Page 54 of The PTA President
Before I can even move or comprehend what’s happening, she grabs the base of the glass punch bowl and pours the icy contents down the front of my dress, leaving me freezing cold and wet.
“Ta da.” She bows, giving me a sinister smirk. “Show’s over, you did a wonderful job. Maybe your best performance yet. I almost saw the real Candace.” She winks, and as I’m lunging for her neck, Betty grabs my waist from behind, holding me back.
“Are you two out of your minds?” she scolds. I turn to look at her and notice that the majority of the kids have stopped dancing to watch us. “This is a school function, and you're both acting like drunk teenagers. This is so unacceptable and very unlike you, Candace. You should be ashamed. I obviously expect this kind of behavior from Miss Reynolds.”
“Oh,obviously,” Nat mocks, further escalating things.
“Both of you will stay after and clean this gym up yourselves. I hope while you do, you’ll wise up and reflect on your actions. You’re supposed to be an example, and this is how you behave? What would your family think, Candace?”
The accusation makes my eyes wince.My family? “Myfamilyis in this room with me, and anyone else who claims they care about my well-being can kindly fuck off.” I pull away from her grasp and head to the bathroom to clean myself up.
As I’m leaving the dance floor, I hear Nat make one last dig, further burying herself in the PTA graveyard. “Is she going to get fired for saying a bad word?”
The door shuts behind me before I could hear the rebuttal from Betty, but I’m sure it would’ve been a good one.
Natalie
Oh, don’t look at me like that. Obviously not my proudest moment, but how good did she look, soaked in punch? If only that dress were white. Come on, I’m kidding. Sort of.
Betty blathered on for another fifteen minutes. How she has it in her to yell without stopping is a superpower I wish I had. Most of what she said went in one ear and out the other while I crouched down, picking up the cookie mess Candace made.Basically, I’m irresponsible and immature, and I shouldnotbe allowed near children– Blah, blah, freaking blah.
Once she ran out of breath to degrade me any further, she shifted her attention to the teenagers dancing too close to each other, freeing me to watch the dessert table. I was given strict instructions not to move from my post until the dance was over. We only had about forty minutes to go before these horny teenagers had to find somewhere else to make out, leaving me plenty of time to examine how my conversation with Candace could’ve gone differently.
Did I take it too far? Yeah, of course I did. Did I think it’d end with her running to the bathroom drenched in fruit punch? Obviously, not. Pouring a gatorade bucket on someone has always been a dream of mine, too bad I didn’t aim it towards Betty and her permed hairstyle, still sticking around from another decade.
How did Candace endure this for so long? Yes, she’s like some of these women. Deep down, this isn’t her. I know that girl like the back of my hand, and although she loves being around her girls, she’d much rather be back here with me, laughing at the ridiculous ways these women embarrass themselves, all in the name of competition for world’s best housewife.
When we’re alone together, I’d imagine our future and what it’d look like. I never saw myself spending Monday mornings gardening in hopes I’d outdo my neighbors’ landscape design. I also didn’t picture wearing an apron and heels waiting for my muffins to finish.
I’d close my eyes and imagine us holding hands, watching Kate and Madi play in the pool, or helping pick out school clothes. We’d disagree on comfort versus trendy, and she’d win because she’s the boss. Coffee dates at the farmers’ market would be a weekly stop, so we could go back to our table where we first hung out, and guess who’s a couple and who’s with their sugardaddy. Naturally, we’d both take the girls to concerts as often as possible, and I’d educate the crap out of Candace on the difference between bass and guitar.Yes, she actually thinks it’s the same instrument.
I always hoped we could find some middle ground and live in a small coastal town with a house that’s walking distance from the beach but only a short drive into the city, so we could still rock out whenever our favorite bands came into town. Obviously, my daydream hasn’t come true yet, thanks to this epic disaster we, well,I’vecreated.
Making things right and getting back together won’t be easy, especially since I can’t stop pouring gasoline on the fire burning inside her. It tastes like hot vinegar going down my throat, admitting failure and accepting that we really are done. I want her back and I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to see that, even if I’m the one that’s got to crawl on my hands and knees begging.
ChaptEr 39
Candace
Istare at myself for too long in the mirror, wondering if anyone’s ever been as humiliated as I am right now. I sure hope not, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. Staring back reflects a woman I’m utterly disgusted to look at. I thought once you’ve hit rock bottom, you’d only go up. So, why is there a giant hole forming beneath my feet, and when will I finally stop falling to my death? “What were you thinking?” I mumble to the empty bathroom. To be honest, I don’t know which part to answer first. What was I thinking, getting into a relationship with someone as young as Natalie? Or, what was I thinking, throwing a tray of cookies at her like a feral toddler.
My ex-husband is right; maybe the girlsarebetter off with him. I’m a sinkhole, dragging down everyone in my path. I’ve gotten so stuck down here, I can’t even remember how I fell in. My eyes look older and tired, and my soul’s worn out andbegging for just a slight break. No one’s left to love me, and this heartbreak is eating me alive–my ghostlike reflection proves it.
The PTA room catches my eye as I walk down the hallway, dreading my reentry into the dance. I’m well acquainted with the announcement board hanging outside the room. I’ve printed hundreds of flyers over the years announcing graduation and volunteer opportunities for seniors. Passing the hallway every day, admiring my work, gave me a new purpose I’d been looking for once my girls were older.
There was once a time when I lived for this work, staying up late planning dances and teacher appreciation lunches. This room holds some of my fondest memories. All the weekends I spent away from my family to hang balloons and streamers in the gym, getting it ready for a party, feel like wasted time now. I guess I didn’t realize how much of my life I was ignoring to pour myself into something that never filled my cup, and yet nothing ever stopped me, until I met Nat.
This room feels empty and cold, when it used to be one of my favorite places, full of chatter and moms making a difference in their child’s education. The adult interaction was something I’d missed after staying home raising my girls, and finally having this little clique made my life feel complete. It may seem sad to someone looking in, but it genuinely felt like the perfect life.
When you’re in the midst of the daily grind, the routine doesn’t seem so bad. What’s wrong with a weekly book club and a standing appointment at the nail salon? Who wouldn’t want an on-call personal trainer and a special membership to a country club? Even when Greg left and most of the perks left with him, I continued on as normal. Believing these tiny insignificant details added up to happiness. I see it clearly now how strange it all really was. Instead of grieving the loss of a marriage and a future I had once planned out, I dove headfirst into homemaking and becoming the best mother I could be, all while pretending I wasstill the best housewife. Every time Court opened her mouth to comment, I ignored it, never truly seeing what she meantuntil now.
There’s a stack of pink notebook paper left behind that I sort through, wondering what terror Betty will bring forth next. Not to my surprise, they’re applications for next year’s PTA.Is she having moms apply?When I first started, we volunteered. There are dozens of applications filled with the most heinous questions. How many children you have at school makes sense, but your income bracket isn’t something any of us needs to know. Neither the college you attended, nor the hair salon you frequent. Good grief, I rub my temples as a piercing headache forms.
Grabbing the stack, I do the greatest thing I’ve done all day and toss each one in the shredder. These women are about to be picked apart by the harshest judge in town, and for what? A spot at that ugly brown table, signing up for the harvest festival, and baking brownies for Secretary's Day? Nothing about this is for the kids, and I wonder how long it’s been that way, and I’ve been too blind to see it.
The door squeaks behind me as my last paper shreds. Nat walks in nonchalantly, as if she was headed here all along. In fact, she doesn’t even seem surprised that I’m here.
“Shredding incriminating information?” she asks, leaning up against the door, looking cool as ever despite the throwdown we just had.
