Page 25 of Pick-Up
“I’m sure Henry would love it,” I say. “Isn’t he into animals?”
She looks up at me wide-eyed. She’s surprised that I know her son’s name. But of course I do. I remember everything. “He is. Yes. Good memory!”
“I remember from his first-grade birthday party… at the zoo.” It was the only one of Henry’s birthday parties that we’d attended. They invited the whole class to watch a woman in a khaki jumpsuit take reptiles out of cages and let the kids pet and hold them.
I also remember that Nettie declined to touch any of the creatures. “I’m more of a mammal person,” she said, always precocious. It made Sasha and Celeste laugh and laugh.
Celeste pays, then tucks the pencil case away in her snakeskin embossed tote. No standard off-white canvas for her.
“Have you volunteered for Monster’s Ball this weekend?” I ask. “Or is that more of your husband’s thing?”
She twitches, as if stung. “Actually, I already volunteered to work the photo booth. With Sasha. You know, Nettie’s mom?”
For some reason this drives me insane—her telling me who Sasha is. Like she doesn’t remember that Sasha and I knew each other long before she was in the picture.
“Great!” I force a smile.
“Oh, here come the kids!” Celeste says. “Better run.”
I nod. “Bye, Celeste.”
She looks back at me as she hustles away, and, by the panic in her eyes, I can tell she can’t recall my name.
“Thank you…! Um. Good to see you. Bye!”
Just as the first teachers begin to lead the kids out of school to stand against the gate, Sasha jogs across the street, waving to the crossing guard. She looks distracted, worried.
What’s bothering you, Sasha?
But when she spots Celeste, her furrowed brow releases into an unfettered grin. The two women embrace.
“Twice in one week!” Sasha exclaims like she’s won the lottery, joining the stream of parents flowing down the block to where the third graders stand. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Jamie’s terrible teeth again? I don’t want to wish root canals on the man, but if I get to see you…”
Celeste laughs. It sounds like church bells chiming. It takes everything in my power not to gag.
Lisa scurries up next to me, follows my gaze to Celeste and Sasha. “You know,” she says, “I have an orange jumpsuit just like that one! I got it at Target. I wonder if it’s the same one.”
I look from Lisa—in her floral fleece—to Celeste. They are different species. But Lisa is blessed not to know.
“Maybe,” I mutter. Then I turn with a smile to the next parent in line.
16 | On the BallSASHA
It’s late afternoon. It’s unseasonably warm. And I am in a good mood, walking toward the school with my two costumed kids.
Bart is dressed as a volcano with a red hat as lava. The child loves an eruption.
Nettie is channeling Angelina Jolie as Maleficent. I can’t help but see the ghost of teenage future in the dark eyeliner, red lipstick, black hair. The moment we arrive inside the schoolyard gates and get wristbands and tickets, which serve as free passes to games and treats, she finds her friends and takes off with Bart in tow. He brings up the rear like a champ, the cutest natural disaster.
Last year, on the night of the school’s outdoor Monster’s Ball festival (a precursor to Halloween, when, in theory, the kids dress up as book characters or something related to what they’re studying), the weather was cutting. We were shivering before we even set foot inside, the wind pummeling us and sending witches’ hats flying. Not long after that, it began to rain.
That was a special kind of torture. But today it is sunny. And I am prepared. I’m wearing my favorite jeans and vintage Toxic Avenger T-shirt (so on theme). I’ve packed layers and a flask full of bourbon to share with Celeste when the sun goes down.
I owe her a drink. Or twenty.
By Friday morning, Derek had sent me an email officially offering me the job in Turks and Caicos and two options for flights. He cc’dthe rest of the team too, but, after I wrote back saying I’d be thrilled to come on board, Stephanie emailed me on a separate thread.
“We’re gonna get so lit, woman!”
