Page 7 of Valley of the Moms
“I didn’t realize you knew each other,” Anna said. She opened her bag with the croissant in it and flakes flew everywhere. Was it her imagination, or did Mimi give her a sideways glance? Maybe members of the PTO did not eat. Maybe meetings over coffee were meant to include only coffee and nothing else. “Sorry about that,” Anna said, hastily wiping the crumbs from the table.
“Yes. Well, some people say I knoweveryone,” she said. “But that’s just a silly rumor.” She brushed crumbs from her side of the table. “What’s a little croissant among friends?”
Were they friends? Anna wouldn’t go that far. “Well, anyway,” she said, clearing her throat. “I just wanted to say, I don’t want to get into a big argument.”
Mimi raised her eyebrows. “Argument? Certainly not!” She laughed. “In any case, I don’t really argue.”
“You don’t?” Anna was taken aback. What kind of person never had an argument.
“Not really!”
“Oh.”
“I just say what I need to say and then I move on!”
Her tone, Anna noticed, was chipper, but there was something beneath it. A message that she was meant to receive. Mimi Mar was the boss—not just of the PTO, but of everything in her life. You agreed with her, or you found another place to hold court. It wouldn’t have surprised Anna one bit to know that Mimi had been, for instance, homecoming queen, or class president.
“I just wanted to talk about the whole thing where parents can pay more money? To be premium members of the PTO?” Anna said. She could hear her own voice, always so completely sure of itself, breaking down. It was annoying, this sense of powerlessness.
“It’s called the Incentive Program,” Mimi said. She placed her hands on the table. Her nails were long and rounded and painted a pale pink, and the diamonds on her left hand—a solitaire in what looked like a platinum setting, as well as a diamond band—were very large.
“I’m sorry, theIncentive Program,” Anna said, laughing, and then realizing she was in the wrong company. Mimi did not look similarly amused. “I mean, did you ever think that maybe incentivizing parents to pay money was . . . unfair?”
“Unfair how?” Mimi lifted those perfect hands of hers and folded them and leaned in close on her elbows. She seemed genuinely interested. “This is the fairest way, Anna. We’re giving parents the opportunity to secure a spot. What is more fair?”
“Fair for the parents who can afford it,” Anna said. “What about the ones who can’t.”
Now Mimi leaned back in her chair. She was quiet for a minute. “Anna,” she said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, like it was commiseration between friends. “This is Hamilton.Everyonecan afford it.”
She was almost right. Hamilton’s median household income was $138,000 per year, and it was home to rolling acreage, an equestrian sensibility, a thriving public school system. But Hamiltonwas also home to the Acord Food Pantry, a thirty-year-old space where locals had been quietly dropping off and picking up things that they needed. There was, Anna knew, an Affordable Housing Trust, run by the town, and, three years earlier, the town had even passed a plan to build more affordable housing for its own residents. Meaning: There was a need. Meaning: Not every single person in this largely white, largely wealthy New England town was doing okay, or better than okay. There were, Anna knew, plenty of parents who kept their struggles close to the vest.
“Not everyone, Mimi,” Anna said. “There are families even here who have a hard time. I know that’s hard to believe.”
“The PTO is always happy to support anyone who needs a little extra help,” Mimi said. It was flat, the way she said that. She unclasped her hands and smiled that toothy smile again. Anna could tell that the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. Mimi could not be moved. Pay the money, get the key to the city. Otherwise, admit to the PTO that you were a have-not. These, according to Mimi Mar, were your options. She would not hear of any alternative.
“But then parents would have to come to the PTO and let them know that they needed the money,” Anna said. “Wouldn’t it just make more sense to charge for other things, instead of access to a dance?”
“But we’re raising moneyfor the kids. We’re doing this for our kids! For your kids! There’s no harm in that. Anyway, if a family is struggling a little bit, that’s hardly anything to be embarrassed about,” Mimi said.
So said Mimi Mar, who had clearly never had to ask for money to assist in her own survival. Anna could not imagine an embarrassed version of Mimi, a version of a story where this woman before her—so calm, so well-kempt—had to slither before the Hamilton PTO in search of charity for her children. A ticket for a dance. Assistance in access to the thing that tax dollars aresupposed to secure, even in a wealthy town, or especially in a wealthy town.
“Maybe people who have to ask for help see it differently,” Anna said.
“Well, I just think that the PTO is always happy to assist in our community, and it’s sort of outrageous to say that we wouldn’t all be on the same team,” Mimi said. “Right, Anna? We’re all on the same team here!”
“I’m just saying . . .” Anna started, but she could already see that a dullness had come over Mimi’s eyes. They had reached an impasse. If Anna had hoped to move the needle, that hope had now been abandoned. Mimi Mar was resolute: The PTO was benevolent. The PTO was grand in its ambition. The PTO was Saving the Children, and Anna Plummer could get right out of Hamilton with her accusations.
“You are saying what exactly?” Mimi asked.
“It’s classist. That’s what I’m saying. Kids who have no money are at a disadvantage. I’m sorry to have to be so blunt, but that’s the truth. Hamilton is wealthy, but not every single person lives . . .”—Anna spread her hands out to indicate the room, the women, the very town of Hamilton—“. . . like this.”
Mimi smiled a frozen smile. “You know, Anna, I don’t appreciate the implication. That we’re—what was the word you used?—classist.Kind of ridiculous, actually. Of course we want everyone to succeed.” She paused for a minute, appearing to consider her next words. “You know, I’d really watch what you say to me, Anna.Classist.That’s almost, like, a threat, right?”
“I’d hardly call it that, Mimi.”
“I guess it just depends on how you take it, then.”
“I think we can both agree that we just want some people to succeed a little more than others, right?” Anna said, smiling.
