Mrs. Perfect

Interestingly, Mom stuck with him throughout his twenty-two-month prison stint.

I could almost admire her for that.

Purse over my shoulder and binder tucked under my arm, I head downstairs to wrestle Tori into shoes and drag a hairbrush through her blond curls until they’re shiny and smooth. “We’re running late,” I tell her. “We have to hurry and brush your teeth so we can go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“It’s not a choice.”

“I want to watch Blue’s Clues. It’s on next.”

“Teeth, now.”

“I’m not going to go.”

I grab the remote, power off the TV, and look at her. “You have one minute to get upstairs and brush your teeth or you lose all TV privileges for the week.”

Tori stomps her way up the curving staircase and down the hall to her shared bath. “I hate brushing my teeth.”

I don’t answer. Arguing is pointless, and I need to get her to preschool on time. It’s a great preschool program, but they are rather firm on pickup and drop-off times. Apparently, children suffer more separation anxiety if they see other kids arrive late and/or leave early.

Once Tori’s buckled in her car seat, I hit number 5 on speed dial. Voice mail is number 1. Nathan is number 2. School is number 3. Baby-sitter is always number 4, and my friends take up 5 through 10, with Patti always my top friend.

“Patti,” I say, backing my pale gold Lexus out of the garage and into the September sunshine, “could we do an early lunch? I know we agreed on noon, but would eleven-thirty work for you?”

“I can do that.”

“Where do we want to eat?”

“How about 520 Bar and Grill on Main Street?”

“Great.”

The 520 Bar & Grill was opened by the Brazens two years ago beneath their real estate office, and the restaurant still draws a good lunch crowd. Fortunately, Patti is close friends with Rondi Brazen and can always get a table at a moment’s notice.

With two hours free between dropping Tori off and meeting Patti, I head to the mall to get a little shopping done. My sister has a birthday coming up, and I want to get her present bought, wrapped, and mailed soon.

I bump into Kate on the first floor of Nordstrom’s, right next to the shoes.

Kate has a daughter in second grade, too, but she and Brooke are in different classes. “How is it going so far?” I ask as we stop to chat.

“Fine. So far.”

“We’ll be working together on the second-grade class auction project,” I say, pulling my purse strap higher on my shoulder.

“That’s right. As head room moms, we have to coordinate that ghastly class project. I hate that thing, I do.” Her freckled nose creases. “It’s the worst job for someone who isn’t creative. I glue and staple fabric instead of sew.”

“We’ll figure it out together. Don’t worry.”

Kate shakes her head in admiration. “You’re so good with all of that. I don’t know how you do it. Chair the auction and help out in the classroom.”

I shake my head right back. “It’s because I have no life outside of the girls and school.”

“Well, thank God for that. If we didn’t have you, I swear, the school would fall apart.”

Kate is exaggerating. She’s even more important to the school than I am. Her husband, Bill, is second in command at Microsoft, and she’s pretty, not in that fake plastic surgery way, but in a healthy natural strawberry blond way that makes you think of skiing, golf, and quick getaways to Kauai. She’s nice, too, something you wouldn’t expect when your husband earns several hundred thousand a year, with annual bonuses of up to a million dollars.

A million-dollar bonus. Not bad for a year’s work. And if it weren’t for her massive diamond ring—five carats, I think—and her Medina waterfront house, you wouldn’t know she’s rich. It’s not as if she drives a yellow Hummer like some of the mothers I know. Her car is a discreet navy Mercedes, a classic model with the original tan leather interior.

Kate, as you can imagine, is every teacher’s dream room mom. Can you imagine not wanting Microsoft’s number two wife as your room mom? Can you imagine the technology benefits? The software?

We chat a little more, and then we both glance at our watches at the same time. “Better go,” Kate exclaims. “I’ve got a women’s lunch over at the club. These things always sound fun until I actually have to go.”

“I know what you mean.” We kiss good-bye, and we’re off.

I stop in at Kit’s Cottage, a cute little place filled with adorable things that I find nearly irresistible. I love all the beach house items—the glass jars filled with gorgeous seashells and tied with aqua ribbon, the quaint painted signs pointing to the beach, the ornate oversize picture frames made from sand dollars.

I buy a bracelet as a gift for my sister and then some cute frames for the girls’ rooms and a little painted sign to put in my potting shed. As the sales clerk rings up my purchases, I dash back and grab a few scented candles and a pretty potted topiary.

“That’s it,” I say, slightly breathless and feeling rather triumphant as I pull out my checkbook. “I better get out of here before I’m late to meet my friend.”

Unfortunately, parking isn’t easy on Main Street in Old Bellevue. I circle the block twice before finally locating a spot at a lot near the downtown park.

I walk quickly to 520 Bar & Grill and find that Patti’s already there. She’s secured us a table outside on the patio beneath a shady tree. “How’s your day?” she asks as I slip into a chair opposite hers.

“Good. I bumped into Kate at the mall.”

“How is she?”

“Good. How’s your day?”

“Insane. Bellevue Schools Foundation meeting. Hearing and vision screening meeting at school. An hour in the classroom afterwards. Sometimes I feel like I never left school.”

“Oh, I know. Today’s easy for me, but tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare. PTA board meeting, reading with the second graders, Pilates, errands, lunchroom duty. I dread it already.”

“You need to stop with the lunchroom duty. I gave it up years ago and haven’t regretted it once.”

“But

no one else volunteers.”

“Because it’s a miserable job.” Patti’s iced tea arrives, and I signal to the waitress that I want one, too. “You’re too good an asset to waste on monitoring lunch trays and wiping up spilled milk.”

“I don’t know that the school thinks I’m all that valuable,” I answer, flashing back to the moment when I discovered Marta would be head room mom in Mrs. Osborne’s class. “Seems like they’ll take anyone for any job.”

“Don’t fool yourself. Not just anyone can chair an auction that raises a quarter of a million dollars. In three hours, no less.”

“You and Kate always make me feel like a million bucks.”

“You are! Taylor, you’re an achiever. You’re fiercely dedicated to your causes. I don’t know anyone who does as much for the school as you do.”

I shrug even as I flush. It’s hard for me to accept a compliment. I never believe them. How can I? I wasn’t raised like my friends. I’ve gotten where I am by the skin of my teeth.

We order our meals—salads with dressing on the side—and then I peel off my coat and let it hang on the back of my chair.

“Let’s talk about what we want to accomplish at the next auction meeting,” I say, stabbing a shrimp with my fork once the salads arrive. “In my opinion, the chairs need to set goals. I want to hear what they’re going to do this month, and then we need to follow up with them in October to make sure they were able to accomplish their goals.”

Patti nods. “Last year we netted a lot of money, but it was too chaotic. No one communicated, and until the last minute I didn’t know if Nel was going to be able to pull the auction off.”

I stab another pink bay shrimp with my fork. “I’m a control freak. But you know that. Communication’s everything. We have to know what everyone’s working on, and we need to know if they’re having problems.”