Chapter Twenty
Libby
It was Parents Day, and as I finished hanging garlands across the doorways and put the last paper flower into the last cardboard vase, I patted myself on the back for the umpteenth time for planning ahead and having everything done the week before. Even the couple of days I’d taken off to try to support and get to know Kristy hadn’t put me too far behind schedule, and with Paul’s help, the classroom looked like a million bucks.
“This is the most insane and impressive Parents Day party I’ve ever seen this school throw. And considering how fabulous I am, that’s saying something,” Paul half complimented, half whined as he started filling the pitchers with “big people juice” adding fresh berries and thinly sliced lime circles to them, before dumping in ice and water.
“Um, thank you, and I can tone it down next time if you want. I guess I just got a lot of practice planning and executing parties when I was married,” I confessed. “After a while, it was the only thing I did often enough to get good at.” Paul arched an eyebrow as he added bottled water to the glass pitchers, the fruit adding a pleasing visual to the beverage.
“Between your artistic ability, and your party throwing, you should be a wedding planner.” He snapped his fingers in the air next to his head, and stared at me until I flushed.
“You’re a nerd,” I sighed.
“I’m brilliant,” he countered. “If you started a party-planning business, I would even come work for you—after noon, of course.” I laughed. Of course, he wouldn’t give up his morning class of munchkins for parties. They were just too cute.
“Okay, if I ever go into the party-planning business, you can come be my liaison and photographer, in a pinch.” He scoffed.
“Why your photographer?”
“Because that seems to be the number one complaint all my friends had. Their photographers showed up drunk, or they didn’t show up, or they were rude, or they did a lousy job. More than any other wedding day problem.”
“Did anything bad happen at your wedding?”
“Other than exchanging vows with a sociopath? Nah, it went off without a hitch.” I muttered, and Paul laughed hard enough to slosh water over his last pitcher. I stood back and looked at the room, every pale blue wall covered with the art projects and worksheets of the students. The tables were covered in disposable paper table cloths in the primary colors, and tissue paper flowers of every color imaginable were used as the centerpieces at each table, arranged by the children in tall rectangular “vases” we’d made as another craft project.
Every child was represented in every space, and even I had to admit, the result was spectacular. Mrs. Dunham, the headmistress of the preschool, was sure to be happy with the multipurpose room when she came with the tea cakes and cookies for the party. Paul told me to take a break while he finished setting the tables, and I hid around the back in the shade, so I could watch Olivia play, without her sending me away.
I caught myself smiling at a missed call from Tucker, and scoffed at my lack of chill when it came to anything to do with that man. I was disappointed and a little worried about the cryptic nature of his call, but texted him that I could see him after the party, which made my day longer than usual. I was glad he’d gone to his senior partners about Carl Jameson; glad for myself, and for Kristy and anyone else he had hurt. But I could hear the tight strain of worry in his voice, and wondered what it was costing him to take a stand, when no one else had.
Paul stuck his head out the door to tell me that Mrs. Dunham had been spotted carrying bakery boxes, and would I please come in so she could lavish me with praise? I scoffed. Mrs. Dunham hated me, and only the positive feedback from more than a few parents even kept me in a job for the first few months. Eventually, we’d come to a professional understanding, aided by the other teachers, who diligently refused to tell her if I was late, or took a sick day. Happily, she was at the school so rarely, it was never really an issue.
I picked up more colored paper, so I wouldn’t be empty-handed when I walked into the multipurpose room, and followed Paul. Mrs. Dunham hit the door at the same time as we did, so I instantly put down the reams of paper in my hands and took the boxes of treats from her, before she could demand it from me.
“Well, someone has certainly gone to a lot of trouble here,” she said. I glanced up and was shocked to see she was even smiling. “Well done, Paul.”
“Oh, it wasn’t me, Margaret. It was Libby, almost exclusively. The decorations were all made by her, or are craft projects she did with the children.” The corners of her mouth slid downward into her customary frown. “We’re lucky to have a teacher who can not only make her students feel like artists, she can make their parents believe it, too.” He handed the largest of the tissue bouquets to her, a gift I had encouraged the children to make. Neither of us added that the kids had been disappointed when we told them the flowers were going to her, instead of one of the teachers they knew and loved.
Having been told that I was responsible for the success of the party, Mrs. Dunham apparently lost interest, and left without another word, depositing the bouquet on a shelf as she strode form the room. I mimed choking her as she disappeared through the doorway, and Paul muffled his laughter behind his hands.
“Why does she hate you so much?” he asked when he could speak again, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“I have no idea. My husband probably turned her down for a rendezvous and she blamed me, instead of his penchant for younger women, instead of cougars.”
“Maggie knew your husband?”
“Mhmm,” I muttered. “He represented her husband near the end of our marriage. It was one of the reasons you had to work so hard to talk me into applying,” I admitted to him, as I set the abandoned rainbow of flowers in a prominent place of honor.
“Oh, no—he lost?”
I laughed.
“No. He won. A lot, if I remember correctly.” I started taking cookies out of their box and arranging them on plates. “Then he left his wife almost penniless when he caught her with another man. Prenups—what can you do?”
“Oh, wow. So, you represent what she ‘should’ve had’ and what she ended up with.” He started on the opposite side of the buffet table, neatly arranging brownies and petite fours on the plastic platters I’d picked up at Dollar Tree. I was pleased to have found them. They were sturdy enough to make it through the party, but cheap enough to just throw away when we were done.
The first parents trickled in with their kids as we were flattening boxes and tidying up the last of the crepe paper from our streamers. Their faces lit up as their children led them to their art projects, each unerringly drawn to his or her own work. Little hands clasped much larger ones and as they dragged their parents around the room, pointing out their gold stars and rainbow finger paintings hanging on the walls. Each child wanted to sit by their own flowers, and their parents chatted as they got treats and sat in little groups at the round tables.
There was a certain satisfaction that came with each passing moment of fun that I saw the children having, and the smiles on their parents’ faces. Paul was right. Even though I hated going to parties, I did appreciate a well-executed celebration. I chewed on the idea he’d given me while I served fruit water and then wound my way through the tables, refilling glasses.
Once the room was full, and everyone had taken a seat, Mrs. Dunham made her grand entrance and made a speech about the vitality of their children to our school, and droned on for a bit about how their tuition was spent. It was likely an important part of running the school, but even as I tuned her out, I saw children beginning to fidget, and more than one parent yawned. I glanced over at Paul and widened my eyes, silently asking him to help end this. He shrugged and gave me the same look back.
I took a deep breath, shot him a glare, and continued to silently wind through the tables, whispering encouragement to the fidgety four-year-olds, and smiling at parents as I filled their plastic cups. I glanced at Paul as I got closer, and he warned me off with a glare. With a grin, I winked at him, and stumbled, meaning to splash him with a little water, making just enough of a disturbance to distract Dunham from her speech. Unfortunately, I was as graceful as I’d always been, and my face matched the pure shock and horror I saw in Paul’s, as I pitched headlong into him, dousing him with over half a pitcher’s worth of berries and water.
Shrieks of glee and peals of laughter went up from the children after a moment of surprised silence, and I rolled over and looked up from the floor, at Mrs. Dunham’s crimson face. Her nostrils flared, hands shook, and for a moment, I thought she might hit me, which I found a bit of an overreaction, since the man I’d just soaked was laughing as hard as the kids were.
Paul slipped and slid in the soggy, squished berries and helped me to my feet, while Laura, the afternoon teacher’s aide, encouraged the children and their parents to spend some time in the new playground their tuition had provided. Once I was upright again, I immediately went for the mop bucket, while Paul escaped to the teacher’s lounge for a spare shirt he kept in his locker, ever since a flu outbreak had taught him the value of having extra clothes on site. I busied myself mopping up, my knees still a little shaky and weak from my fall, and a pain in my jaw from where I’d been unable to save my face, choosing to keep the glass carafe from breaking instead.
I almost fell again, when I turned around and Mrs. Dunham was standing there shooting daggers at me while she shook with rage.
“Mrs. Dunham, are you okay?” I asked, already sure I didn’t want her to answer.
“You ruined everything,” She spat at me, taking one step toward me. I fought to stand my ground, surrounded by a puddle and the sad remains of fruit that I hadn’t mopped up yet.
“I hardly think that the entire day was ruined by my fall, Mrs. Dunham. If you let yourself calm down, you will see that the only people not smiling are you and me. As for me, I am wet, in pain, and embarrassed that I fell and smacked my face on the floor. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, by the way.”
“You stupid bitch.”
“Hey!” A voice called out from the doorway behind me. I turned, and there was one of our dads, his daughter holding his hand. Mrs. Dunham’s face bled from beet red to ashen as he held his hands over his daughter’s ears. “We came to see if you were okay, Miss Libby. You’re Katy’s favorite teacher, she couldn’t play until she knew you weren’t hurt.”
“Oh, thank you Miss Katy! I am going to have a couple of bruises tomorrow, but I’m okay. I have to clean up my mess before I can play though, all right?” Katy nodded and hid behind her father’s leg, blushing. “I really am okay,” I assured her father, and smiled as best I could around the blossoming pain in my face. He hesitated to leave, and I looked to Mrs. Dunham. “Maggie, I’ll be by your office to talk after I get this cleaned up, if you’re available.”
I turned my back on her and pushed the stray berries into a pile and picked them up with paper towels, then mopped the floor and put down a caution sign. My throat was closed off and my stomach ached with the need to vomit, but I forced myself to go outside and talk to my kids, so they’d know I was okay. I paused and blinked to clear my vision as I stepped out into the light, and Olivia ran at me, throwing herself around my legs in a hug that almost knocked me off balance again.
“Mommy, your chin is purple!” She shouted at me as I knelt in front of her. The pain had dulled to an ache, and I’d forgotten to find a mirror, partially out of fear that if I was in a restroom alone, Margaret Dunham would find me there. Paul came my way and tilted my face so he could get a better look at it.
“You might have broken your jaw,” he said gently, but the tugging at the corners of his mouth belied his sympathy.
“Still deciding if it was worth it,” I replied. I touched my face softly, then pressed harder to see how much it really hurt, which was a whole hell of a lot. Tears burned my eyes and I blinked rapidly to clear them, then kept them closed for a moment to regain my bearings. Spots swam on the inside of my eyelids, then stopped moving, and then disappeared altogether. Paul put his hand on my arm and I opened my eyes again, and, of course, there stood my wicked witch of a boss.
“Your face is swollen,” she commented, and I sighed.
“It hurts like, well… like I got licked in the jaw like a donkey,” I replied glibly, as Shaunte joined us.
“Oh, honey, we need to get some ice on you. Oh, poor baby,” she cooed as she enfolded me in a hug. “Do I need to get you out of here?” She whispered in my ear. I nodded, and she released me.
“Well, I’m not sure what to think of you, letting her clean up and keep working, hurt like that. Look at her face!” I put my hand on her arm.
“I’m okay, really.” I said it softly, and nodded to Dunham, then turned to Shaunte. “Mrs. Dunham and I need to speak in her office, then I can meet you and the kidlets out front.” She nodded in agreement, but I saw her scowl at Dunham on her way past, and rolled my eyes heavenward. Paul seemed hesitant to leave us alone, and I wondered if little Katy’s dad had done some talking when they’d gotten back to the party.
“I let my temper get the best of me, Libby. I’m sure you understand,” I knew it was the closest thing to an apology I was going to get, and as it was, I would wind up paying for it later. Everything in me screamed to let it be, but I couldn’t claim to be the independent, strong person I claimed to be if I couldn’t stand up for myself with a bully whose opinion didn’t even matter to me.
“No, I really don’t. But it was my fault for trying to tease Paul, and karma caught up with me quick.” Her face twitched, and I watched as she fought the urge to laugh so hard, that her eyes began to water. She coughed and nodded curtly, spinning on one heel, and striding quickly away.
“Well, that went better than I expected,” Paul said from behind me.
“I’d have liked her more if she’d just laughed in front of me, instead of running away. God knows she’s going to get her mileage out of it telling it to whoever she hangs out with.” I stretched my shoulders and sighed. “I’m out. I love you. See you tomorrow.” I hugged him gingerly and he stroked my hair.
“No, you need to stay home. Tomorrow is Friday, and you are only going to look worse for the next couple of days. Come back Monday. Don’t scare the children.” I nodded and saluted him, then caught up with Shaunte and our kids out front.
“I’m so glad you drove this morning. I do not have the mental capacity to get anyone, anywhere, safely right now.” I watched Olivia strap herself into her car seat.
“You fired?” Shaunte asked, watching me painfully engaging my own seatbelt.
“Not yet, she ran off to laugh at me in her office. I feel so stupid.”
“Well, if she knows you were humiliated, she’ll probably just like you better.” I sighed.
“Why am I a magnet for sickos?”
She laughed and patted my hand on the center console.
“That, is the question of the day.” I laughed and then whimpered as I stretched my jaw to hard and pain shot through my face. She dropped us off at our house, instead of us walking, so I could lie down. I let her get Olivia out of the car and hand me her backpack and artwork so I could move as little as possible. I gave her a hug.
“Don’t ever let anyone say I’m not willing to take one for the team. Although, I really don’t think it was worth the price I’m paying.” She clucked her tongue and examined my face one last time.
“It didn’t swell much, which is a good sign. And you might not think it was worth it, but I bet she had another forty-five minutes of speechifying in her, so on the behalf of all those children and their parents, I appreciate your sacrifice.” She gently hugged me one last time, and promised to come get Olivia later so I could rest while they went to the pool.
I texted Tucker that I was home and he could come by anytime, but ignored his call, because my face hurt too much to want to talk. I took a picture of my face and sent it with my apology, and the caption “Libby 0, Gravity 1”. It made me smile, which in turn, made me want to cry again. I didn’t bother making dinner, because now that he knew I was hurt, I was almost certain Tucker would bring food with him, and if I was lucky, wine and a straw to drink it with.