“Yes, the school found one this morning. It's been quite the ordeal already. She’s new to teaching, and this will be her first job post-college,” Mrs. Cummings reassures the other moms.
A wheezy cough comes from the opposite side of the table, where Betty appears to be on the verge of a stroke. “You can’t be serious. How old is this woman? Fresh out of college, they might as well hire a child to teach. Does she haveanyidea how crucial the education is at this school?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s the only option right now.” She shrugs. “This all happened so quickly. My hands are tied, and so is the administration's.”
“Well, this definitely shakes things up, but I don’t see why we can’t make it work.” I straighten in my chair. “I’ll take her under my wing. Everything will be fine. When does she start?”
“The end of the week, so she’ll be here for Friday's meeting. Before I came in, we spoke on the phone, and I brought her up to speed with the workings of our group.” Frown lines deepen as she pushes her brows together. “Don’t worry, ladies. I’ll be back before you know it, and it’ll be like this mess never happened.”
Betty purses her lips. “Fresh from college. What’s next, strippers serving food in the cafeteria?”
Without looking up, she stabs at her PalmPilot screen, each tap harder than the last.
ChaptEr 2
Candace
Thankfully, my alarm clock went off this morning, ensuring we’d be on time, and I’d be dressed before the girls dragged their feet in for cereal. Double-checking my outfit in my full-length mirror, I switch things up and change my cream-colored halter top for a pristine white that better matches my skirt. Tennis every Tuesday used to be reserved for doubles. Greg thought it’d be a good idea to get to know other couples at work, so I put on my best smile and can-do attitude. Now, it’s just me and my trainer Chris, a former professional athlete. Although couple activities were never my strong suit, I looked forward to our date. Tuesdays are now a bleak reminder of yet another thing that’s changed in my life. I doubt he even remembers.
It’s a welcome sight—my younger sister sprawled on my sectional, an ice pack pressed to her face. “Long night in the E.R. Didn’t wanna drive home, so I crashed at Casa de Stepford,” she groans, rolling off the couch to join me in the kitchen.
I ignore Courtney’s running commentary and pour her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, hoping she moves on toanythingelse. This isn’t the first or last time I’m hearing how uninterested she is in my life.
Her unimpressed expression says everything, but of course she won’t hide her true feelings. It’s not in her nature to hold her tongue, especially with me. “You seriously have nothing stronger?” Taking a big gulp, she winces from the sour taste of citrus. “How do suburban robots survive the day without caffeine? This isn’t the 40s anymore, but I guess you could take something to enhance your cleaning abilities, if you catch my drift,” she winks, downing the rest and pouring another glass.
“No, I don’t catch yourdrift. I’m headed to tennis in an hour, that’ll be enough to wake me up.”
She rummages through my pantry, finds a box of granola bars, and makes herself cozy at my counter. “You once took a shot out of a stranger’s belly button. Where’d you go? You used to be so fun. Don’t you wanna live a little again?”
Not needingthatspring break mental image, I move away to my breakfast nook, where I can enjoy my oatmeal privately. It’s a two-seater table, with a view of the entire neighborhood, given we’re in the middle of a cul-de-sac. Staring out the window, I watch the husbands back out and head to work. There once was a time when I sat in this spot, watching Greg drive off in his silver BMW. He’d wave from the driver’s seat and blow me a kiss. I’d finish my bowl of plain oatmeal and move on with my continuously growing to-do list.
“So, will you be spending the day here?” I asked Court, who is now scouring my fridge. “I won't be around, but you’re welcome to hang out.”
“You know, for someone who doesn’t have a job, you’re literally the busiest person I know.” Grapes fall out of her mouth as she continues her morning insults.
She’s not intentionally being rude. The truth is we couldn’t be more different. We’re three years apart, but it might as well be thirty with the contrasting paths we took early on. Of course, I followed in my dad’s footsteps and attended his alma mater to study law, hoping to become a public defender. She took two years off after high school to traipse around Europe, finding herself in hostels and blowing through her trust fund. With no money left to play with, she found herself on our dad’s front door, begging for a med school loan, the one dream that actually panned out.
“My life would fall apart if I wasn’t busy.” I take a bite of oatmeal, my jaw tightening with every chew.
“Oh, here we go again. Your life hasalreadyfallen apart. What’s left to save? Your pathetic excuse for a husband chose a woman with bigger tits and a smaller waist. I’m sure the twins want to see their mom happy rather than up to her eyeballs in aerobics classes and charity luncheons.”
Once upon a time, Court and I couldn’t be closer Not only did we share a room, but each other's clothes and secrets. Having a built-in best friend was a highlight of my childhood, and thankfully I have girls who get to have the same experience. This version of her, though, doesn’t understand the pressure I’m under. Never been married, not interested in commitment, or raising a family of her own.
“I’m doing the best I can, Courtney. This is my life.” I gesture around the kitchen, at everything I’ve spent years building. “Right here is all I’ve known for sixteen years. Obviously, it wasn’t good enough for you then, so why would it be now? I wouldn’t know how to change if you paid me. Greg didn’t stick to our deal, but I did.”
“That wasthen. This is now. You’re June Cleaver without an actual husband,” she accuses, throwing away her mountain ofwrappers and heading back towards my couch. “He’s gone. You don’t have to play house anymore.”
Her words hit hard this morning, and it couldn’t be worse timing. Any minute the girls will barrel down here and I’m on the verge of heading back upstairs to crawl into bed. Her blunt criticism isn’t news to me. There’s been plenty of times over the years where she’s shared her concerns or pointed out the red flags I refused to acknowledge. Usually, it’s not this early in the day though.
After yesterday’s tardiness and enduring Betty’s comments, I’m not in the right mindset for my sister's inner thoughts. It’s only been a bit since the divorce, everyday I put on both my mom and dad hat, hoping I’m not slacking in either department. Advice from a woman who’s never had a relationship longer than a sneeze isn’t sitting well in my gut. This type of interrogation usually comes from my mom, although it's much harsher and always includes a list of things I’m ruining and how I’ve yet to achieve prime community status.
“Aunty Court,” both girls yell, rushing down the stairs to attack their favorite person. Even though her final trust fund purchase paid for her fabulous downtown penthouse, she’d rather spend time with us, scrolling the channels for trash TV.
“What’s up, my twinners?” She squeezes them both. Hearing their giggles and secret whispers makes my heart happy and chest warm. Their relationship is pure whimsy, there’s no rules or discipline with Aunty Court. It’s all fairy dust and silly handshakes.
“Are you taking us to school?” Kate asks, pouring cereal before reaching for the milk in the fridge.
“Hell ya!” she shouts, but looks over at me, knowing I’ll scold her for the language.
