Chapter 3: Mom's the Word

Chapter 3: Mom’s the Word

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Getting up earlier than seven in the morning is just plain wrong.

On so many levels.

But here I am making sure my son has a proper breakfast on this, the most important day of his very young life.

“Mommy, can I have more cereal, please?”

“I’d rather you have some more sausage. Cereal won’t keep you full.”

“But if I eat more cereal, I’ll be more full,” he argues. His eyes dart from mine to the cereal box expectantly.

“Eat your food, Garrett.”

This is what happens when you pray for a smart child. You also get a smartass. It’s part of the deal.

The drive to school brings me back to when I was a kid and mom used to drive me. The same trees, the same curves of the road, the familiar smell of wet earth as I’d open the car door and step out, inhaling the cold, misty morning air. 

Garrett stares uneasily out towards the brick building, watching other children walk in pairs and groups. I can sense the hesitance rolling off of him. It breaks my heart, but if I don’t get him out of this car, I won’t be doing him any favors.

“Don’t worry, G. I’m going to park the car and walk in with you, okay? All the other kids will be going in with their mommies and daddies too, just like you.”

He simply nods.

Lord, help me. I can’t tell who’s more nervous, him or me.

Entering the kindergarten hall, I immediately come across familiar faces. Faces that were once pudgy, round, pimply, and innocent, are now older, more defined, and laced with the air of experience and age.

“Bella? Bella Swan?” 

I know that voice.

“Oh, my God, it is you!”

The grating timbre in the woman’s voice is unmistakable. 

“It’s me. Lauren!” She flashes her unnaturally white teeth.

Yes. Of course it is. She’s the same as she ever was—all fake blonde and tanned skin.

“Hey there, Lauren, I thought I recognized you. It’s good to see you after all this time.”

No. No, it’s not. At all. I’d rather have my teeth pulled without anesthesia. 

“I know!” she squeals, her voice caustic enough to peel paint. “I heard you were back, but didn’t believe it! I figured the only way you’d come back was if you’d fail out in Seattle. Oh, I hope that’s not the case.” Her fake air of concern makes me want to punch her.

Glad to see she’s stayed consistent. She’s still an utter bitch.

I decide to keep my explanation minimal, since I know she’s really after the juicy story of my failed relationship. “Oh, well I just thought it was time to slow down a bit. Fortunately, I’m doing pretty well for myself, so I can basically work from anywhere. I figured Garrett could gain from being closer to his grandparents.”

“I see. Well of course, of course. I think someone mentioned you ran a little blog, that’s so precious.” She emphasizes the last words condescendingly and pats me on the shoulder.

Oh my God, can I slap her, please?

“Yes I guess you could say that,” I respond flatly, glancing around for friendlier faces. Garrett is starting to fidget, pulling me away towards the classroom.

Luckily, one friendly face makes me forget about the root canal I’m currently experiencing with Lauren Mallory.

“Angela?”

“Bella? Ah! I heard you were back! I’m so happy to see you!” She comes at me with the hug of the year, and I let go of Garrett with just enough time to return the gesture.

When she pulls away, I get a chance to take her in. Her once long brown hair is shorter now, styled in a typical mommy ‘do, but she looks great. 

“How long has it been?” she asks, “too long, I think. Gosh, you look amazing! Is this your little one?” She looks towards Garrett with a bright smile. My son is a good judge of character and seeing no threat he quickly relaxes, smiling, eyes sparkly.

“I’m Garrett! Are you friends with Mommy?”

“Why yes I am, Garrett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She holds out her hand to shake his, which he loves. Makes him feel grown up.

“Your mommy and I were best friends at this very school. And now look at us,” she adds, glancing back up at me. “Here we are with kids of our own. Full circle.” She shakes her head in disbelief. I’ve missed Angela. I forgot how much fun we used to have together.

“Yeah, totally insane,” I agree with a smile. “So where’s your spawn?”

Angela snorts. She always liked my snark.

“Lily’s inside already. C’mon. Let’s look for your special seat, Garrett. What do you say?”

“Okay!” he exclaims, taking her proffered hand.

The classroom is bright with lots of windows. It’s clear they’ve done some renovations in the last few years, because I don’t remember ever seeing this much natural light in these rooms.

The walls have vividly colored decorations of letter and numbers, labels naming each object, charts showing future reading progress and to monitor assignments. It’s all quite cheery. Garrett’s going to have a blast here.

When he sees the art center, with all the easels, paint buckets and brushes, his eyes widen and he runs towards them. Angela smiles at his reaction.

“He’s adorable, Bella. And look, he’s already made a friend,” she says with a wink. I look to see him talking to a little mini-Angela. It’s like I’ve stepped back in time.

“Wow. Look at her. She’s a carbon copy of you! What a cutie.”

“Ha! Don’t say that in front of Ben’s mom. She swears she’s all Cheney. But I agree with you, she’s all me.” She snickers, bumping her shoulder against mine. 

Lauren walks into the room towards a tall, scrawny boy with stringy white-blonde hair, just like hers. 

I was hoping her kid was in a different class or grade. Great, this is going to suck.

Behind her, something written on the blackboard catches my eye.

Welcome to Mr. Cullen’s Kindergarten Class!

It’s written in that perfect schoolteacher lettering. 

Mr. Cullen? A male kindergarten teacher? Alright then.

An image of a middle-aged gay man wearing coordinating polo and khakis while spewing the importance of embracing the inner creative and exploratory self comes to mind and I smile. At least it’s not some crabby old lady too close to retirement to care.

“So where’s the teacher?” I ask no one in particular, still staring at his name.

“Oh, he’s probably in the main office or something. He was here earlier, and boy, is he a hot number.” Angela sighs dreamily.

I chuckle. “Oh yeah? Is he from Forks? I don’t remember anyone with the name Cullen from school.”

“No. I think I heard he’s from Chicago. Moved here a few weeks ago. Of course, all the moms are already trying to sink their teeth into him, the sluts.” She whispers the last word as she leans towards me in confidence, annoyance clear on her face.

“How do they know he doesn’t bat for the other team? Chances are he’s not into chicks.”

Angela shrugs, her eyes drifting over to where our children are playing. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I highly doubt it. But I guess you never know these days, right?”

Just then, I feel the air change around me. There’s a sudden burst of positively charged energy that stops me from forming my rebuttal. Angela looks over my shoulder, a small smile and wide eyes playing on her suddenly interested face.

The next few minutes happen in slow motion. At least, it feels that way.

The female chatter from the moms halts.

Lauren adjusts her boobs. 

The heads of children start to crowd together as they travel to the source of the excitement.

My eyes are trained on his rather large shoes. 

They move up to long, dark gray pant-clad legs, then trail over a broad chest and shoulders covered by a light blue button-down shirt. 

And the forearms. 

The forearms are just… just… wow. Wanting to lick them would just be so cliché. But that’s exactly what I want to do… so bad. I especially want to run my tongue along that vein that vines across from somewhere around his elbow down to his wrist.  They’re peeking out of rolled up sleeves, taunting me. 

Evil forearms.

Finally, the strong jaw line, the shock of light brown, almost bronze hair—it all brings me back to last night.

Dancing.

Touching.

Kissing.

Drinking.

Oh, God… lots of drinking.

My loss of equilibrium forces me to hold on to something. I think it’s Angela’s arm, but I can’t be sure. I’m still staring at his forearms.

“Whoa. Hey, are you okay?” she asks, her voice containing a hint of amusement.

It’s him.

“It’s him,” I rasp out, trying to be subtle.

Angela narrows her eyes at me. “Who? Mr. Cullen? Yeah, that’s him. Do you see now what I mean about all the horny moms? I mean look at Lauren, shameless hussy,” Angela responds, shaking her head in disgust.

I have no words. He’s there, saying hello to all the little boys and girls in his class with a huge bright smile on his face. 

Before I can find a little rock to hide under, however, the voice of my son rings out, coming closer. Shit.

“Over here, Mr. Cullen! Come meet my mommy!”

Shit. Shit. Shit!

I suddenly find the classroom library shelf very, very interesting.

“Here she is! Mommy, look! This is my teacher, Mr. Cullen. This is Mommy!”

I can hear his velvety laugh. Good Lord.

“Okay, okay, buddy!” his deep voice replies. “Let’s meet the mommy who’s made you so excited about school…”

A hand reaches out from my periphery. This is it. Angela must think I’m nutso. I can’t even look at her right now to confirm.

“Hi. I’m Mr. Cullen. You must be Garrett’s mom, I’m pleased to meet y…”

And there it is. I turn just in time to meet his glance.

He’s frozen. I’m frozen. There’s a bouncing five-year-old holding my hand. I slowly lift my other hand to offer a tiny wave.

“Hi.”