“Uh, well, let’s not get carried away here,” Bianca says. “To me, this sounds like typical teenage girl behavior.” Then she has the audacity to turn to me. “You can’t tell me this never happened in your day.”
Slowly blinking, I give her the attention she’s clearly so desperate for. “You’re right. This was par for the course in my teen years. That still doesn’t make it okay.” I turn to face Manny once again. “I was under the impression that touching another student without their consent was cause for suspension, which is precisely what Sadie did. Has that changed?”
Bianca is aghast. “Excuse me. This feels like a huge overreaction.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, does it? Color me surprised.”
Manny’s trying to mediate, but it’s not cutting through the tension on this side of the room.
Bianca starts talking again, and Jules looks back at her and shouts, “God, just shut up! The sound of your voice makes me want to sit on a knife!”
Silence fills the room, and my mind is in an extended state of buffering. I’ve never heard my daughter raise her voice like that before. Not ever, and that’s not even the worst part. I’m remembering a fall weekend last year when Bianca and I chaperoned a school dance. We only spoke for a few minutes, but I knew she was Sadie’s mom. I could tell. This was confirmed shortly thereafter by another mom. On the ride home from thedance, I told Jules that the sound of Bianca’s voice was so irritating that it made me want to sit on a knife.
It was an offhand comment that was mostly intended as a joke, but with the gift of hindsight, I can see now how inappropriate it was for me to say. Sometimes I forget that Jules is my daughter, that she’s constantly absorbing everything I do, even when I don’t notice. Since it’s just the two of us, and she’s getting older, there are times when I treat her more as a confidante than a growing kid.
I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment. When we get out of here, I need to have a long talk with her, because I’ve never felt like more of a failure than I do right now.
“Principal Torres,” I begin, not even knowing what to say, but desperate to take the spotlight off of Jules. “I––”
“I’ve heard enough,” he says, and I notice the tautness in his jaw, almost menacing. He scrubs a hand down his face, clearly over our bullshit. “Jules and Sadie will be suspended for two weeks, excluding the holiday break. They can access the student portal to stay on top of their schoolwork during this time, but they aren’t allowed on school grounds. Understood?”
“Two weeks?” Jules asks, her voice shaky. “What about science club?”
He sighs. “Your group will have to complete the project without you.”
Sadie leans forward, putting her hands on the desk. “But wait, I can still go to soccer practice, right?”
“Absolutely not. No extracurriculars.”
“This is ridiculous,” Bianca says haughtily, shaking her head.
I want to agree and vehemently protest the fact that Jules is getting the same punishment as Sadie for defending herself, but after she yelled at Bianca, I don’t have much moral ground to stand on at the moment.
Jules will manage her schoolwork just fine; I’m not worried about that. She thrived during Covid. Her grades were the highest they’ve ever been. But I hate that she’ll be missing out on science club. I know how much she loves it, even if she’s not a fan of the project they chose.
I walk Jules to her locker so she can get the rest of her books, and we keep a safe distance behind Bianca and Sadie as we head toward the parking lot.
“Why did you cut your tank top into a bra?” I ask Jules. “I didn’t even know you wanted to start wearing bras.” It’s not like she needs one yet. Then it hits me. “Is that what you wanted to go shopping for last month? After I got back from my weekend in Mapletown?”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “There are so many different kinds. I wanted to see what it felt like to wear one.”
I stop in my tracks, and my eyes sting with tears. Here I am priding myself on prioritizing Jules’s needs when it comes to gender-affirming care, and I fucking blow it on one of the simplest ways to do that. Dressing like a girl is one of the easiest ways for Jules to embrace this new identity, and I stood directly in her way. Why, because we’d gone shopping the month before, and I didn’t want to spend too much on her? The fuck is wrong with me? It’s not like I don’t have the money to spend. I was purposefully saving it for gender-affirming care, and when I get the chance to spend it on that, I become an ignorant tightwad.
She didn’t specify she wanted to buy bras at the time, but I should’ve asked.
I’m also not about to drop a grand on bras for my daughter. For basics, we tend to go as cheap as possible, and when we shop the popular brands, I use the coupon code app on my phone to secure discounts. Shopping smart is something I’ve always been good at. I can do this without letting Jules turn into a spoiled brat.
I wrap my arm around Jules’s shoulders and guide her to the car, walking quickly. Once we’re safely inside, I crumble.
“Shit, honey. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. All of it.” I pull a tissue from my purse and wipe my eyes. “If I’d just gotten you the bras you wanted, today wouldn’t have happened, and if I’d kept my wise ass to myself, you wouldn’t have said what you did to Bianca. Which wasn’t okay. You know that, right?”
She nods, her lip trembling. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”
Beneath the ice pack, I can tell she’s crying too, now, and that makes me feel like an even bigger pile of shit. “I never should’ve said it to begin with, though. And my temper…” The list of ways I’m failing as a parent is piling up in my head now. I’ve opened the floodgates. “I’m sorry you inherited that part of me. It’s always been my biggest flaw. The thing your grandparents are most ashamed of.” My nose is running, and keeping up with the endless string of snot becomes a trying task. “I don’t know, maybe I need to speak with someone. Get back into therapy.”
I probably shouldn’t even be sharing these thoughts with Jules, right? I’m sure there’s a parenting group on Facebook that would tell me to lead by example, and stay strong for my kid, because kids need stability above all else. That I’m letting her down, and maybe even her dead-beat dad would do a better job than I have.
But aren’t you allowed to be human in front of your kids? Aren’t you allowed to screw up and feel lonely and break down in tears when you’re convinced the world is falling apart and you’re doing everything wrong?
