Class(40)

As if he were some kind of Chinese pony.

When Matt finally came to bed, Karen pretended to be asleep. It must have been three in the morning before she nodded off. She dreamed she was skiing down a Swiss Alp with a Russian spy after her who turned out to be Sue Borneo from fourth grade. Which somehow made sense.

The next morning, she tiptoed out of the house with Ruby, leaving Matt splayed on the bed.

Arriving at work later that morning, Karen felt elated despite her exhaustion. In the office kitchen, she came across Molly placing a Tupperware filled with dry lettuce in the fridge. “God, I have the worst headache,” said Karen, reaching for the Mr. Coffee pot.

“Really? Why?” said Molly, forehead knit.

“Because of the benefit last night?”

“Oh.” Molly looked mystified.

Shaking her head, Karen sat down at her computer and checked her in-box. There were the usual press releases from various social service agencies and nonprofits interspersed with LOSE WEIGHT FAST and YOU MAY STILL FIND A DIVORCE ATTORNEY and DEAR MADAM I AM MR UGOCHUKWO FROM NIGERIA 8 MILLION U.S. DOLLARS HAS BEEN LEFT TO YOU BY A DISTANT RELATIVE–style spam. There was also a personal e-mail from Stuart Levy, the executive director of the Jesse James Foundation, which seemed odd and possibly ominous. Karen clicked on it.

What appeared next was an apologetic letter explaining that the foundation was removing its support from Hungry Kids in favor of a new satellite program in urban farming that had been launched by HK’s main—and far better endowed—rival, City Feeds. The news was a blow on several levels. Not only did the withdrawal mean a greatly reduced financial profile for Hungry Kids, but Karen’s continued employment was predicated on her earning a multiple of her salary. Without Jesse James on board, that multiple would be far harder to achieve. Which made Clay’s new patronage that much more important to her—even as she blamed him, at least in part, for the withdrawal.

She blamed herself as well. Maybe if I’d spent less time dancing to “Footloose” and more time buttering up the Jesse James automatons, Karen thought, disaster could have been averted. She also thought the key to solving the obesity epidemic in inner cities was not growing tomato plants in abandoned lots. What were people supposed to eat the other three seasons of the year? To her mind, it was one of those misguided help-people-help-themselves ideas that actually helped no one. But that was beside the point now…

To Karen’s further disappointment, there was no morning follow-up e-mail from Clay. Though there was a personal e-mail from Mia’s mother, Michelle. The subject heading was Ruby. Karen immediately assumed it was a reciprocal playdate invitation. Keen for a distraction from her work woes, she clicked on it. It read,

Karen, good morning. I’m sorry to have to bring this up with you, but Ruby has been pointing at Mia’s private parts in the schoolyard and yelling, “Mia has a wiener.” This has made Mia extremely uncomfortable. I would appreciate it if you would please discuss your daughter’s inappropriate behavior with her and ask her to stop. Thank you, Michelle



On first reading, Karen felt a giggle rise in her windpipe. Surely it was some kind of joke. Except it didn’t seem to be. Irritation followed—not only on her daughter’s behalf but also on her own. Didn’t all children find the topic of wieners and wee-wees endlessly fascinating? Didn’t all adults too? And why shouldn’t they? It was natural to be curious. And who was to say that the purported behavior had even occurred? Though even if Ruby really had pointed at Mia’s crotch and accused her of having male genitals, did it merit such a stern e-mail? They were still too young to understand why society insisted some parts be kept covered and others not. And if Michelle was that upset, she could have spoken to Karen in person rather than lodging the complaint as she had—formally, in writing, as if Ruby had committed a sex crime. It seemed suddenly clear that an ocean separated Karen and Michelle after all and that the intimacy they’d shared during Mia and Ruby’s playdate the week before—at least until the Chips Ahoy! had appeared—had been no more than a mirage.

It was also clear that Karen’s workday was off to an epically bad start.

Just then, her phone pinged with a text from Matt. How was the event last night?

Apparently a fiasco, Karen wrote back. Jesse James pulling funds from HK. Also, Ruby’s friend’s mother accusing Ruby of being sexual predator. Not kidding. Details tk.

Oh no and whhaaaaat? he replied.

And how was your dinner? she wrote back, reminded that her husband was the one adult in her life who really cared about her.

Inconclusive, he answered.

Even so, Karen was still hoping to hear from Clay and found herself checking her in-box at five-minute intervals throughout the day. When six o’clock arrived and he still hadn’t written, it confirmed her suspicion that their flirtation was a pointless distraction. It also shored up her resolve to keep their relationship professional.

That evening, over a dinner of buttered bow ties, organic chicken tenders sautéed with panko bread crumbs, and peeled slices of McIntosh apple—to date, Karen had chosen to ignore the implications of her daughter’s preference for all-white and beige dinner food—she attempted to address the Mia business with her. “So, you and Mia are still friends, right?” she said.

“Why?” asked Ruby.

“Because her mom says you’ve been saying stuff to her in the playground that she doesn’t like.”