Cutting Teeth(94)
The room is large and open, with a wall of mirrors in front to facilitate the kids’ creative-movement classes. Rows of folding chairs that are normally stowed on pallets in the back have been set up to accommodate the parents. The carpet smells musty. A cardboard cutout of Jesus stands in the corner like he’s in time-out.
“Yeah, thrilling. Look,” she tells him, “I’ll take it from here.” The door sinks shut behind her. She hears the seals suck together, corking her inside with these people.
“Uhhh…” He looks around, confused. Did he miss a memo? “Well, see, I’m providing some encouraging facts about scientific attach—”
“That’s okay, I got it.” She edges right in on his spot and, with no one giving him any indication about what he’s supposed to do, he slinks over to sit in the front row.
At the same time, she’s catching some serious heat from all those eyeballs trained on her, but at least nobody’s throwing tomatoes yet. Marcus figured if they do, they’ll at least be organic. She’s glad someone’s amused.
“Hi,” she says to deafening silence. No one’s about to make this easier on her. She can’t blame them. “I wanted to apologize to everyone for making it seem like Bodhi was dealing with—like we were handling all this, you know, pediatric Renfield’s and whatnot, no problem, when we weren’t having to deal with it at all, really.” She twists the bracelets around her wrist and tries to keep looking up and out instead of down at her sandaled feet.
“You used us as an opportunity to help your business.” She didn’t expect Megan to be the first to speak up. That stings.
“We felt like we were some kind of negligent parents if we weren’t totally fine with getting our blood sucked because you made it sound like we should be,” adds Robin. “Like you were so cool with it. Perfectly natural. You walk around like you’re better than us because you read the labels and don’t give your son Happy Meals ever, apparently.”
Rhea nods. “I know. And that definitely wasn’t right.” At this point, she doesn’t even know which she started lying for more—her business or her reputation as a mother. They became so tightly braided along the way and Rhea has never kept fingernails long or sharp enough to untangle them. She can’t miss the three or four not-so-subtle eye rolls from some of the other mothers—even Lena. Damn. She might swear the air-conditioning in the multipurpose room has gone on the fritz. Her kingdom for a bit of circulation. “I get it, okay?” she says. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I mean, for real, I’ve been feeding Bodhi McDonald’s on a regular basis. For weeks now. I don’t know.”
“This from the woman who packs purple cauliflower for lunch?” Maggie’s mother, Roxy, scoffs, then looks around, soaking in the approval of the other parents, for once on the inside. “That’s rich.”
What did that brand consultant advise Rhea to be? That’s right: effortless, aspirational, less folksy. Well, how about exhausted, disorganized, and messy as hell?
“I deserve that, I guess.” Rhea shrugs. She’s doing what she came here to do. and by the time she leaves, she needs to make it so that she can show her face again. And maybe, just maybe, even rebuild a shred of Terrene, but that’s secondary. “Everyone wants to be seen as a good mother. I mean, seriously. Do y’all remember what they did to Britney Spears when she held a kid on her lap in the car for all of two seconds? I’m just trying to hang with all you moms who are really good at organizing playdates and coming up with cutesy party favors that say thanks for popping by on bubbles. That’s not my bag, but it looks really grown-up from where I’m standing. So I used a different bag and made sure it was made from reusable water bottles.” No one laughs. “It is what it is, but I still—”
Tamar’s mother rises to her feet, making Rhea shut up. “Sometimes I’m so tired.” She swipes dark bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t brush my teeth at night.”
Roxy snickers from a few seats over, then looks around again for some of that approval, but Megan shushes her and says, “I listen to audiobooks in my headphones while I give my kids baths. I don’t even talk to them.”
“My nanny is way better at playing with my kids than I am,” adds Chelsea.
“Oh my god, mine, too.” Tamar’s mom drops back into her chair. “I tell my college-aged nanny she can’t be on her phone while taking care of the kids, but the truth is when I’m with them I’m on the phone all the time. And it’s not important stuff either. I’m talking Instagram and TikTok.”
“At the pediatrician’s office, I always circle the option that says George gets three to four servings of vegetables a day,” says his mother, Charlotte. “But honestly, I’m lucky if he gets that in a week.”
Robin raises her hand. “I’ve forgotten to give money for the last two years for the end-of-year gift, but I still put my name on it.”
Chelsea gently slaps her wife on the arm and gives her the evil eye.
“I still haven’t gotten my youngest swimming lessons. I mean to every summer, but I never even put him in one of those baby classes to splash around,” says Lena.
“Maggie threw up in her bed in the middle of the night a few weeks ago and I just balled up the sheets and made her sleep on the bare mattress.” Roxy slaps her hands over her mouth, her shoulders hiking up over her ears.