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“I’m not deaf. I can hear you.” Mom glares at the condescending woman.
Martha folds her arms and looks down her nose at me. “Is Belizean fudge gluten-free?”
“Well…”
“Nothing in Belize is gluten free,” Mom snaps. “It doesn’t need to be. Our food isn’tpoisonedlike yours.”
“Mom,” I hiss.
“Settle down. Settle down.” Cathleen rises gracefully. “What a generous offer, Nardi, but I don’t think it’s a good idea this go round. We don’t accept food for the fundraiser from just anyone.”
I bristle.
Mom bursts out of her seat. “Who do you think?—”
I grab her hand. “Mom.”
Cathleen spins around. “So that settles that. Ifanyone,” she emphasizes, “is unable to send the financial donation we asked for, then please make it up with grunt work. The booths are arriving tonight and I’ll oversee that. But tomorrow, we’ll need someone running back and forth and setting up all the stalls bright and early.”
Snickers rumble around the room as the women side-eye me. We all know I’m the only one who can’t donate money and thus, I’ve cemented myself as the one they can all order around.
Mom spits Belizean curse words under her breath, but I’m thankful she doesn’t spring from her chair again.
I’m glad when the meeting is over. The ladies huddle together, discussing where they’ll go for after meeting cocktails.
I am not invited, but I wouldn’t attend even if they’d begged me.
After I drag mom out of the room, she continues to swing around with angry eyes.
“Look where you’re going, mom, or you’ll trip.”
“Are they always like that?”
“Yup. It’s why I don’t attend the meetings.” I lead her to the computer building. Through the window, I notice that construction on the computer wing has already begun.
I snap a picture. Cullen should be happy to see that.
Why am I thinking about Cullen again?
“What are you looking at?” Mom notices the construction and huffs. “Let me guess. Another obnoxious, rich parent donated that?”
“Uh…”
“It must be a donation. These rich people, they have no class. I bet they threw money at the school so their dumb as a rockpic-nican graduate.”
“The child that donor is sponsoring is actually really smart,” I say.
“I doubt it,” mom grunts.
I smile secretly to myself.
Just then, the door to a nearby classroom bursts open and Josiah springs out yelling, “Mom?”
Mom immediately drops to her knees. “My baby!”
I watch as they collide. Josiah hugs mom tight and she rocks him back and forth. Their reunion is heartwarming and I’m glad to see mom smiling again after that awful PTA meeting. The first time I attended, my entire evening was ruined and I felt worse than dirt for a week.
“What are you doing here?” Josiah asks, straightening.