Page 3 of The Ex Puck Bunny
I don’t advise the “Bounce Back Diet” of constant physical motion after giving birth—serving, skating, and momming.
If only my teeth had stayed the same after enduring regular braces in middle school. I’ll admit now that I never wore my retainer. Then, during freshman year, I convinced my parents that I NEEDED the expensive, plastic, invisible braces. My mother recently told me she and Dad finally sent the last check for the payment plan. That was almost ten years ago.
I had a perfect smile, but one “eye tooth” rebelled and moved back into its old spot. Funny how life can do that, too. Now, as a parent myself, I regret ever being a brat and have a running tally of what I owe them. They’d never accept cash, but as soon as I’m back on my feet, they’re going on that Caribbean cruise they’ve been talking about since my brother and I were eight and six, respectively. They had to refinance the house to pay for his hockey league fees and my figureskating lessons, and then there was the orthodontics, cars, cheerleading stuff, and college. They just give and give and give. I get it now.
Sophia turns to her husband, juggling the children. “I keep saying I have to get back to Pilates. Babe, I’m going to start that ten a.m. class next week.”
“What day? I have a work meeting on Monday,” Mr. Sophia says.
She says, “Uh. Fine. I’m sure there’s an evening class. Six to seven, I think.”
“During the witching hour?” Her husband looks dubious.
She rolls her eyes and turns back to me. “He doesn’t get it. Just give the kids their devices and they’ll be fine.”
Mr. Sophia bounces a little girl on his knee. She must be around the same age as Bunny. He also has an infant in his arms.
In a hush, Sophia says, “Irish twins. Psst. Don’t tell anyone, we’re not Irish.”
“Everyone is at O’Neely’s,” Aleeyah says, breezing by. She adds, “Heidi, can you bring table four more coffee?”
On my first day, when I had a rowdy table of Cascades fans—the Washington hockey team—she made up this code. If we ever spotted the other in a situation that looked uncomfortable or like we needed an assist, we’d use the coffee refill line. Given the fact that the coffee here tastes like dishwater mixed with dirt, no repeat customers order the coffee, ever. So the code can’t be confused with a table actually needing something.
“Be right there,” I say, winking discretely with gratitude.
It’s not that I can’t hold my own with Sophia, I just don’t want to dodge the slings and arrows she throws about how my life didn’t turn out as picture-perfect as hers—married with a couple of kids. I’d place money on her having a picket fence in front of her house.
“I’ll be right back. Can I get you anything to drink?” I ask Sophia and Mr. Sophia, shifting back into waitress mode.
“We’ll start with those high chairs,” she announces, sliding right back into demanding and obnoxious customer mode.
While I’m at it, I’ll bring out some kind of barrier to surround them with because they’re spreading out and I don’t want someone to spill beer or fries with hot cheese on the baby.
Sophia Snodgrass was the Queen Bee at Clarkson High School, home of the Red Hawks, and it seems she’s still trying to wield her power. That’s an observation and not necessarily a criticism because I was theBratty Beautyas my brother recently informed me. It explains why he often had bruised knuckles, punching any of the upperclassmen who so much as looked my way. Then he graduated, and I had a revolving door of boyfriends.
Sophia Snodgrass—now Schuster—and I were besties growing up, but in the hormone heyday, we vied for cheer captain and the attention of all the boys, resulting in us becoming frenemies. In her estimation, being a single mom and working at my uncle’s restaurant means she won our unspoken battle.
She has me running for the next hour with requests for extra barbecue sauce, napkins, and to wash her daughters’ toys after they fall on the ground.
At last, I bring them the bill.
She says, “It was so good seeing you. Do you have the same number? We have to plan a playdate.”
Fun fact: I haven’t mentioned Bunny, yet she knows that I’m a mom too. Mrs. Gormely airs everyone’s laundry—dirty and clean—so it’s no surprise, but living in a small town, this town in particular, has major downsides.
I don’t want people discussing my public hookup, followed by the public breakup behind my back. Technically speaking, itwas more than a hookup because marriage was involved. I’m still working on forgiving myself for the lapse of judgment.
It’s not lost on me that this is some kind of cosmic payback. Sophia and I were the original gossipy mean girls. We were responsible for the rumor that a rat lived in the last stall of the girls’ bathroom on the second floor at Clarkson because we didn’t want anyone else to use it, so it would remain uncontaminated for us. If you’ve been in a girls’ public bathroom, you understand.
We also “leaked” Jeff Whitiker and Suzie Vanguard being caught making out in the library, which caused his girlfriend to break up with him. This was orchestrated so Sophia could make a move on the football player. Jeff and Suzie never so much as spoke to each other. He ended up taking Sophia to homecoming. Evil mission accomplished.
Oh, and there was the one where we told everyone that Constance Meadows was sent to juvie and was going to tell all her prison friends about everyone who ever looked at her the wrong way. In reality, she’d only moved to the other side of Omaha. Last I heard, she became a documentary filmmaker.
But I’ll stop now.
The namebratwas well-earned.
Sophia says, “You must be craving time with other moms. I want to hear your birth story, nap time strategies, and when you plan to take the lovies away.”
