Page 15 of The PTA President
“So, you guys like The Shining?” I wince a little, not my best work.
“Our mom said she invited afriend. Don’t you teach at our school?” The brunette with the short bob speaks first.
“I do. I teach English, and in my spare time, I sell the fur of polka-dotted puppies. If you let me in, I’ll give you a good deal.”They nod and let me in. Either that or the chloroform they’ve got is ready for me.
“So, I heard you took our mom to a concert. What’s your favorite band?” The longer-haired blonde twin asks, but stays close to her wombmate.
“Umm…I’ve got a bunch. I like The Used, Taking Back Sunday…”
“Do you like Avril Lavigne?” The brunette interrupts. If I get this wrong, they might bury me in the backyard.
“She’s cool, I guess, in an angry older sister kind of way.” I shrug.
“We have her new CD upstairs. Do you wanna listen to it?” I don't miss the excitement in their eyes. It reminds me of when I was their age and dying to get my hands on a new album. Of course, I didn’t have parents who bought me shit, so I had to save the coins I found in the couch.
“Sure, do you guys have speakers or anything?” I look around at Candace’s museum and doubt she has anything cool here.
“We both have boomboxes, you can come with us. Our mom is on the phone in the office. She said we should entertain you.” The brunette pushes me towards the stairs, a definite sign of approval.
Our feet echo through the tiled home on our unconventional tour. A gallery wall with gold frames lines the hallway to their bedrooms. Mostly baby pictures and a few of them with Candace. My eyes home in on one in particular. It’s Candace, pregnant. Her belly swollen, her shirt not able to fit. She’s not looking at the camera, just admiring her giant baby bump. There’s never been a maternal bone in my body, but admiring this picture gives me this fantasy of what it'd be like raising a baby.Shit, what the fuck is with this house?
Twenty songs later, and the girls have shown me their entire collection. They went through a detailed description of why TRLhad the countdown wrong this week, and why Weezer should’ve been higher on the countdown. During their briefing, all I could think was how cool these kids were, and who birthed them because it sure as hell wasn’t their mother, the woman allergic to punk rock.
“Having fun?” Supermom’s leaning up against the doorway, quietly observing. Similar to last week, she’s in a cream-colored linen set, with her tousled hair down.
“Yes, Nat’s so cool. She knows everything about music and even said we could go to a show with her sometime. Can we, Mom?” Kate—the long-haired twin—leans forward, practically begging.
“We'll talk about it later. Can I steal Nat for a minute, girls?” She motions for me to follow her out.
She leads me to a bedroom next to their room, if that’s what you want to call this. The bed is at least a California king, with a massive pink paisley comforter. A dozen white plush pillows are stacked perfectly against the headboard. This bed is screaming for me to jump on it, but I keep that part locked up for now. There’s a leather sofa in the corner, next to a full-length gold mirror and an antique bookshelf. My eyes roam for a book I’d recognize, but it’s mostly historical romance and a few about middle age and divorce.
“Sorry the phone call took so long. It was my lawyer.” She frowns, adjusting the throw pillows on her already immaculate bed.
“Is everything okay?” I grab her hand, purely out of instinct, and caress her fingernails.
Her eyes are red and puffy, and under the warm bedroom light, I can see how tired she is. I never noticed when we were standing in the hallway, but the bags under her eyes are dark, as if she hasn’t slept in a week.
“My ex requested to stop alimony, along with child support. It’s been months since he’s been in the same room with our girls, and apparently, with his new wife pressuring him for more children, he feels he shouldn’t have to pay for Kate and Madison now that they’re almost teenagers. Without it, I won’t have anything. He’d be hanging me out to dry.”
“Wait, he can just stop payments on his own kids? That makes no sense. They’re his. Wouldn’t you wanna stick it to him? Sell this house, do your own thing, and rock the shit out of single motherhood?”
“Where else am I going to get the money to pay for all of this?” She looks around at her overpriced furniture and divorce literature.
Her body language tenses, and I know right there I’ve lost her again. It’s not that I’m intentionally being a troll. She doesn’t need all this shit. We’re surrounded by expensive, rich people stuff, and she acts like there’s no other life outside of this.
“Babe, you don’t need alimony. You can sell this house and find something smaller, follow your own dreams.” Her fingers leave mine, and she goes back to fluffing the pillows.
“What am I without this life? This is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t know who I am without it. What if I do as you say and cut off payments… what if I’m not enough for my girls?” Her voice breaks.
Tears fill her eyes. “Why would you think you’re not enough? You're everything to those girls, they love you.”
Wiping away the dripping mascara, she pushes away from me, heading to the bathroom. When she comes back with a tissue, she’s more put together and is blotting her face. “Sorry you had to see that. I think we should raincheck movie night. I just want to curl up in bed.”
“Then let's do that.” I slip off the boots I forgot to take off and unzip my hoodie, throwing it onto her leather sofa. “Come on,get into bed.” I push her towards her giant mattress and unfold the comforter.
Without hesitation, she gets in and unfolds the other side for me, shuffling around pillows until there’s one for each of us. “You don’t have to stay. I’m such a mess. This is so embarrassing.”
“You look beautiful, and it’s not a problem. I’ll just stay until you fall asleep.”
