Odd Mom Out

“No, it’s just time, money, and energy.”

“Exactly,” Paige’s mom chimes in, and she’s nodding earnestly. “It’s something they could do with a little effort, too.”

But these other families don’t have the time, money, or energy. They’re strapped, stressed, barely getting by.

And I say as much, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing this isn’t the place. “Is there a way, though, to include these other schools? Maybe include them in our efforts, ease some of the burden on them?”

There’s only silence when I stop talking, and twelve-plus women stare at me, their expressions ranging from unease to outrage.

“Maybe we can adopt a school,” I conclude quietly.

Taylor’s staring at me, her expression chilly. “Well, thank you for the input, Marta. I’ll make a note of your suggestion, and maybe if there’s enough interest from other parents, we can discuss it at a future meeting.” She draws a breath. “Now, back to the issue of auction funds.”

One of the women clutching a watermelon cosmo raises her hand. “I can understand giving the Lakes PTA a tiny portion of last year’s auction income, but won’t that set a precedent for this year?”

There’s a loud murmur of agreement, and the discussion moves on.

The meeting drags on for another hour but is eventually brought to a close when one of the women—a mother to an apparently athletic, popular son—glances at her watch and sees the time.

“The picnic!” she exclaims, gathering her purse and notebook. “I promised Eric I’d have him there early. The guys are going to be swimming.”

Another mother rises, and so do I. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I arrived, and I can’t collect Eva fast enough. The girls upstairs barely look at her when she says good-bye.

We’re outside, heading to the truck, when Eva suddenly lets out a shout. “My watch!”

I stop and drag a hand through my long hair, combing it off my neck. I left it loose today, and it’s too hot and heavy for such a warm day. “You took it off?”

“I was just showing them.”

I stifle an irritated sigh. “Go get it. I’ll wait here.”

“You won’t come up with me?”

“No. But I’ll wait here. Just go in, grab it, and come back.”

Eva knocks timidly on the door before going in, shutting the door carefully behind her.

I stand on the porch, inspecting the glossy white veranda running the length of the house. There are a cluster of big wicker chairs and hanging baskets of ferns and colorful impatiens. One would almost think we were in the Deep South instead of Greater Seattle.

The living room windows are open, and as I wait for Eva to return, I hear voices spill out from the living room. The moms aren’t in any hurry to leave. Most are enjoying a second cocktail or a refill on their wine.

“Who is that?” I hear one of the women ask just after the front door closes behind Eva. “The little girl with the long dark hair? I see her at the pool sometimes with her mother.”

“The girl who just came through?” Taylor’s laughter tinkles. “That’s Eva Zinsser, Jemma’s little shadow. Her mother was the one who just left. Marta’s her name. Different, aren’t they?”

There’s a giggle from the living room. “Did you see what Marta was wearing? Those pants? That ratty-looking T-shirt? Certainly didn’t seem like she took any pride in her appearance.”

“A bit too bohemian for my taste,” another replied.

“I don’t think they have a lot of money.” It’s Taylor again. I recognize her voice. “Apparently they’ve moved from the East Coast, and I can imagine their sticker shock at the price of homes. Nathan says you can get a lot more for your money there.”

“So is she married? Divorced? Haven’t seen a Mr. Zinsser,” someone said.

“I don’t know if there is one,” Taylor added, her voice dropping slightly. “And that could explain why the little girl’s a bit clingy. Eva seems very sweet, but she really needs to make some friends of her own. Poor Jemma’s beginning to find Eva’s hero worship claustrophobic.”

The women all laugh, but I don’t. I stand there in the overhang of the doorstep, shielded by the soft leafy shade of an enormous Japanese maple, with a furious lump filling up my throat.

I don’t care if they talk about me, but how dare they talk about Eva like that? How dare they discuss my child? Who the hell do they think they are?

My legs shake, and I’m trembling with rage. I will show them. I will teach them. I will—

The front door opens suddenly and Eva tumbles out, her cheeks a mottled rose against white. Her expression is stricken, and her wide eyes hold mine. It’s obvious she’s overheard the same thing I did.

“Eva,” I say.

She’s shaking her head. “My watch,” she whispers. “I couldn’t find it.”

So she didn’t hear them, then. Thank God. My relief is huge, staggering, and I almost sag against the oversize Craftsman-style column supporting the front porch.

“Will you go in and look for it with me?” she asks, her voice shaking.

I’d shave my head before I’d go back in that house. “Let’s not worry about it now. Let’s go to the beach for the picnic, and I’ll give Mrs. Young a call later.”

“But the watch,” she protests.

“We’ll find it.” I steer her toward the Ford truck, a meticulously restored 1957 classic with a glossy paint job somewhere between vanilla and buttercream. It’s my prized possession, and another f—— you to those (like my father) who would have us believe a woman isn’t complete without a man.

But Eva’s still fighting tears as she opens the passenger door and climbs inside. “Grandma and Grandpa gave me the watch for Christmas last year.”

The watch does have sentimental value—especially since my parents had it engraved for her—but I just want to get the hell out of here.

Our house is only a few blocks away. We could have walked to the Youngs’, but since we’re heading straight to the beach, I’ve already packed the back of the truck with our folding chairs and cooler.

But as I back out of the Youngs’ circular drive, Eva announces she doesn’t want to go to the beach after all.

I brake at the stop sign and turn to look at her. “But the picnic is a big deal. You’ve been looking forward to this all summer.”

She just shakes her head.

“Eva.”

Eva takes a deep breath. “We’re just going to end up sitting alone again. Aren’t we?”

I grimace inwardly. Ouch. “I don’t know—”

“We are. We always do.”

The steering wheel feels clammy against my hands. “I’m trying very hard, Eva.”

“Why did we even move here?” she cries, her voice breaking.

I pull over to the shoulder and park in front of yet another huge shingled house. The beach park is just at the end of 92nd Avenue, and we’re going to have to park along the side of the street anyway.

“We came for Grandma,” I say slowly, wondering what it is she wants to hear from me, what it is that would reassure her, make her feel better. “Because she’s sick, and she’s not going to get better.”

“But it’s not as if we see her very often.”

“We go to her house once a week.”

“More like every two weeks.”

Holding my breath, I look at Eva. Right now, nothing I say or do is correct. Right now, I feel as though I’m just failing as a mom, yet I’m trying my best. “You’ve been upset with me all day,” I say carefully, trying to keep my tone neutral. “What’s wrong?”

Eva does that preadolescent shrug she’s getting so very good at. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I echo, trying to be brave because it’s hard to open yourself for criticism, especially from the one person you love most in the world. “Are you sure there isn’t something that’s eating at you, something you’re mad at me about?”

“Well, maybe. A little.”

A little. Okay. I take a quick breath, tell myself not to be hurt. “What am I doing that’s bothering you?”

Another shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Do I embarrass you?”

And a third shrug. “Not exactly.”

I feel as if I’m wading into very deep waters here, and I take a big breath for an added shot of courage and calm. “But you’re not proud of me?”

“No, it’s not that. Oh, Mom. It’s just that . . .” Eva’s shoulders slump, and she squeezes her eyes shut. “The kids that are popular, they’re popular because . . .” She sinks even lower on the seat. “Because they have nice clothes and nice things, and everybody wants stuff like that.”

I don’t say anything. I just look at her and wait. Because there’s more. There’s always more.

“Jemma, Paige, Devanne, and Lacey do really cool things, too. They go on all these neat trips with their families—”

“We went to the Yukon this summer.”

“The Yukon! The Klondike.” She makes a big whoopee motion with her hands. “And guess what? Everybody thought I was a big fat geek.”

“You’re not fat.”