Page 7 of Pick-Up
Unless you were his kids. Then you barely saw him at all.
Then came the scene the world saw: Cliff at an awards show with his hand inside the dress of a seat filler. No one there knew or cared who he was. He was probably just someone’s plus-one at that point. But the indiscretion was caught on camera during one of thosetelevised commercial breaks at the Golden Globes. One minute, you were watching drunken celebrities stumble around in their natural element; the next you saw Cliff, hand cupping someone’s tit in graphic relief. The clip went viral, of course, and the termGolden Globestook on new meaning, inspiring a hashtag and pernicious punch lines. (Okay,fine. My mom friends and I may have giggled over the puns some.) Eventually, the fervor died down.
But maybe Sasha died a little inside too.
In fact, if Cliff’s disappearance was observable, it was by watching Sasha instead. As he vaporized into something lighter than air, she darkened and solidified. For a while, her highlights got touched up less often and, at drop-off and pick-up, she appeared with less and less makeup, her clothing more wrinkled as she sprinted away at warp speed. It was hard not to sense her back ache as her shoulders hunched during that time. She found her posture again; but she remained at arm’s length.
When she shows up at school now, forty-five minutes after pick-up, I am still outside. There are only a few chocolate cupcakes left with pink and purple icing, dusted with broken sprinkles.
I am contemplating the pastel of it all and considering eating one myself, so I almost miss Sasha as she races past and up the stairs to the school’s entrance, harried, flyaways framing her face. She doesn’t notice me. Or, if she does, she doesn’t show it.
Are you feeling frazzled, Sasha? Do you feel at fault? Give yourself a break. We can all only do the best we can.
7 | After-School, Before SchoolSASHA
Nettie is not pleased.
It is School Spirit Day and, although she has had the weekend to process, she is still upset that I was only able to procure her a hoodie in size large.
In her defense, she is swimming in it.
I have tried to convince her multiple times that she looks like Billie Eilish—that it’s an oversizelewk—but, unfortunately, she is not dumb.
Maybe she’s also still not over the fact that she had to wait in the office for over an hour on Friday because her after-school registration got screwed up.
When I got the call that Nettie needed to be picked up that afternoon, I was producing a quickie shoot for a cat clothing line at a loft in lower Manhattan. Creating video content for Do It Furr Fashion’s website, which meant coordinating all the feline talent and then overseeing the shoot itself, wasn’t the greatest thrill of my career, but I’d jumped at the last-minute job since freelance work has been so slow. Luckily, we were already wrapping when my phone rang. As I rushed out the door, DIFF’s owner gifted me a camouflage jacket for our giant cat, Larry, who would kill me in my sleep if I ever tried to make him wear it.
By the time I arrived to grab Nettie, the parent-teacher liaison, Ms. Choi, had left for the day, so I wasn’t able to resolve the mix-up. But the office staff promised me I could find her this Mondaymorning—the last day to make after-school enrollment changes—and rectify the problem.
Nettie swore she was fine when I arrived to pick her up. “These things happen,” she said mournfully, with a pat on my shoulder. Like she is the grown-up. “Don’t worry about it.”
Someone gave her a chocolate cupcake with sprinkles while she waited, which I imagine went a long way. Her mature response was a relief for me. But she has to be sick of these snafus. Of having a stiff upper lip. I know I am.
I am really missing a step lately.
When I finally collected Nettie from the office and we exited the building, knowing I’d have to return for Bart an hour later, I felt eyes on us. Kaitlin, that mom I knew a little growing up, was scrutinizing us from behind lopsided baked goods.Of course. Of course she would see us now. She always seems to catch my worst moments. I pretended not to see her.
Bart is at least happy this Monday morning, though he has insisted on wearing his new PS421 tee and no jacket despite the windy fall weather, and his lips are turning Smurftastic blue. He is walking tall, chest puffed out, to display his shirt like he’s done something to deserve it. He’s got the spirit in him!Hallelujah!
He’s not the only one. If the families flowing toward school today are a stream, the children, in their green gear, are the algae. The occasional overzealous parent is dressed like the Jolly Green Giant in solidarity. I pass Green Vest VIM in her school earmuffs. Were the parents meant to participate?
One by one, the kids march proudly into the schoolyard to find their teachers. Bart gives the school administrator at the entrance a high-five and doesn’t look back. Even my grumpy third grader allows me to kiss her goodbye atop the head, hurrying toward the entrance with the rest of the kelp. I picture them emerging at the end of the day as salted-seaweed snacks.
She needs to wash her hair. That’s my first thought as I watch Nettie drop her backpack and join her friends. For a moment, I’m transported to when she used to smell like baby. Time moves so fast. Then, as an oversize fifth grader jostles me trying to beat the bell, I remember to haul ass to the school office.
I dodge dogs and parents, rushing toward the school’s main entrance. As I’m smiling at the faces I think I recognize, my eyes land on one I know well: Celeste! She is a vision in not-green. I stop short in front of her.
“Where’s your spirit?” I ask her.
“Floating somewhere above the Maldives.” She grins.
I already wanted to hug her. Now, I want to even more. So I do.
I need the squeeze more than I expect.
“So what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” I ask as we separate.
“Just thought I’d drop in. Check out thegreenery.”
