Page 7 of The Game Is Afoot

“So I’m being hazed by the Clover Scouts moms?”

She shrugs. “Pretty much.” And then her nose wrinkles with a grin, and I’m hit with a flash of recognition. She lookssofamiliar. I guess it’s probably from one of the other meetings when I just dropped Pearl off and dashed.

“Have we met already? I’m Mavis.”

“No, I don’t think so. My husband’s been doing a lot of the drop-off and volunteering. This is my first meeting back after…a little break.” Her eyes flicker with something heavy, but it’s replaced by a bright smile in a blink. “I’m Bethany. Nice to meet you.”

She points to a girl sitting at the same table as Pearl with purple glasses and chestnut waves. “That’s my daughter, Dakota. She’s in third grade at Knoll.”

There, that’s where I know her from then. We’ve definitely sat in the auditorium for the same holiday pageant or passed each other at the book fair. She probably knows all about how I unmasked Trisha and found the missing Principal Smith…

“She just transferred this semester from Willmore, the private school on the west side? It’s been a hard transition, but already knowing so many of her Clover Scouts friends there has really helped her. Now, who’s your daughter?”

I’m relieved that she wasn’t here for all the drama last fall and this isn’t another attempt from a Knoll parent to get me to spill the details. It’s almost enough to ease the itchy feeling in the back of my brain. But it’s fine. It’ll come to me later.

I point. “That’s Pearl. She joined the troop in November.”

“Oh, what a good name. So precious.” Her fingers rise to her lips and she tilts her head like something has just occurred to her. “Hmm. Have you tried pearl powder? It’s in the wellness dust I sprinkle on my smoothies every morning. Very effective.”

Her dulcet tone is similar to Florence’s from earlier, eerily calm even while being slapped in the face by a whole-ass toddler. Bethany’s not dressed in that Florence crunchy mama uniform of gauze and Birkenstocks, but Idosee the telltale Lululemon logo. That’s just as much of a warning sign of this type. But before I can make a run for it, she lets out a throaty giggle.

Okay, no, she’sfunny. I think I like her.

Maybe this is a chance for a do-over. Yeah, my last attempt at trying to make a mom friend ended with me getting locked in a bedroom and playing Guess Who? for hours (which wasn’t the worst part of the evening, technically, but it felt like it). But I’ve got to stay open to the possibility again, because thingswerefun with Corinne before they got a little kidnap-y. I’m sure that’s what a therapist would say—if I had time to go to a therapist.

“Are you happy in your job?”

Okay, whoa—what? Did I miss a few jumps in this conversation? Because somehow this lady is now reading my mind?

Bethany holds her hands up and laughs again. “Sorry. You’re probably thinking ‘Hey girl. Hold your horses there!’ Just…I hope it’s not too forward of me to say, but you have that look, of someone who had a hard day at work and is already dreading going back on Monday.”

I don’t really know what to say to that because it’s kind of like when someone tells you that you look tired or asks if you’re okay, unprompted. Like, is Bethany calling me ugly? Does she not see I have a hot iron in my hands?

I grab a vest off the stack and press the iron onto another badge so I’m reminded of its intended use.

“I just mean…you seem like you could use some self-care—alifecentered on self-care.”

“Thank you, but I’m good. Really.”

I’m not, but she doesn’t need to know all that. Maybe that pearl dust smoothie comment wasn’t a joke after all. Shedoeslook like someone who could list all the seven whole grains by name.

“Okay, I know I’m being so annoying and I promise I’ll zip it in a second, but it’s that whole idea of an airplane going down, and the oxygen masks drop. Momsneverput theirs on first.” That makes my hands pause, and the iron lets out a puff of steam that billows between us, making everything look hazy.Isthis lady in my brain? Because I was just thinking this earlier today…and really every day since the fall. I know I need to put that damn thing on before I go putting on everyone else’s, but how? And why is it so hard?

“It’s what we’ve been programmed to do,” she continues, as if I spoke that all aloud. And lord, maybe I did with how this day is going. “We never give ourselves what we need because good mothers, good women, are selfless. Their joy comes from the needs of others being met.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But you can’t keep pouring and pouringand pouringif your cup is empty. You have to acknowledge what is happening or everyone around you is going to die of thirst. If you get a small tear in your favorite T-shirt, does it help the thing to ignore it? If you keep living life as normal, it’s only going to get bigger and bigger, until the shirt is destroyed and unwearable, and your only option is to throw it in the rag pile. No, you have to mend the tear as soon as possible to save that shirt. Togo on.”

Well, that was…a whole lotta metaphors. But she’s not wrong. And I was telling myself that I need to stop pushing the goalpost and commit to taking care of myself now. She’s a little preachy, yeah, especially because we just met. We don’t know each other like that.Butmaybe the universe decided preachy and obvious is what I need because I’ve been ignoring all the other signs. So it dropped her in my lap and got right to business—like, here you go, tired ol’ rag! Get it together already!

“I did have the worst day at work,” I’m confessing before I can talk myself out of it. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to quit my job—really this time, instead of just saying I’m going to. And then I forgot about Clover Scouts and ate a McDonald’s Happy Meal, which my stomach is currently protesting. And then I came here and stole goddamn Claudia’s job, even though I’d rather be home doing that lady with the dog’s yoga, or really justwatchingthat lady with the dog’s yoga and drinking a beer.”

To her credit, Bethany doesn’t make a face at my overshare or, like, back away slowly. Instead she starts nodding emphatically, her whole body joining in the movement.

“I know what I need to do, but I don’t know how to make the time, you know?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Self-care is a full-time job.”

I was joking, mostly. Being a doctor, like my friend Jasmine, is a full-time job. Teaching middle school, driving an ambulance, cleaning houses…Notmeditating and pretending you like the taste of green juice. But Bethany’s eyes widen with sincerity, and her nodding is now only a step away from jogging in place.

“Yes. Yes, you get it. I could just tell. This is actually my area of expertise. I’m a certified self-care coach.”

A self-care…coach? I didn’t realize that was a thing. And certified where exactly? She leans forward slightly, unblinking, as if she wants me to fall right into her wide-eyed gaze. And oh. I know that look. It’s the same look Ruth from the PTA gives when she’s trying to hawk her essential oils. Or the one Corey’s auntie Bernice makes when she’s making yet another Mary Kay pitch, desperate to get her leased pink Cadillac. What kinda car would a self-care coach be trying to earn? A teal Subaru?

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