Page 4 of Bad Love

The ridiculousness has reached a new level. I hit the Unmute button and jump in. “Nadine, how exactly is the symphony involved in an elementary school talentshow?”

I hear a sniff. “The lead violinist is giving Mitchell privatelessons.”

Of course heis.

Nadine’s still talking, but all I can hear is her too-serious, too-caring tone telling us how the tickets should sell out faster than a Taylor Swift concert and the acoustics of the gym should be improved until they match CarnegieHall.

Okay, I made those up, but it’s barely anexaggeration.

“As committee chair, I’ll circulate a list of jobs next week. Please sign up so we can move forward. Thank you for yourtime.”

I hit End and set my phone on the table next to my notebook that says "LIVE YOUR DREAMS" on thefront.

You know Nadine. She’s the mom whose kid is always perfectly dressed even though she has a full-time corporate job. Who’s at every PTA meeting and heads up each committee, articulating issues in that sweet, caring voice. The one who makes her own Popsicles with watermelon and mint for sportsdays.

Sometimes I wish she’d shove one of those popsiclessomewhere.

Because for all the perfect things she does, she’s also the first to criticize when everyone else doesn’t measureup.

“Am I interrupting?” Rena sticks her blond head in, holding up two coffeecups.

I lunge for one. “If one of those has a latte in it, you can interrupt anything youwant.”

“That call looked intense.” My friend and colleague taps a manicured finger against her coffee cup, pursing her redlips.

I savor the taste of the latte with a hint of cinnamon, soothing my nerves and my ego. “I signed up for this event committee for the first time at Rory’s school, and we’re putting on a talent show in threemonths.”

“What’s yourjob?”

“TBD. I was thinking I could help with posters or maybe props. Not sure when that’s going to happen, but I’ll find time for something.” Between my job and work and being a single mom, there’s barely time to brush my teeth and find clean underwear in the morning. “It would be fine except for Nadine, who’s in charge of the committee. She’s an executive at her company. Chairs the PTA. Sits on the board of two charities.” I wait a beat. “And makes her owncakepops.”

Rena’s green eyes flash. “No.”

“Yes!”

Even though I met Rena through work, she’s the best friend I have in New York. Maybe because I spend so much time at work and it’s hard to connect with the other parents—except at school events, where everyone’s up in arms oversomething.

“What a bitch,” Rena tosses with a halfsmile.

“I can’t hate her,” I confess. “I want tobeher toomuch.”

The fact that her kid’s getting lessons from some virtuoso is ridiculous, but it reminds me my son wants to go to a cooking camp in upstate New York this August and I can’t afford to sendhim.

“You’re a badass, Kendall. Besides, if the woman does all of those things, she’s definitely not gettinglaid.”

I look at her. “I’m not gettinglaid.”

“And whose fault is that? You’re young. Hot. Have that innocent-girl-in-the-big-city vibe guysdig.”

I glance at my clothes. Red Banana Republic sweater. Camel skirt. Balletflats.

For working at a company that specializes in relationship product marketing, I'm hardly an expert. I’m not fearless and stylish like the founder, Daisy. I don’t have Rena’s directness. Or a fancy degree like some of the other half dozenstaff.

But I have a knack for figuring things out, and that knack carried me from an account assistant to a senior account manager in fiveyears.

The same knack helped me figure out my life when I was forced to move to the city withnothing.

My phone goes off, signaling the self-enforced end of my lunchbreak.

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