Page 25 of Mean Moms
Her driver, John, got her to Atherton in no time, crossing over on Eighteenth Street to avoid the traffic in Union Square. Stopped at a light on Park Avenue, Morgan looked out the window to see Sofia walking toward the school—she’d joined the PA that fall at Morgan’s urging. Sofia was in a camel coat, her cute black beanie covered in a light dusting of snow.
Morgan slowly unwrapped a mini protein bar as John idled in front of Atherton. She took two bites, swallowing with effort. Then she put her phone to her ear and listened to her voicemail.
“It’s me,” said the man on the other end. “When can I see you? I’m doing this all for you, and I expect to be rewarded. Ineedyou,” the voice begged. “Please?”
Morgan then typed a number into her phone and sent a text: “Soon.”
She hopped out of the car and walked up the steps to the school entrance, the same steps that Sofia had toppled down those months ago.
Morgan nodded at the woman at the front desk, the longtime school secretary, Mary Margaret. “Hi, Mary! Just headed to the PA meeting. It’s in the auditorium.” Mary waved her on, and Morganheaded to the lower level, around a corner and down the marble stairs. The walls were covered in photographs of Atherton students, some dating back to the 1800s, in their suits and ties and little black hats. The school had a particular smell—cozy, like a grandma’s old-timey kitchen. Morgan loved its historic grandeur, the way that people ooohhed and aahhhhed when she told them her children went there, the kindness and brilliance of the staff, especially the new headmaster.
As if she’d said his name aloud, up the stairs skipped Dr. Broker, dressed in his uniform of jeans and flannel. He smiled at Morgan, and she noticed his cheeks looked a little pink, as if he’d been working out on a treadmill.
“Hello, Mrs. Chary! Headed to the PA meeting?” He stopped a few steps down from her.
“Yes, thanks. Will I see you there?”
“Oh, no, not today. I have some pressing things to attend to. You know the drill.”
Morgan felt hands on her shoulders, and turned to see Sofia on the step above, still in her coat, smelling like cold air, her long eyelashes nearly crystallized. Sofia stared at Dr. Broker in a way that made Morgan uncomfortable.
“Dr. Broker,” said Sofia. “I got your messages about scheduling the Atherton Altruist ceremony, but I think it’s not the right time yet. I really don’t feel comfortable being the center of attention.”
“That’s too bad, Ms. Perez! We’d all love to honor you for what you did that day. Especially as a new mom to Atherton.”
“I’ll let you know when I change my mind,” Sofia said faux sweetly.
“Please do, Ms. Perez. Enjoy the PA meeting, ladies!” At that, Dr. Broker headed back downstairs.
The pair walked through the hallway that led to the auditorium, entering to see the first few rows already filled with dutiful PA members, all moms plus one dad, Dreyfuss, whose husband, Rufus, ran development at MoMA. The room, which had recently been renovated and reopened to large fanfare, was shaped like a large oval, with a stage at the bottom center of the space and circles of plush red seats heading upward from there. The church of Atherton, Morgan always thought when she entered. Morgan spotted Gabby and Ava in the first row, heads bent down and together as if praying. Morgan and Sofia sat down next to them.
“Hello to my fellow suckers,” said Gabby. She was in a fuzzy black sweater and looked a little tired. “Anyone know the topic du jour?”
“I think it’s the annual benefit,” said Ava. She was in her usual black top and miniskirt combo, her flat black boots coming up all the way to the tops of her thighs.
“Who’s the lucky family this year?” said Gabby with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“Why? What’s the story with the benefit?” asked Sofia.
“The benefit is the most important event of the Atherton calendar,” explained Ava. “And the PA has a family throw it, a kind of hybrid benefit-theme party. They found they raised more money when someone hosted in their own home; that the intimacy of it encouraged big, big donations. So it’s just a lot of pressure on the person who volunteers, is all. But the upside is that the school pays for the entire party. Not that it matters to the parents here.”
Dre Finlay, the president of the PA, stepped up to the podium and tapped the microphone. She was wearing jeans, a striped La Ligne sweater, and Le Monde Béryl flats, the outfit of about half the moms in the audience.
“Hi, ladies! Thanks for making the time. Today we’ve got animportant decision to make—which one of you will host the annual spring benefit. Whoever gets the honors has big shoes to fill. Caroline Press hosted last year, and we pulled in a record amount of money for Atherton. One million two hundred forty-five thousand dollars!” They all clapped. Caroline Press, sitting at the back of the auditorium, stood up and took a bow.
“You’ve had a year to think about it,” said Dre. “So who’s it going to be?” There was silence in the room. Ava jokingly grabbed Gabby’s arm and tried to raise it against her will, and Gabby batted her away.
“Oh, come on. It’s not so bad. We’re all going to help. We basically just need a space.” Dre looked around the pews for any takers, but no one said a word.
“Ladies,” said Dre, her upbeat tone gone stern. “Someonehas to step up. This is Atherton! My friend Whit told me Braeburn raised nearly two million last year. We can’t be outdone by Lauren Parker and her uptown friends!”
There were some awkward sniffles. Morgan could see a line of perspiration beading on Dre’s mustache area. Several women reached into their bags to check their phones, avoiding the increasingly tense scene.
Dre then broke into a huge smile. “Yes! I knew we could count on you,” she nearly shouted into the microphone. Morgan looked around the room to see who’d volunteered but didn’t spot any hands raised. She realized that the sucker was sitting right next to her. It was Sofia, her sharp red nails pointed toward the ceiling.
“Sofia Perez, for the win!” said Dre with relief, and the rest of the PA members cheered politely.
The meeting went on for another hour, with many topics covered (the school’s mental health initiatives; the increased slots forneighborhood safety patrol; enforcing the rules for Atherton end-of-year gifts—there was a $100 per child cap on presents, but it had been roundly ignored). Morgan listened to the discussion distractedly, thinking of the voicemail she’d received earlier, and reciting her meditation mantra—“I’m a monster on the hill”—in her head.
