“First of all, I never wanted any of these girls here, and before you ask me if I care about our daughters and how not having this party could hurt them socially, know this. I don’t care right now. What I care about is the fact that in a closet the two of us are supposed to share, my clothes are stuffed into a corner so they’re wrinkled as shit. See these pants, Jamie? I have to wear them like this because you treated them like garbage.”
She looks down at my legs and then up at me in pure horror. “You can’t leave the house in them! They’re wrinkled. What will people think?”
Already sick of this conversation and everything about this day, I snap, “They’ll think my wife doesn’t take care of my things as well as she does her own, and you know what? They’d be right. Now move so I can leave. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Have fun with the girls.”
Jamie stands staring at me, her mouth hanging open in shock as I do just as I said I would, flinging the front door open and marching out into the sunlight in my wrinkled pants. I don’t care what people think. If anyone dares to ask, I’ll tell them the truth and I won’t feel one ounce of shame about it.
As I start the car to drive to the community center a few blocks away, I glance over at the front door and see my wife still standing there in utter shock that I’m leaving. Did she expect me to stay at home all day with eight girls doing their best pterodactyl impressions? Maybe if she had asked me if I wanted to help I might have, but since I wasn’t even consulted about today’s social event, I see no reason why I should stick around and be miserable.
She can have the social climbing all to herself. She loves that stuff anyway, so why not?
CHAPTER FOUR
Jamie
One by one,parents pick up the girls who’ve been our guests for the past few hours. Tiffanie asked to have Cassandra and Danielle sleep over tonight, but I want to make sure Maris is okay with that before just herding my daughters out to her car when she arrives.
As she opens her car door, she waves up at me standing on the front porch. “How did the party go? I’m thinking they all drove you crazy since you’re out here,” she says with a laugh.
I quickly move to show her that’s not the reason I’m waiting for her at all. “Oh, no. We love having the girls’ friends over. I wanted to grab you before Tiffanie saw you because she asked Cassandra and Danielle if they wanted to sleep over your house tonight. I figured we should settle things before the girls come out and start begging.”
Maris nods as I hurry to explain I didn’t dislike having all the girls from gymnastics over today. “Oh, that works well for me, actually,” she says with a big smile. “Michael took Brennan on a Cub Scout camping trip this weekend, so it’s just Tiffanie and meat the house. It’ll be nice to have more people around until they get back.”
“That’s great! I know the girls will all be thrilled. Let me go tell them to get their things ready. Come in and sit down. We can chat while the girls are packing their stuff for tonight.”
We walk inside and inform our daughters that the sleepover can happen, and the three of them run to Danielle’s room to pack their bags. As I clean up, I pour Maris a glass of diet soda.
Before I hand her it, I ask, “Do you want a glass of wine instead?”
She waves off my question and takes the soda. “No, not since I’m driving. Even a single glass can mess me up, and I’d be beside myself if any of the girls got hurt.”
I smile and nod like I agree with her, but we live in the same development, and her house is only three streets over. I doubt she could gather up enough speed that would endanger the girls in the time that it takes to go from here to there.
As much as I like Maris, I wonder if I should tell her that this teetotaling attitude of hers won’t help her with the other mothers who are very much people who drink wine no matter what time of day it is. Thankfully, I enjoy my wine, so they’ve never had any issues with me, but I just know they’ll eat her alive if they hear her say no when they offer.
Even worse, they’ll make sure Tiffanie never gets anywhere on the team or in school if they don’t like Maris. If she wants to help her daughter, she better start learning the rules of this game.
All of this marches through my head, but I decide not to say anything to her. Better for me to look after my own girls’ futures. Her daughter’s potential success or failure isn’t my responsibility.
It’s hers.
“Did Connor stay for the party?” she asks, tearing me out of my thoughts about poor Tiffanie and her future.
I shake my head but make sure to paste a smile on my face. Maris may not be like the other mothers, but I don’t want her thinking my husband doesn’t care about his girls either, no matter how much she might understand.
“No, he had to go out to handle something for work,” I lie before turning my back to her so even if my expression wants to tell the world Connor isn’t all I wish he could be, she won’t see that.
“I tell Michael all the time he’s missing out when he’s not around for these parties the girls have. He says Brennan is the child he handles, so Tiffanie is the one I can handle.”
As I gather up bowls of chips and pretzels, I glance over at her and shrug. Maris’s husband isn’t the worst man in the world. Yes, he has a tendency to be an obnoxious know-it-all, but he goes to every Cub Scout meeting or campout and every baseball game for their son, and I’ve never seen him once look miserable when he comes to the gymnastic meets. I’d be happy if Connor did half of that for either of our girls. Michael is just a horse’s ass, but in the grand scheme of things, I guess that’s not the worst thing a man can be.
Eager to move away from the subject of our husbands, I set the dirty bowls down on the counter and look into the dining room when I ask her, “What are you and Michael planning to do with the kids for the summer? We’re thinking at least one camp, but we haven’t decided yet.”
Maris sighs and takes a sip of diet soda before answering, “We aren’t sure either. Brennan wants to go to baseball camp, but that would leave Tiffanie out, and Tiffanie wants to go to dance camp, but that would leave Brennan out. I guess we could send them to two different camps, though.”
I silently wonder if it’s the cost of both camps that is concerning her. Michael has a good job in the federal government that brings in more than enough money, or at least I think it does. I honestly can’t imagine things are so tight that they can’t afford two camps this summer. She’s lucky. I never know about Connor’s job, which seems to swing between feast and famine and constantly has me on pins and needles regarding the amount of money we’ll have month to month.
“What are you thinking of doing with the girls for camp?” she asks, interrupting my silent complaining about my husband.
