Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 11

I awoke to Mitch s puttering about in the kitchen on the other side of the bedroom. Then I heard the garage door rumble up and then back down, signaling that he d gone to work.

I went back to sleep.

About an hour later, my phone buzzed. I ignored it. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, it buzzed again. And again. And again.

All the buzzing.

Who could possibly want anything from me at this ungodly time of morning. It was . . . oh. Nine in the morning? So, not ungodly. It just felt like it.

Had Mitch come to his senses? The sheer volume of missed calls would suggest he had. Blowing up my phone after making me mad was one of his favorite pastimes.

Huh.

I didn t recognize any of those numbers.

My phone buzzed, startling me to the point that I dropped it.

Rachel. Her I would talk to.

Hello, I answered. My voice sounded full of gravel.

Vivian, Suja has missed the bus, and I can t go get her because our day just started, Rachel whispered. In the background kindergartners murmured and giggled. I really, really hate to ask you to take her. I ll owe you big-time, I swear. Whatever wine you want. And your favorite dry-aged Jack cheese. Anything.

Who was I? Where was I? Why did I feel as though I d been hit by a Mack truck?

Oh, yeah.

Divorce. Mitch had moved back in. I d cried myself to sleep.

Well, I d just stuff that into one of my mental drawers and come back to it later.

Say no more. I m on it.

You are a lifesaver, Vivian!

Go teach America s youth, Rachel. I ve got this.

I hung up, but no sooner had I ended the call than the thing started buzzing again.

I answered without looking to see who was calling while I rammed my feet into running shoes. Rachel, I-

Ma am, this is Yvonne Rodriguez calling from Rock 105 out of Dallas. You are Vivian Quackenbush -she paused and then read the rest as if she were checking her notes- of the Mom Scouts, right?

Why in the blue hell would anyone be calling me about my YouTube channel?

This is she.

I paused in my bid to put on enough clothes to get Suja to school. Slowly, I tuned back into what the woman on the other end of the phone was saying, . . . wondering if you would like to come on air to talk about your viral video-

What?

Your video? The model Fiona Dahl shared it on social media, and now our listeners want to know if they can join the Mom Scouts. Someone has even started a hashtag called -again she paused and then spoke with a low voice as if reading from notes- MitchIsADick.

I giggled, but then everything from the week before crashed into me. My cheeks blazed.

I was supposed to go back and delete that video.

Why hadn t I deleted it?

I was supposed to make the video but not post it. What kind of idiot would record themselves in a drunken stupor?

An idiot in a drunken stupor, that s who.

I fell backward on the bed with a groan.

Ma am?

Uh, no. I mean I can t come on your show this morning. I m, um, heading out the door now.

Why had I said that? Because Mom had always taught me to keep my options open. If I had a dollar for every time Mom had said, Hard to sell a house if you ve already closed the door.

Whatever that meant.

So maybe tomorrow-

Maybe tomorrow.

Is this your best contact number?

Yes.

Can I call you around eleven to firm up the details?

This lady was pushy. Polite but pushy. Noon would be better. Assuming I wasn t in a witness protection program somewhere. I think I need to hang up now.

And I did just that before I could do any more damage.

The phone immediately buzzed again with a text from Suja: Ms. Viv, are you coming?

I answered with Yep and rammed the phone into my pocket only to have the blasted thing go off again. I hesitated, neither reaching for the phone nor heading for the door. I should ignore it.

But I took out the phone anyway and sighed in relief at the sight of Dylan s name. I cleared my throat and put on my best Mom voice before answering.

Good morning, Buddy Bear.

Mom, are you okay?

I m fine. Why?

The video. It s all over the place.

That s it. I m going to have to dig a hole in the backyard and bury myself. There s no other answer.

Alas, I didn t have a shovel. I had a trowel, but that would be such slow going. Better to stab myself with the trowel and hope the vultures took care of the rest.

I m so sorry, Dylan. I meant to delete that. Not my finest moment.

I ll say.

Look, kid. I m sorry if I embarrassed you, but-

Embarrass me? Mom, you ve embarrassed yourself.

The anger in his voice reminded me entirely too much of his father.

Oh God. What if I lost Dylan?

What if my one moment of stupidity caused me to irreparably harm my relationship with my son?

I m so, so sorry. Really.

Dylan didn t have any response to that. I forced myself to keep breathing, even though it felt like suffocation might be the best way to go. I couldn t tell my son about how his father didn t like my sex or my chicken-

But I had.

In the video.

And then there was whatever he d overheard of our argument.

It s just all been such a shock. I didn t mean to put that video up. It s just-

That your father s nonchalantly mentioning that he wanted a divorce made me feel some kind of way.

Unwanted. Unloved. Betrayed.

My face burned hot again.

How could you not mean to put the video up? Come on, Mom. There are several steps you have to take.

I hadn t eaten supper and I drank too much and I was upset and-

You would never accept those excuses from me.

True.

You are absolutely right, and I can t apologize to you enough.

Dylan waited on the other end of the line, but if he thought I was going to say more than that, then he was destined to be even more disappointed.

I m really, really sorry. I don t know what else to say. I can take it down. Yes, I ll go take it down.

Mom. There s no point. It s going viral . Fiona freakin Dahl retweeted it, and you already have almost a million views. In less than two days.

A million? That was ten times what my most popular video had made to date. And I had thought that video about making my own cat hoodie had been a fluke!

Yeah. As mad as I am, most of the comments are supportive, and you now have enough hours and subscribers to monetize.

Monetize?

Monetization had been my goal.

Yeah, my goal for a year from now. I d done my homework and put everything in place for just such an eventuality, but I hadn t thought I d reach that goal so soon.

Yes! You need to check and make sure you re under review.

I ll do that. As long as you ll forgive your mother for having a weak moment.

He sighed, reminding me of Dylan the thirteen-year-old for just a minute. I ll get over it. I mainly wanted to make sure you weren t drowning in your own vomit like a 70s rock star. Bye.

I couldn t help but notice that he hadn t forgiven me.

Wait! Think you can come home again this weekend?

Oh, I didn t like the desperation in my voice.

I don t know. I was just there. And I still didn t get half of my laundry done.

I had dueling thoughts: Bad Vivian, you didn t finish the kid s laundry but also Kid s gotta learn to do his own laundry someday.

Look, I really have to go to class now. Bye, Mom.

Love you, I said to the empty line.

Dammit, Vivian.

I hadn t been that drunk, had I?

You were drunk enough to post a video that s going to cause you all kinds of trouble, which is what you get for drinking half a bottle of pinot followed by however much merlot.

Just the thought of it made me want to toss my cookies.

No time to toss cookies. I had to get Suja to school.

I grabbed the keys and raced to the garage, almost stepping on the cat.

Look, Lucky, you ll have to wait until I get back.

The one-eyed black Maine coon sassed me with a multisyllabic meow that expressed exactly what she thought about waiting.

Good Lord, this was going to be one of those days when I ticked off everyone, wasn t it?

You ll make it. I ve seen your paunch, I yelled as I opened the door to the garage, carefully blocking her progress. Lucky yowled again. She was very sensitive about her paunch, even if she did like me to rub it for her.

I sat down behind the wheel and even started the car before I had an unfortunate realization: I was not wearing a bra.

Bah, it wouldn t be carpool if I were wearing a bra. I d consider it earning my Bra-Free Carpool Badge.

I almost backed into the rising garage door. It was ten past nine. We could just make it if Suja was in the driveway ready to go.

Suja was not.

I backed into the cul-de-sac and then drove up the driveway on the other side of Abi s house and ran to the front door, ringing the doorbell twice. Through the small windows to the side of the front door, I could see Suja shuffling toward the door with her backpack, lunch box, and saxophone case.

I tried to open the door for her, but it was locked.

The first thing Suja said was, I m sorry, Miss Viv!

Honey, it s fine. We can still make it if we hurry.

We climbed into the car, and I quickly switched from Bluetooth to radio before Suja could hear any of my music and then report back to Rachel. I loved Rachel dearly, but she was far stricter about such things than I d ever been. I d been secretly making up for the lost time of my restricted youth with my running playlist of uncensored hip-hop and dance music.

The last thing I needed was a question about Rihanna s S M.

Then again, I probably wouldn t have to explain anything. After all, Suja was in middle school, that place kids went to learn all the dirty jokes.

As someone on NPR relayed the news in an expressionless voice, we rode in silence. Normally, I would ask Suja why she d missed the bus, but it didn t matter. Since I d apparently missed the bus of life, I didn t feel I had any stones to cast at that particular glass house.

Again, I m really sorry, Miss Viv, Suja volunteered.

It happens, hon.

And it happens to you more frequently than other people, but that s okay, too.

I was watching this YouTube video-

Of course you were.

Wait, please tell me it wasn t mine.

Because I was trying to paint these canvas shoes for my mom s birthday.

That s awfully nice of you, I said as we pulled into the middle school.

Suja s face crumpled into tears. No, it s not! I messed them up.

Three minutes until the late bell.

I left the carpool line and pulled into a parking place. I d been thirteen once, and I could remember being mortified when my classmates saw me cry. Frequently.

I wouldn t do that to Suja.

Suja, darling. I can help you fix it.

She looked up, her eyes still wet with tears. You will?

Of course I will. I have a whole craft room, you know.

Mom s birthday is on Saturday.

Then you come over one afternoon when you can with a new pair of shoes, and I ll help you.

Thanks, Miss Viv, you re the best! She tried to hug me but ended up clocking me with her lunch box instead.

Thank goodness it was canvas.

She sniffed, and I could see her teenager moods were already swinging from the depths of despair back to euphoria. I had to get the child into the school building before that pendulum swung back again.

The late bell chose that moment to ring.

Okay, then. I reached into my purse for Kleenex and handed some tissues to Suja. I m guessing I m going to have to forge your mom s signature again, huh?

Suja giggled through a hitch in her breath left over from the sobs. I suppose I was feeling a little under the weather this morning.

I looked up from the note I was hastily writing. Yes, well. If we pull this trick too many times, we re going to get caught, and I have a feeling it will be far more unpleasant for you than for me.

Suja sobered. I ll do better, Miss Viv. I promise.

I couldn t help but soften. You ll do just fine. Let s walk you in and get you signed in with this note so your tardy will be excused.

As I shut the car door, my boobs knocked about.

Sonuvabitch, my bra. Or lack thereof.

But I couldn t send Suja in alone, because the middle school required parents to accompany late students into the building.

I sighed and pressed my arms to my sides to create a sort-of bra. People might wonder why I was walking around with stiff arms, but at least my boobs wouldn t jiggle as much? Maybe? At least I was wearing a black shirt? At least-

Oh, let it all hang out, Vivian. Who cares if you walk into the middle school without a bra? You don t have kids in the school system anymore. Heck, maybe the swaying of your breasts will attract a new man, a better man.

And that was when I literally ran right into Parker because of course I did.

I took a deep breath and looked up. Sorry about that. I should really watch where I m going.

He was holding my elbows with warm, gentle hands that were entirely too close to my free-range boobs. No, it was my fault. I wasn t paying attention.

Cassidy running late this morning, too?

He grimaced.

If I d known, then I could ve brought her with Suja, Rachel s daughter.

Suja gave an embarrassed wave, and Parker let go of my elbows as if they d scalded him. He turned his attention to Suja. Oh, I didn t know we had another middle schooler in the cul-de-sac. My daughter Cassidy just started eighth grade here a couple of weeks ago.

Suja s expression morphed from puzzlement to epiphany. Oh! You re Cassidy s dad? She s in my language arts and band classes.

Parker held out his hand, and Suja shuffled her saxophone case so she could shake it.

I m Cassidy s dad, Parker Ford.

I m Suja Panicker.

Pleasure to meet you.

Oh, hey, I said at the thought of the beautiful arrangement he d sent. Thank you for the flowers.

You re welcome.

I didn t know what to say after that.

Suja looked from me to him and back to me. I didn t care for the tilt of her head or the cogs and wheels I could almost see turning.

Parker, let me get her signed in, I said.

Oh, yes! Of course. He walked back in the direction of his car, and I got the school to buzz us in.

As we walked toward the attendance office, Suja looked up with a blush to her cheeks and whispered, He s hot.

I chuckled, thinking of how good he looked when facing a sunset. That he is. A little old for you, don t you think?

Oh, well, yeah, Suja said. But my aunt s single.

Something about the idea of Parker going out with Tabitha made my hackles rise, but I had no business interfering in either Parker s or Tabitha s personal lives. Lord knew I didn t need to add anything-or anyone-else to my own personal drama, either. No matter how hot Parker was. Or thoughtful. Or how intoxicating his spicy aftershave might smell.

The attendance-office clerk looked at us curiously, and I held out the note. This is from Suja s mom. She had me bring Suja in late because she wasn t feeling that well this morning, but she s feeling better now.

Suja nodded obediently, then took the hall pass and rushed off to class while I signed her in on the clipboard.

Miss Suja often doesn t feel well in the mornings, huh?

My smile faded. The office worker took a step backward from my glare. She has an uneasy stomach.

She had the good grace to look away.

Good. You re not going to bully one of my kids.

As if Suja were my child.

Well, she was. It took a village, didn t it? At the end of Oregon Trail, we d formed our own village-and it was a good village-so the office attendant could mind her own business. Need anything else?

No, no, the woman said, not looking up from the forged note.

Okay, then. Have a good day.

I held my breath as I walked out of the school. Whether it was the increased security that forever reminded me how tenuous schoolchildren s safety was or my own irrational belief that I might be called into the principal s office, I didn t know.

Probably both.

Or the fact that you aren t wearing a bra and your shorts are way too short for the dress code.

Well, I wasn t a student, either, now was I?

If anyone needed to go to the principal s office of life, it was Mitchell Quackenbush.