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Your mother’s here.”
“Yeah?” I push the shopping cart in front of the freezer to get the family-size pack of Eggo waffles. Jacob will have a fit if he doesn’t have these for breakfast.
“Yeah. She asked if you were here. I told her it was me and Jacob till you came back from the supermarket. She gave me her patented look.”
“Which look?” I put the box in the cart with all the other things I’ll need to make dinner tonight and for the week.
“The special look reserved for Trigg. She had a special look for me, but she’s replaced it with this one. I gotta tell you, Lace, I’m not liking it. I’m feeling shortchanged. What, I’m not special enough for a you’re-not-good-enough-for-my-daughter-and-grandson-and-I-will-cut-you look? I’m insulted.”
I laugh and a few heads turn. “As you should be. How rude of her not to give you your own branded look of hate and contempt. I have to have a talk with her, ‘cause you’re special. I mean that.” I giggle, pushing my cart to the end of the frozen aisle.
“We are special together.”
“Speak for yourself.”
He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Looking like it’ll be four for dinner. My chances of copping more than a feel are out the window.”
“Aw, poor baby.” I lower my voice, “You play nice with my mother, I’ll make it up to you on sleepover ni—”
“Done,” he says quicker than I can finish.
I come to a full stop in front of three women at the end of the aisle. “Sorry. Excuse me,” I said, smiling, with the phone wedged between my shoulder and ears. They stare at me, the one in front nodding her head with a curt smile, but not moving.
“Lace...all right, Jacob.” I hear Jacob’s voice murmuring insistently in the background. “Lace, Jacob said don’t forget his Eggos. And you should buy peanut butter balls and a host of other cereals I know you’re not going to buy but...I’m advocating for the peanut butter balls. Please, Mommy, they’re my favorite, too.”
I smile, biting down on my lip, while the trio in front of me stares, making me feel off. This can’t be good. Did I break frozen aisle etiquette? If there is, I’ll make sure not to do it again. “You get the peanut butter balls, you can share. Tell Jacob nice try. The closest he’s getting to anything on that list of no-nos is Honey Nut Cheerios. I’m going to check out. See you in a few minutes.” I turn the phone off.
“You’re her,” says the one in the front, in a very hostile tone for someone I’ve never met.
“Depends on who her is. I don’t believe we’ve ever met, so who am I supposed to be?” I say, pleasant enough, even though she and her friends seem the exact opposite in attitude and tone.
“You’re the home wrecker who stole Bree’s husband,” the one on the right says, sending my eyes widening and my breath skipping in my chest.
“You’re the tramp,” the other one on the left says, hands on hip.
“What?” stumbles out my mouth, gripping the handle of the cart as the insults keep coming.
“It’s women like you who give a nice man like Landon a bad name. You should be ashamed, breaking up a happy family.”
Thrown for a loop, totally off guard, my mouth hangs open as a ball of guilt and panic rolls into my gut and out of my mouth. “You don’t know...that’s not—you don’t know,” I stammer, trying to explain to these women I don’t know but feel compelled to explain to. “I wouldn’t—”
“I feel sorry for your mama. By the way, there is no need for you to volunteer for anything at the PTA. Ever,” the leader of the pack says, rolling away with her crew of PTA assassins.
Shit. I don’t dare blink, or close my eyes, or I’ll sink into darkness with my thoughts and insecurities. I thought was stronger than this, than to be dented by a pack of know-it-all, but know-absolutely- nothing about me. Taking the deepest breath I’ve taken in a long time, I look ahead and roll to the check-out, where beyond trying my hardest to be unaffected by those women and their hateful words, I zone out, going through the motions of the check-out with my dignity pricked, at risk of being shattered.
After saying a quick greeting to my mom, who’s helping Jacob put together a puzzle, I bring the groceries in, with Landon’s help. I smile, trying to seem as normal as possible despite stopping on my way here, having a minor panic attack, then getting myself together, reminding myself how far I’ve come. How wrong those women were.
“How do you want them? Well done or well done?” I ask as I put the steaks in a dish, not raising my head as I open seasoning bottles.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m seasoning dinner. Unless you like yours without?”
“Something’s wrong. When you left here, you were all smiles. You were laughing on the phone. This...what you’re doing now is forced. Did something happen in the supermarket?”
Putting the pepper down, I face him. It’s useless to try hiding my feeling from him. Always was. I look over my shoulder to make sure my mom and Jacob aren’t paying attention. “PTA moms. I was accosted in the supermarket by them,” I whisper.
“Who were they?” He scowls.
