Page 5 of Pick-Up
“Ohno,” peeps Red Vest, her eyes going wide.
Oh noindeed.
This Ethan person sneaks a nervous peek at me as he slides his credit card across the table like a job offer. He doesn’t dare meet my eyes.
I’m reminded of the time Nettie bit a kid on the playground who stole her toy—and I’m thinking I get it.
This guy is exactly the kind of handsome Brooklyn man who gets everything he wants. And I suddenly want to murder him. Not only because he has taken the last hoodie in Nettie’s size. But because men like him always get the last hoodie.
If I’ve seen him around before, I haven’t noticed. This is a big school. He’s probably one of those dads who rarely makes an appearance. And I keep to myself, anyway.
I don’t know this man. But, in that instant I realize, the VIMs do.
“Thanks,” the hoodie hoarder says, as they hand him back his card along with the folded sweatshirt.
“You’re welcome, Ethan!” Red Vest simpers.
I never stood a chance.
He turns to face me, opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, then thinks the better of it. “Bye,” he says to the sidewalk. I watch him retreat.
5 | Sweatshirt BluesTHIS ETHAN PERSON
Welp. I got the sweatshirt.
For fuck’s sake.
I drag a hand down my face as I walk toward the train.
That kind of day. That kind of year.
I shake my head at the failed exchange. Usually, women kind of like me when we first meet. Plus, I know that mom, though she may not realize it. Once, when our kids were only toddlers, we spent hours talking while we trailed them on the playground, blocking for them like linebackers.
Not that she looks like a lineman. More like a pixie with her shaggy honey-colored hair and cat eyes.
That talk stayed with me. Not just because she’s hot. Which she is, even if she’s cranky as hell. But also because our conversation was so easy. About nothing and everything. Like a throwback from teen years when you’d sit on the phone with someone for hours and just talk shit. For the first time in a long time, I was just me.
It did not stay with her though—our talk. I know because she waved once or twice at drop-off after that and then she stopped saying hello.
Some days I think it’s intentional. Most days I think she forgot. On days like today, I don’t blame her. I would ignore me too.
TO-DO
Drop off sweatshirt.
Apologize about sweatshirt.
Forget about the stupid fucking sweatshirt and get to work.
Call with corporate.
Don’t forget to log on for after-school registration or suffer the consequences!
Don’t forget!
6 | Back in the DayKAITLIN
It’s ten minutes after pick-up and most everyone has left. My daughter, Ruby, is still inside at after-school toy-making class. But, since I work from home in research marketing and am not currently super busy (read: am mostly hate-scrolling through other people’s photos of family vacations in Hawaii), I have volunteered at the last minute to work the bake-sale booth until 5:00 p.m. Some second-grade dad canceled because he got the “stomach flu” (probably code for Nets tickets).
