Page 53 of The PTA President
“We’re better than those trash stories. Look at Cinderella, she knew that rich boy for an hour before getting her knees dirty. Sleeping Beauty fell in love with the homeless guy who assaulted her while asleep. And Belle put out for a three-ton beast. Actually, that was pretty hot,bad example.”
“Who was reading your bedtime stories, Rumplestiltskin? Good lord, no wonder you have no concept of love.”
“We’re done here, your services are no longer required,” I say, physically pushing her out of my room and shutting the door behind her.
Parking at this place after hours gives me horrific high school flashbacks. Boys chasing girls in the most obnoxious way, hoping we’ll drop to our knees if they flex or show their abs. Girls huddled around each other, giving the world's worst dating advice, all while secretly hooking up with each other's boyfriends. It’s all fun and games until the entire friend group winds up with the syph, and has to come clean about their extraextracurricular activities.
I wonder what Candace was like in high school. My guess is she showed up before the bell was even close to ringing. Some trendy bird's nest hairstyle perfectly tousled her hair. Her acid-washed jeans were probably ironed with the hem flipped up just enough to show off bright white converse and she’d be rocking a megawatt smile so nobody knew how unbelievably bored she was on the inside.
Meanwhile, I was doing everything in my power to show up to as little class as possible. Spending most of my time sneaking cigs in the girls’ bathroom and passing around water bottles filled with vodka under the bleachers during gym. Even back then I wouldn’t have been able to keep my eyes off Candace, she never would’ve given me a second glance. Chicks like that used to make fun of girls like me.
Closing the door to my car, I can already hear the sounds of nauseating pop music coming from the gym. No doubt it’s a guy singing about grinding up on his bitches, and the kids are salivating over it. Meanwhile, all the moms with sticks-up-their-butts aren’t paying attention to the lyrics, and have no clue what their children are gyrating over. At least I’ve done my part toeducate Candace’s girls, whether she still lets them listen to “my” music or not is beyond me, but I’m praying I don’t catch one of them singing along to "Hot in Herre" by Nelly.
ChaptEr 38
Candace
My beautiful girls, who look so grown up in their matching pink dresses, are the first thing I see when I walk in. They’ve still got four years of high school to endure, but the school allows the middle schoolers to attend dances with their friends for more opportunities to socialize. Thinking about one or both of them bringing a date next time they’re here scares me to no end. Their dad probably hasn’t given it a second thought, and I’ll be home alone, pacing and counting down until they’re walking in that door at curfew. It’s exhausting being the only parent concerned for the future. When Nat was around, I had someone to lean on, but she’s gone, and it’s back to sipping wine and sobbing over the baby books. I’m so proud of them for not being afraid to be themselves. They’re singing at the top of their lungs to a song that Nat wouldnotapprove of, and laughing with their friends. None of this has been easy on them, but at least they’re not sulking in bed like their loser mom, who went andswitched up her sexuality one day.Can I seriously not go ten minutes without thinking of her?
Speaking of the devil’s mistress, as I turn towards the food table, there she is. Breathtaking as ever, shoveling frosted cookies into her mouth to avoid supervising. Her shiny hair is up in a high ponytail, showing off a high-collared gown that wasmadefor her body. Giving each other compliments definitely crosses the line, and I refuse to do that. So, as far as she’s concerned, I’m unbothered and think she’s hideous.
“Candace, there you are. Excellent.” Betty squeezes my wrists and praises me like I’m one of her children. “You and Natalie will be in charge of the food table for the first few hours, and then we’ll switch and have you observe the dance floor. We can’t have anyone dancing closer than three inches from each other. Do I make myself clear?”
Before I can interject, she’s patting my back and moving on to her next victim. Great, so much for staying away from each other.
Nat whispers, "Nice dress." While I locate a spot near the cookies, keeping an arm's length distance from her, yet staying inside the zone I was assigned.
“Oh, I didn’t think we were talking after you threw me out of your apartment,” I hiss back.
“Sorry, what I meant was. I like your dress. Did yourmommypick it out for you? I hope you got it approved at the town hall meeting before you left.”
Her words dig through my skin like a dull knife, and I know she’s trying to get a rise out of me. This is what she wants: all my attention on her, no matter what. If I do as my therapist says and ignore her, we can make it through the night unscathed.
“Do you everstoptalking? You’re honestly the most toxic person I’ve ever met.” Well, so much for going unscathed.
“Honey, ifI’mthe most toxic, clearly you haven’t met your parents or those half-wits you call your friends.” Her condescending tone comes out so naturally, proving she really is the devil’s mistress.
Her words sting like venom, but I’ve become accustomed to the pain since we started this nightmare of a relationship. She ignites an uncontainable fire within me. I’d love nothing more than to rip her to shreds, instead of being the bigger person like I’m supposed to be.
“You’re honestly claiming you’renottoxic? You burnt down my house because you didn’t get your way. That level of a tantrum needs to be studied. Might I suggest therapy?” I growl, keeping my voice at a dull roar.
“IfI burned down your house, it wouldn’t have been because of a tantrum, Princess. It’d be a wake-up call to get your life in check and quit obsessing over shit that doesn’t mean shit,” she whisper screams, her face now flushed with anger.
“There’snoway I heard you right. You’re blamingmefor this? I supposedly needed a wake-up call, and because of that, my daughters and I are homeless. Explain how that makes sense.”
My heart races as she steps closer, a sharp, spicy scent infiltrates my nostrils, reminding me of the mornings I’d wake up next to her smelling like a goddess. It's a mix of all the patchouli her roommate sprays and something spicy like a man's aftershave.
“Listen to me real close, babe. Your life is one big fucking lie, and you know it. You were hiding inside a big ass house pretending to be housewife of the year while all your useless shit was sucking the soul out of you.” She says, directly into my ear, making my throat close up. “We were doomed from the start.”
“I can’t believe how you’re taking this, acting like it’s no big deal. What would happen if I came in and lit your house on fire, destroying everything you love?”
“Absolutely nothing because what I love isn’tinmy house. But, be my guest, I bet Megan left the door unlocked, so knock yourself out. It won't matter one bit. My stuff doesn’t define me. I’m not using it as an escape to bury myself in a hole so people don’t see me in all my forms. The only thing youactuallyloved in that house was your kids, and they weren’t even in there that night. Tell me I’mfuckingwrong.”
One day, when I’m much older and wiser, I hope to forget my actions tonight. Acting on impulse once again, I take every ounce of anger I’m holding onto and grip the clear tray of cookies, keeping my aim right for Natalie. The cookies spill everywhere, after bouncing off her dress, and she doesn’t even budge as a mess of desserts surrounds her, all eyes on us now.
“Are you even listening to yourself? How can you honestly believe the stuff you’re saying to me?” I cry out, gripping my hair tight, pulling it over my face.
Nat’s head shakes, and she chuckles before responding. “Is that the best you can do? Throwing cookies, come on, supermom. All you’re doing is further embarrassing yourself. If you’re going to make a statement, make afuckingstatement.”
