seconds and then basically dove into the car and started pushing every button he could find. I would have stopped him, but he was only doing what I would have done if it was acceptable adult behavior. I settled for pretending I was Celine Dion when we pulled up to the Venetian … and Ron was my bodyguard.
Ron and I had been to this hotel before, but obviously Max was a first-timer. The grand painted ceilings, enormous archways, and polished tile in the lobby alone had him convinced that royalty must live here. The Venetian really is spectacular; books have been written on its art and architecture. But when all is said and done, you turn the corner and you’re in a casino, complete with old ladies on oxygen playing the slots, and people drinking scotch at ten a.m. No amount of marble can mask that.
Our room was great—actually a bedroom and an open sunken living room with a pullout sofa for Max and a terrific view of the Strip. The décor was sufficiently decadent, in keeping with the rest of the hotel.
The phone rang almost as soon as we got in the room. It was Rolly welcoming us and letting us know that dinner was at eight at Canaletto Ristorante in the hotel … nothing fancy, he insisted. He also informed us that he had hired a babysitter to stay with Max.
I felt bad leaving my eight-year-old with a stranger on our first night in Las Vegas, but he couldn’t have cared less. Unlimited TV and a chance to order room service are apparently all it takes for him to happily kick us to the curb. And it certainly didn’t hurt that Cassie was a blond, very pretty twenty-two-year-old who told us she has three younger brothers. She’s the daughter of one of Rolly’s employees and was brought to Las Vegas for the sole purpose of taking care of Max. I’m guessing this was Janine’s idea, and that she thought she was doing us a favor. As it happens, I like spending time with my kid on vacation, but I think in Janine’s world that’s considered something akin to waterboarding.
I remember being so happy to see the Schraders that night. The maître d’ led us to a great table near the back of the very lively restaurant, where our friends were already half a bottle of wine in. It took absolutely no time at all to fall into our routine of booze and banter.
At some point Rolly laid out the plans for the weekend, including a company trip to the Hoover Dam that we were welcome to join in on, tickets to see David Copperfield’s magic show with Max, and, of course, the big event, the reason for the season, going to see American Ninja Warrior live. It all sounded perfect, and the more I drank, the more perfect it sounded. We were discussing the fact that this trip is Max’s birthday present this year—no party necessary—and after that things get a little fuzzy … like trying to see through stained glass. I don’t even remember getting back to the room, let alone firing up my laptop and sending an email to the class. Asking Ron for clarification was like asking the blind man what he saw. We’re such idiots. It was so irresponsible to drink that much when we were in a strange environment and Max was with us.
The next day, I remember with brutal clarity. I woke up to a world-class headache and a note from Ron saying he’d taken our son out for breakfast. I hadn’t even heard them leave.
After a two-minute pee, a gallon of water, and three extra-strength Tylenol I started to feel a bit more human. I looked around our messy room and noticed my laptop was open on the desk. I figured Cassie had used it and Max had given her the password. I closed it and put it in the safe.
My mojo really cranked up after Ron and Max came back with a large coffee and a breakfast burrito filled with scrambled eggs and bacon.
“Did you have fun with Cassie, sweetie?” I asked as I shoveled the food into my mouth. I felt myself coming alive with every bite.
“Yeah. She taught me how to play blackjack. With betting chips and everything.”
I raised an eyebrow at Ron. He started to laugh.
“Don’t look at me; I didn’t teach him. But when you think about it, it’s a great way to perfect your addition and subtraction.”
“Then we should have taught him two years ago, when he was learning those skills.”
“Can I play real blackjack?” Max interjected.
“Sure. In about thirteen years.” Ron ruffled his hair.
Our bus to the Hoover Dam wasn’t leaving until eleven, so we spent the first part of the morning walking around the hotel, checking out the pool, and taking a gondola ride along the Grand Canal.
We bumped into Janine in the lobby, wearing workout gear (of course) and looking like she had broken a good sweat. She kissed my cheek and hugged Ron as if she were seeing him for the first time. “Hey, guys! Are you just getting up?”
“No, no. We’ve been taking in the sights,” Ron assured her. “Have you met our son—” He was interrupted by Janine turning and addressing me.
“They have a spin bike in the gym! You should try to work yourself out later.”
“Are you going to the Hoover Dam?”
The look she gave me screamed, “Are you out of your mind?”
“Been there, done that. I went in tenth grade on a field trip. I doubt it’s changed.”
“Oh, too bad. I was looking forward to spending some time with sober Janine,” I joked.
She lit up. “Good luck finding her!”
“Are we seeing you tonight?” Ron asked. We had tickets to David Copperfield.
“Magic show? Pass. But I’ll definitely see you tomorrow for the ninja thing.” She winked and sashayed away. I tried very hard not to let it bother me that she didn’t even acknowledge Max during that whole exchange. I chalked it up to her not being a kid person and moved on.
The Hoover Dam was well worth the forty-five-minute bus ride and hour-long tour if for no other reason than Max walked away with five fun facts that he couldn’t wait to share with Razzi. Unlike his wife, Rolly, whose grandchildren were not on this trip, wouldn’t leave Max’s side and made sure he got the best view of everything. He even bought him a T-shirt that said, “Keep Your Hands Off My Dam Shirt.”
The nice thing about not seeing the Schraders that night was we didn’t drink, and we went to bed at a reasonable hour. We took Max to New York–New York for an early dinner, then just made it to the MGM Grand for the seven o’clock Copperfield show. It was a little campy, in my opinion, but the man made a car appear onstage out of nowhere! That is some talent. Max was convinced it was the best thing he had ever seen, and he was probably right. It definitely had more of a wow factor than Bubble Guppies Live, which is the only other show he has ever seen.
Afterward, Ron went to the blackjack tables. We had budgeted $50 a night for him to gamble, so I took Max back to our room and expected to see him in ten minutes. Apparently, I was asleep when he got in.
* * *
Sunday at five was the taping of American Ninja Warrior, so naturally Max was up at the crack of dawn in anticipation. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with him all day, but the amazing Cassie called and offered to take him to Circus Circus. I wasn’t going to say no to that. It gave Ron and me a few hours of Mommy-Daddy time which included a quickie and a relaxing afternoon by the pool. It wasn’t as warm as I had anticipated, but hey, when you’ve been in 20-degree weather for months, 72 feels pretty damn good, plus I got a little sun on my pasty-white skin. Ron was in an amazing mood, having turned his $50 into $600 the night before, and it was nice to see him relax for a while.
At four o’clock, Rolly had that same super white limo take us all over to the show, which was taped in an empty lot across from the Luxor Hotel. The group i
ncluded our family, the Schraders, Steve, our guy from the airport, and Cassie, who confessed her life goal is to be a contestant. I wanted to tell her to aim higher, but thought I’d leave that for her own mother to say.
We were met by an official-looking guy dressed all in black, with a clipboard and a headset on.
“Mr. Schrader? I’m Luke. This way, sir.” We followed him through a labyrinth of trailers and trucks until we emerged, quite suddenly, at the obstacle course.
“Holy crap!” screamed Max, and I had to agree with him. The set of American Ninja Warrior was truly a sight to behold. Astonishing in its size, the course was all red, white, and blue, surrounded by chrome and lights, and built over a large rectangular pool. It was inspiring and terrifying all at the same time.
“Can I go on there?” Max asked Rolly.
“Unfortunately, no. You can’t even touch it.”
He looked at me and shrugged. “I asked them earlier.”
“Being here is more than enough,” I assured him.
I think Max could have stood there all evening just looking at the course, but Luke had other plans for us.
“Want to meet the hosts?” He directed the question to Max.
“Yes please!” I was shocked by Max’s politeness and really, how sad is that? My expectations have been so drastically lowered by his behavior this year that basic common courtesy has become a surprise.
Luke took us to the platform where the hosts do their play-by-play, and Max was in heaven. They were having some kind of meeting but immediately jumped up when we got close. Two guys and a girl all walked over and greeted Rolly like an old friend, which made me wonder if he was a part owner in the show. I mean, we were really getting the VIP treatment.
“This is the young man I was telling you about.” Rolly presented Max to them, and for the first time in recent memory, he was speechless. They took pictures and told Max he could sit on the platform with them for part of the show if he wanted. I hung back to avoid saying anything painfully stupid or embarrassing as I am wont to do when celebrities are involved. I once met the weatherman from channel four and told him I never watch his show. What?
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