CHAPTER EIGHT
I thought about putting a hat on to hide my hair disaster. It was bad enough that my fellow moms were about to see the worn tracks in my carpet, the nicked paint on the walls, and the rest of what passed for decor in my house. Adding in the hair would probably tip things into “Poor Molly” gossip extravaganza. But a hat didn’t go with my “good” sweats — after an overzealous application of bleach once, I always clean in clothes I don’t mind being stained or ruined by cleaning products.
Then I got a text from my mother, reminding me, once again, of the time her plane was landing and stopped worrying. It was worth being gossip fodder if I could mitigate even half of the stream of constructive criticism that was going to be my due for the next few days.
Deb was working, so I didn’t expect her to come. She’d sent a supportive text this morning, Glad you have some help…especially glad I have to work.
Because my doorbell doesn’t work half the time, and I often don’t hear anyone knock (a boon when it comes to solicitors, politicians, and random do-gooders), I kept walking out to the mud porch to check if anyone had arrived early.
The mud porch had not been part of the pre-cleaning-party-cleaning blitz. An oversight. In the morning light, it was obvious it was a big oversight.
I dragged out the vacuum and got up the worst of the dirt that the kids dragged in daily. I put away the winter coats. I made a charity box for the coats, jackets, and boots that Anna and Ryan had outgrown. I slid the humane mousetrap behind the charity box. We lived in an old house by a river. Getting rid of mice was an impossible task. No need to advertise our rodent residents to the moms, though.
The first person to arrive was a delivery guy. His truck said Simple Occasions and he, after a quick double take of my hair, unloaded first a vase of gorgeous flowers, and then a tray of pastries.
“I didn’t order these,” I said mournfully, wishing I had.
He checked his order screen. “This is the correct address.”
“Okay then.” I wondered if Seth had sent flowers. It wouldn’t be like him. He picked up supermarket flowers sometimes, but he’d never had anything delivered to me from the florist.
Seeing my hesitation, the delivery guy smiled and pointed to the flowers. “There’s a card. I guess it isn’t your birthday, or you wouldn’t be so surprised.”
“No. Not my birthday.” I agreed. I read the card. Clean and pretty, with something to eat. Enjoy! Deb. I almost wanted to cry. And then I remembered I needed to tip the guy.
“Wait here,” I said, taking the tray of pastries from him. I dropped it on the kitchen counter, fished two dollars…was two dollars enough?…didn’t matter, all I had was two dollars…out of my pocketbook, and rushed back out to exchange the two dollars for the flowers.
“Thank you,” I called as he headed back to his truck. “Have a great day.”
“Happy unbirthday!” he said cheerfully, which made me hope two dollars was just right for a tip.
As he drove off, Nancy drove in, with the three other moms in her car. My heart sank as I remembered that one of them was my job rival. I wondered how her second interview went. I was certain she’d gotten one.
And then I wondered…had she already had her second interview? Or would she go this afternoon, and discreetly let Henriette Stubbs know that “Poor Molly” had needed help cleaning her house. And choosing a hair stylist.
“Come in! Come in!” I sang, as if I were delighted to see them all and hadn’t a care in the world about what they would think of my house. Or my hair.
At least Deb had thought about pastries. I hadn’t even made coffee or tea. Yet. I hurried in ahead of them to put the kettle on the stove, and start coffee.
After a politely brief dumbfounded stare at my hair, Nancy said nothing about it.
Apparently, the others took her lead, because they looked at my hair, looked at Nancy, and then looked at the tray of goodies Deb had sent.
“Yum! You know how to feed a work crew,” Nancy marveled, as I unwrapped Deb’s platter of pastries. There was fruit and yogurt for the non-carb moms, too.
“Deb sent it. She felt guilty she couldn’t join us.” I knew better than to claim credit for something I hadn’t done. Karma would no doubt slap me silly later in the day if I tried it. I still wondered what horrible thing I’d done to deserve this haircut.
“Deb gets the protect-and-serve dispensation,” Ellen said, taking a tiny cream puff. “And the best cleaning party food award.”
“I can see why you need help,” Nancy said, looking around the kitchen with an organizationally-adept assessment of the good china and crystal I’d pulled out from the basement. I’d washed it, but it was stacked on the counter. “You have lots of cabinets. Are they all full?”
I nodded.
“Of what?”
“Junk?” I offered helpfully.
“Okay then, our first step is to empty every single cabinet and drawer.”
“All of them? We won’t have room to move in here.”
“True, we need a staging area.” Nancy looked around at the available space, and said, “Here. Let’s move the dining room table against the wall. We can stack the things you’ll need for the party there. The rest can go on your center island.”
“It won’t all fit.”
She smiled diabolically. “It will after we fill the three magic boxes?”
“Magic?”
“Trash, Charity, and Recycle.”
While Nancy went out to retrieve her magic boxes, the rest of us began emptying the cabinets, drinking coffee, and nibbling from Deb’s tray o’ goodies. I had never known that cleaning could be so much fun.
We even got a little mommy-gossip time in about Bianca and her run-in with a credit card thief.
The new mom — Penny —said, “That’s why I read my credit card bill over as soon as it comes in. It takes forever to clean up your credit after something like that.”
“Unless your husband is president of a bank,” Nancy said mildly.
“I hope he can actually do something about it. Most of the time the police and the bank just tell you to change your passwords and be more careful.”
“Bianca said that Deb just had her fill out a report, and then gave her a list of people she’d have to contact herself.”
“Well, you know what she’s having her husband’s poor assistant do today, then.”
We nodded in sympathy for Sophie Tompkins, the bank’s administrative assistant, who was often seen carrying Bianca’s dry cleaning and once — so it was rumored — made cupcakes for a class party. I doubt it had been part of her job description, but she hadn’t quit yet.
At the thought of the cupcakes, I realized I was supposed to be bringing cupcakes to Anna’s classroom tomorrow. Darn it.
Everyone made noises to indicate this was an awful reality and it was time to change the subject.
Penny asked me, “How did your interview go?”
“Great. Yours?”
“Mine is this afternoon.”
“Oh, good luck with it.”
“Maybe they’ll have two openings and we’ll both get hired,” she said brightly.
“That would be fun,” I lied. I didn’t think I’d like having to compare myself to her at work every day, and then on the mom front on the weekends at soccer matches and band recitals. She was just one of those effortlessly competent people. Like my mother.
I stared at my kitchen, which was looking very new and improved, thanks to the special cleaning compound Nancy knew to clean off age-grimed wood cabinet doors and knobs. And to the elbow grease we’d all expended in emptying and scrubbing out the cabinets before putting things back in a way that actually made sense.
For the first time in years I had drinking glasses near the refrigerator, where they were the most useful to grab and fill. And plates and coffee cups near the dishwasher, so they could be unloaded with less foot traffic across the kitchen.
Looking at it all, it seemed obvious. But I knew better. Hadn’t I reorganized the kitchen three times in the years we’d lived here. And it had never been this optimized for actual use.
“I can’t believe this is my kitchen,” I admitted.
Nancy just grinned with devilish glee and said, “Wait until we’ve finished with the living room.”
True to her word, Nancy led us all in a rejuvenation and furniture-reshuffle that was as magical as her magic cartons.
At the end of the day, I looked at the overflowing magic cartons. I grabbed a trash bag and filled it with things from the trash box. I carried the bag out of the house and deposited it in the trash can. I took a moment to bid it farewell, very glad I’d never have to sort/store/look at any of those things ever again.
The stuff from the recycle box went into the garage for Seth to take with him to work tomorrow. The university ran a recycling center, and he could drop it all off there.
To my surprise, Nancy, Penny, and Ellen had all picked a few things from the Charity box to keep. I felt rather proud of that. All my junk wasn’t junk. But no one really needed six orange zesters, or four strawberry corers.
“My mom is going to be shocked. Thank you all for your help.”
“Your mom is going to speak to the decorations committee, right? Do you think it would be okay for us to come?”
“I think Bianca had decided to make it a big event, so everyone is welcome.”
I realized my mom had a fan club gathered in my kitchen. It was a little disconcerting. I wondered if I should have paid a little more attention to her books and TV appearances.
“Now all I have to do is plan the menu for tomorrow’s party, do the shopping, buy a hat to cover my hair disaster, and I’m golden.”
“Do you want help with menu planning?” Penny asked. “I love to do that.”
Of course she did. But I needed help. “If you want to stay and help with the menu, I have to feed you lunch. I have stuff for a chef salad. Sound good?”
They all agreed. Then Nancy said, hesitantly, “If you like, I could see about doing something about your hair, while you’re all planning the menu?”
I wanted to cry, but instead I nodded gratefully.
We planned an elegant, easy-to-fix menu. I was thrilled. It would fit my budget, and not take too much time to prepare and fix.
Best of all, the dishes were the kind that were hard to ruin. I still might, but there was less chance of it. And all the menu had cost me was a big bowl of chef salad. Definitely worth it.
Nancy had made my hair look less bad-hair-cut-awful and more fashion-forward-awful. I gave her a hug when she left, and whispered, “I owe you big time, three times over!”
She just patted my shoulder and smiled.
I carefully wrapped two of the pastries for Deb. I’d drop them off to her on my way to the store. But first I had to shower and change out of my cleaning sweats.
Or so I thought, until my cell phone rang. My mom had taken an earlier flight. She was waiting for me to pick her up. Now.
Sigh. Thank goodness for the PTA cleaning fairies.