Page 23 of Mean Moms
Morgan nodded at the woman at the front desk, the longtime school secretary, Mary Margaret.
“Hi, Mary! Just headed to the PA meeting. It’s in the auditorium.
” Mary waved her on, and Morgan headed to the lower level, around a corner and down the marble stairs.
The walls were covered in photographs of Atherton students, some dating back to the 1800s, in their suits and ties and little black hats.
The school had a particular smell—cozy, like a grandma’s old-timey kitchen.
Morgan loved its historic grandeur, the way that people ooohhed and aahhhhed when she told them her children went there, the kindness and brilliance of the staff, especially the new headmaster.
As if she’d said his name aloud, up the stairs skipped Dr. Broker, dressed in his uniform of jeans and flannel. He smiled at Morgan, and she noticed his cheeks looked a little pink, as if he’d been working out on a treadmill.
“Hello, Mrs. Chary! Headed to the PA meeting?” He stopped a few steps down from her.
“Yes, thanks. Will I see you there?”
“Oh, no, not today. I have some pressing things to attend to. You know the drill.”
Morgan felt hands on her shoulders, and turned to see Sofia on the step above, still in her coat, smelling like cold air, her long eyelashes nearly crystallized. Sofia stared at Dr. Broker in a way that made Morgan uncomfortable.
“Dr. Broker,” said Sofia. “I got your messages about scheduling the Atherton Altruist ceremony, but I think it’s not the right time yet. I really don’t feel comfortable being the center of attention.”
“That’s too bad, Ms. Perez! We’d all love to honor you for what you did that day. Especially as a new mom to Atherton.”
“I’ll let you know when I change my mind,” Sofia said faux sweetly.
“Please do, Ms. Perez. Enjoy the PA meeting, ladies!” At that, Dr. Broker headed back downstairs.
The pair walked through the hallway that led to the auditorium, entering to see the first few rows already filled with dutiful PA members, all moms plus one dad, Dreyfuss, whose husband, Rufus, ran development at MoMA.
The room, which had recently been renovated and reopened to large fanfare, was shaped like a large oval, with a stage at the bottom center of the space and circles of plush red seats heading upward from there.
The church of Atherton, Morgan always thought when she entered.
Morgan spotted Gabby and Ava in the first row, heads bent down and together as if praying. Morgan and Sofia sat down next to them.
“Hello to my fellow suckers,” said Gabby. She was in a fuzzy black sweater and looked a little tired. “Anyone know the topic du jour?”
“I think it’s the annual benefit,” said Ava. She was in her usual black top and miniskirt combo, her flat black boots coming up all the way to the tops of her thighs.
“Who’s the lucky family this year?” said Gabby with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
“Why? What’s the story with the benefit?” asked Sofia.
“The benefit is the most important event of the Atherton calendar,” explained Ava.
“And the PA has a family throw it, a kind of hybrid benefit-theme party. They found they raised more money when someone hosted in their own home; that the intimacy of it encouraged big, big donations. So it’s just a lot of pressure on the person who volunteers, is all.
But the upside is that the school pays for the entire party.
Not that it matters to the parents here. ”
Dre Finlay, the president of the PA, stepped up to the podium and tapped the microphone. She was wearing jeans, a striped La Ligne sweater, and Le Monde Béryl flats, the outfit of about half the moms in the audience.
“Hi, ladies! Thanks for making the time. Today we’ve got an important decision to make—which one of you will host the annual spring benefit.
Whoever gets the honors has big shoes to fill.
Caroline Press hosted last year, and we pulled in a record amount of money for Atherton.
One million two hundred forty-five thousand dollars!
” They all clapped. Caroline Press, sitting at the back of the auditorium, stood up and took a bow.
“You’ve had a year to think about it,” said Dre. “So who’s it going to be?” There was silence in the room. Ava jokingly grabbed Gabby’s arm and tried to raise it against her will, and Gabby batted her away.
“Oh, come on. It’s not so bad. We’re all going to help. We basically just need a space.” Dre looked around the pews for any takers, but no one said a word.
“Ladies,” said Dre, her upbeat tone gone stern. “ Someone has to step up. This is Atherton! My friend Whit told me Braeburn raised nearly two million last year. We can’t be outdone by Lauren Parker and her uptown friends!”
There were some awkward sniffles. Morgan could see a line of perspiration beading on Dre’s mustache area. Several women reached into their bags to check their phones, avoiding the increasingly tense scene.
Dre then broke into a huge smile. “Yes! I knew we could count on you,” she nearly shouted into the microphone.
Morgan looked around the room to see who’d volunteered but didn’t spot any hands raised.
She realized that the sucker was sitting right next to her.
It was Sofia, her sharp red nails pointed toward the ceiling.
“Sofia Perez, for the win!” said Dre with relief, and the rest of the PA members cheered politely.
The meeting went on for another hour, with many topics covered (the school’s mental health initiatives; the increased slots for neighborhood safety patrol; enforcing the rules for Atherton end-of-year gifts—there was a $100 per child cap on presents, but it had been roundly ignored).
Morgan listened to the discussion distractedly, thinking of the voicemail she’d received earlier, and reciting her meditation mantra—“I’m a monster on the hill”—in her head.
“I heard that last year, one family gave Mr. Chin two tickets to the Eras Tour. In Berlin! With airfare!” said Ava to audible tsks-tsks. “Those cost thousands and thousands,” she said.
Morgan took that moment to duck out, pushing through the heavy auditorium door into the hallway, then to the nearest bathroom.
The Atherton facilities looked nothing like the ones she’d had in her public school growing up, with their rusty stall doors and scribbled graffiti on the walls.
No, the bathrooms at Atherton were shiny and clean, with stainless steel faucets, Toto toilets, and toilet paper that felt like a cloud.
The room was empty, and Morgan slipped into a stall and locked it.
She pulled out her phone and sent a text—“15 minutes? This meeting is wrapping up.” Then she took out her needle pack, quickly pulled down her pants, and gave herself the shot.
Her thoughts went to Gertrude, who’d told her that sometimes she sat alone in the bathroom during lunch to cry.
It made Morgan want to scream. Instead, she violently kicked the side of the stall as hard as she could, smashing her On running sneaker into the gleaming metal.
Then she did it again. She felt better. Lighter.
It would all be okay. She reminded herself that everything was going according to plan.
Morgan took a deep, calming breath (“I’m a monster on the hill”) and opened the stall door, stepping out to see Sofia looking directly at her, hands on her hips.
Morgan swallowed an expletive. She looked down at her purse to make sure she’d hidden her Wegovy, but it was sticking out, the top of the needle visible.
She saw Sofia’s eyes clock it before looking away.
Morgan took her bag off her shoulder and shoved its contents down in one nonchalant movement.
“Sofia! You scared me,” said Morgan with a little laugh. Sofia smiled.
“Why would I scare you? I had to pee, too,” she said.
“But why are you standing here like that?” said Morgan.
“I was just thinking,” said Sofia. “You must have been deep in thought, too. You didn’t even flush!” Morgan felt heat rising up her face. “But I did hear you kick. Is everything okay?”
“I’m amazing,” said Morgan lightly, brushing her off. “And I must have forgotten to flush. Silly me; there’s just so much going on lately. It’s exciting about the benefit,” she continued, stepping around Sofia and heading to the sink.
“Yes, I think it will be a perfect first party for my new apartment,” said Sofia. “I’ve even thought of a theme.”
“Already? That was quick,” said Morgan, washing her hands. The water was too hot, and her fingers were burning, but she kept going anyway.
“A surrealist ball,” said Sofia. “With a New Year’s Eve twist—though it’s in May.”
“That’s clever,” said Morgan, moving past her. “I’m going back to the meeting now. See you in there.”
But Sofia blocked her from exiting, standing directly in front of the door.
“I really need this party to go perfectly,” she said, putting her hand on Morgan’s shoulder. “Will you do your best to help me? Por favor?”
“Of course,” Morgan answered, shaking Sofia’s hand off. The rings around Sofia’s dark eyes were pulsating. “I’d do anything for a friend.”
Morgan, who rarely made errors, silently cursed herself for underestimating this woman.
A Note from Mary Margaret, Secretary, Atherton
Greetings, Atherton mothers and fathers and caregivers,