You've Been Volunteered
Page 24
“Thank you. Truthfully, I didn’t know her very well. We were more pen pals than anything.”
“Well, that’s surprising, considering that you were one of only two people she mentioned in her will.”
“I’m surprised, too,” I assure him.
“It was your aunt’s final wish to have her ashes thrown into Haleakala.”
“Yes, my mother mentioned that.”
“Did she mention that Ms. Howard wanted you to be the person to throw her ashes in?”
My heart leaps. I’m going to Hawaii!
“No, she didn’t. I’m honored.” I pause, wondering if Aunt Barb left money for a plane ticket. If she didn’t, my chances of going were slim to none, and slim just left town. I ask the lawyer.
“Not that I know of. I believe she expected you to use the money that she has left you.”
“Oh. Okay.” I’m silently hoping it will be enough. I don’t even want to imagine the look on Ron’s face when I tell him I need to go to Hawaii.
“She left part of her estate to the animal shelter in Maui that is now taking care of her cats for as long as they live.”
“I’m so glad they’re being taken care of.” I quietly thank God she didn’t leave them to me. I’m gazing at my backyard and admiring the view. I can see Max trying to get Ron to let him turn the hamburgers. Vivs is sitting with my father, sharing a joke. And people are just enjoying the beauty of the evening. I realize for the first time in a while that I am perfectly content.
“What she left you is a one-time stipend of seven hundred dollars.”
“That’s so nice,” I say absently, wondering if there’s any rosé left.
“Yes, it’s very nice.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said it is very nice. That’s a life-changing amount of money.”
Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, I think. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending the whole seven hundred just to get to Hawaii.”
“Ms. Howard left you seven hundred thousand dollars.”
“What?” I must be hallucinating. “That’s not possible. My aunt was on a fixed income.”
“That is true. But she also owned five thousand shares of Apple stock.”
I look for some place to sit down. There isn’t a chair nearby, so I sink to the grass.
“Mrs. Dixon?”
“Yes?” I’m crying as I look across my backyard and focus on my husband. “How did she come to have that much stock?”
“I believe she started buying it back in 1980. I wish I had. I’m going to send you some papers to fill out. This isn’t a complicated estate, so we should be able to close it out within a few months.”
“Thank you, Mr.…” I’ve forgotten his name.
“Ho. Kale Ho. I’ll be in touch soon.”
I sit with my phone in my lap for a good five minutes before Nina comes over and asks if I’m okay. I don’t even know how to answer her.
24
* * *
To: Mrs. Randazzo’s Class
From: JDixon
Re: As they say in Hollywood, that’s a wrap.
Date: 6/04
Greetings, fellow parents,
And just like that, it’s over. We are on to fourth grade. Kudos to all of you for making it through another year of elementary school. It was touch and go last week when we had to calculate radius and diameter in the math homework, but I got through it … barely.
Razzi has asked me to remind you to turn in all textbooks. I believe she’s still missing five math and twelve science books, so get your little nerds to hand them over.
Congratulations to Ali Burgess for taking the top spot in email response times this year. A Starbucks gift card is waiting for you on Razzi’s desk.
Don’t forget, tomorrow is the third-grade swan song. The last dance. The final jam, if you will. We have been assigned the left half of the field beside the parking lot as the site of our shindig. I know, not the best location, especially since we’ll be playing softball. My suggestion is to park on the street if you don’t want your car dented.
And that, my friends, is that. Thanks for another interesting year. (Most of) you helped make it much less annoying than usual.
Aloha!
Jen Dixon, Class Mom
* * *
I always have mixed feelings when I write my final letter. There is relief, of course, but there is also something close to pure joy. I’m fine with both.
I send the email, then run upstairs to continue packing. We’re taking off for Maui the day after tomorrow and I’ve changed my mind a dozen times about what I’m going to wear when I throw Aunt Barbara into Haleakala. I want to look nice, but I’m also planning for us to bike down the volcano afterward. I think I’m going to go with Peetsa’s idea of bike shorts and tank under a loose-fitting dress. That way I can throw the dress into my backpack after the ceremony. I’ve written a little speech that I’ll give before I sprinkle her ashes.
I still can’t believe I’m going with Ron and Max. Without the inheritance there’s no way we would ever be able to take a trip like this. I think my parents would have wanted to come, too, but my dad has really slowed down this past year and there is no way Kay would go without him. He asked me to take lots of pictures, so he can see everything when we get back.
Ron was still standing at the grill when I got off the phone with Mr. Ho, so I walked over to him and whispered in his ear, “Aunt Barbara left me seven hundred thousand dollars.” After his initial responses of “Yeah, right” and “That’s not funny,” he kept asking me over and over if I was sure.
“I mean, are you really sure?” he whispered for the fourth time. “No offense, but sometimes your hearing isn’t the best.”
“What?” I said. (That joke never gets old.)
As we were intensely whispering, I noticed we were getting some curious looks from our guests.
“What are you two plotting?” my mother demanded.
I needed a distraction, so I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.
“Karaoke!” I announced excitedly. I was met with unmistakable groans. Undeterred, I dragged out Max’s karaoke machine and diverted everyone with a good old sing-along. It was a slow start but once I busted out my go-to song, “Tik Tok” by Kesha, the tide definitely turned. And let me just say there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when my mother and her chemo-sabes sang the post-cancer anthem “Fight Song.” It was a great party.
My parents stayed to help clean up, meaning that they sat on the couch apologizing for not helping. I told them what the lawyer had said, and Kay’s response was classic:
“Well, good for Barb, that little minx. But she should have spent it, for heaven’s sake.”
Nina had an entirely different reaction. She told me to be careful what I do with money that I didn’t actually earn, because it will always follow me. I know she was thinking about the inheritance she got when her parents were killed and how she squandered a lot of it on Chyna’s skeezy baby daddy, Sid.
I happen to agree with my mother. I think Aunt Barbara should have lived a little higher on the hog—maybe not waited until pineapples were on sale to make that soup—but as my dad is fond of saying, you can’t spend other people’s money. I don’t think I ever really knew what he meant until now.
* * *
The mystery of why Aunt Barbara left me the money was partially solved via FedEx a few days after the party. I had just come from the girls’ new apartment, where I reorganized the kitchen and refereed their umpteenth squabble, this one about shelf space in their bathroom. I keep promising myself that I’m going to stay out of it, but the petty side of me loves watching them bicker (as I predicted they would) until I swoop in and turn chaos into order. It’s quite the heady power trip. All in all though, I’d say they are managing pretty well. If they weren’t, there’s no way I’d be going to Hawaii for two weeks. But Laura has taken on the role of birth partner with gusto. And Vivs is in the salad days of her pregn
ancy … sixteen weeks and counting! She’s back to working out and she is really glowing.
Anyway, I found a large FedEx envelope leaning against the front door when I got home. I assumed it was from Mr. Ho, and I was right. After grabbing a coconut water from the fridge, I sat down at the kitchen table and ripped it open. There were some documents to sign and a quick note from Mr. Ho telling me where to send them back. There was also a thick manila envelope with my name written in the same handwriting I recognized from Christmas and birthday cards. Aha! A note from Aunt Barbara! A message from the great beyond. And hopefully an explanation.
But the envelope held none of those things. Inside I found a stack of carefully preserved original pieces of artwork created by a young Jennifer Howard, lovingly bound together with a paperclip shaped like a cat’s face.
“Oh, wow,” I said to no one as I leafed through the pages. There were drawings of proportionally questionable humans and oddly shaped animals, and other colorful scribbles you’d associate with a child’s artwork. One picture stopped me—a large, bold pink and purple flower in the middle of the page. Some immature handwriting across the bottom read Aunt Barbara you are the prettiest flower in the field love Jenny. At least I think that’s what it said. Between the penmanship and the spelling, it was hard to be sure.
It’s an interesting moment when you realize the impact you’ve had on someone’s life without ever knowing it. The fact that Aunt Barbara had kept every crappy piece of artwork my mother made me send her was incredibly touching. I suddenly felt guilty for not making more of an effort.
With tears in my eyes, I called my mother.
“Am I a bad person?” I asked after telling her about the manila envelope.
“Jennifer, don’t be silly. You were always kind to Aunt Barbara. She didn’t expect much from any of us.”
“But she kept those pictures for all these years.” I sniffled.
“I know. That lawyer sent your father a bunch of photographs she’d saved from when they were kids.”
“He must have loved that.”
“He did. Look, she was in our lives as much as she wanted to be. You have nothing to feel bad about … except maybe not donating more of your money to charity.”
I should have seen that one coming. Ever since we told my parents our plans for Aunt Barbara’s $700,000, I have been receiving regular jabs about our decision.
“Mom, I think five percent is enough. We’re investing the rest in the business.”
“Ten percent would be better.”
“I’m hanging up. I love you.”
* * *
It’s a cloudy and cool last day of school, the kind you sometimes get in June for no particular reason, but that doesn’t keep the kids from having a great time. We end up playing wiffle ball instead of softball, so that no cars will be harmed. As you can imagine, Bruce Willis is very relieved. Actually, I’m kidding. Ron couldn’t make it to the picnic, so his beloved BMW was never in harm’s way.
The kids are enjoying grilled hot dogs and chips courtesy of Jackie Westman’s husband, who, I discovered, had recently purchased EJ’s deli. The jig is up, Jackie! No more just bringing cups for you!
I’m just about to grab a garbage bag and start the clean-up process when I see Alison Lody has beaten me to it.
“What are you looking at?” Peetsa comes to stand beside me. She has mustard on her lip; I motion for her to wipe it away.
“Just Alison doing my job for me. Maybe she can be class mom next year.”
“She really changed this year.”
“Did she?” I wonder. “Maybe we changed.”
Peetsa face-farts. “I know I did. I’m a single mother and I sell cars!”
She starts to tell me about her first sale, but we’re interrupted when Sylvie Pike comes flowing by in a bright blue peasant skirt and white pullover sweater. She gives me a high five.
“Good job,” she tells me.
“You too.” I smile. “Even if you did trick me into leading safety patrol.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” she says with fake indignation. “But while I have you, can I put you down for class mom next year?”
“Uh, that would be a ‘Hell no.’” She turns to Peetsa, who shakes her head immediately.
“I have a full-time job.”
The look Sylvie gives us says this isn’t the last we’ll be hearing from her.
Something tells me I’ve already been volunteered.
Acknowledgments
I have no one to thank. I did it all myself.
Who am I kidding? It takes a freaking village to get this done.
First on the list … thank you for reading my first book! You took a chance on an unknown author and made me feel like a rock star just for writing it. And thanks for sharing your nightmare class mom stories! They were as horrifying as they were inspirational.
A special thanks to Robert Folsom, KC resident and an invaluable resource to me on all things Native American. You’re the best!
A big thanks to the whole crew at Henry Holt and Company for even wanting a second book. Serena, Maggie, Pat, Jessica, and Maddie, you are a dream team to work with. My writing is always a bit sharper after a meeting with you guys.
And while I’m thanking the suits, I need to give a shout-out to the groovy folks at Raincoast Books who are my Canadian distributor. Fleur, I’ve never met you, but your emails are extremely thorough!
Thanks to super-agent Paul “Lefty” Fedorko for negotiating a much better deal than I deserved, and for being my one-man fan club.
Kelly Ripa, your support and encouragement meant everything to me. Thank you!
Shout-out to my sister, Wendy, who, between gardening and golf, somehow squeezed in the time to read a few drafts of this story and give me some very helpful insights.
She’s going to think I’m nuts, but I have to thank Ali Wentworth, who tirelessly answered (and continues to answer) every stupid new guy question I had about being an author … including the all-important “What page do I sign the book on?”
And finally, thank you to my husband, Michael, and my daughters, Jamie and Misha, for being in my corner. You guys are the reason for everything.
ALSO BY LAURIE GELMAN
Class Mom
About the Author
Laurie Gelman was born and raised in the Great White North. She spent twenty-five years as a broadcaster in both Canada and the United States before trying her hand at writing novels. The author of Class Mom, Laurie has appeared on Live with Kelly and Ryan, Watch What Happens Live, and The Talk, among others. She lives in New York City with her husband, Michael Gelman, and two teenage daughters. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
A note to the fine folks of Kansas City
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgments
Also by Laurie Gelman
About the Author
Copyright
YOU’VE BEEN VOLUNTEERED: A CLASS MOM NOVEL Copyright © 2019 by Laurie Gelman. All rights reserved. For information, address Henry Holt and Co., 120 Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10271.
www.henryholt.com
Cover design and illustration by Nicolette Seeback
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Gelman, Laurie, author.
Title: You’ve been volunteered: a class mom novel / by Laurie Gelman.
Other titles: You have been volunteered
Description: First edition. | New York, New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2019. | Series: A class mom novel; 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2018050182 | ISBN 9781250301857 (hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Domestic fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3607.E465 Y68 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018050182
e-ISBN 9781250301864
First Edition: July 2019
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.