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12 | No Time to Say Hello, Goodbye KAITLIN

On Thursday at pick-up, I almost don’t recognize her. There’s a bit of the old Sasha in the way she struts up, posture at once straight and relaxed, smooths her hair and waits in oversize sunglasses for the children’s classes to emerge outside. She knows she looks good. She is “feeling herself,” as the kids say.

In place of her standard hoodie and Nike high-tops, she’s wearing an actual blazer in leopard print, high-waisted wide-legged black jeans and suede booties. She’s dressed for something .

I gaze down at my own skinny jeans, cross one leg in front of the other. I know they’re not on trend anymore. And they need a wash. But they’re comfortable, and it’s just pick-up.

Once, I wouldn’t have been caught dead looking basic. I would have known what was what. Seemingly, it’s still effortless for Sasha. Or maybe she’s trying hard. Either way, it’s exhausting to me.

It’s amazing how quickly something that feels essential can become obsolete. That could be the title of my autobiography.

I think about how much my daughter wanted to spend time with me last year, how distracted I was by my own impulses, how different our lives looked. I’m nauseous. The salmon I bought for dinner has turned in my mind.

I pull out my phone, open my to-do list in my notes app and type: Buy Ruby new clothes. I’ll troll H&M tonight. I may have come up short, but there’s still hope for her.

Sasha pets a passing dog, notices me and shoots me a perfunctory smile, checks the time on her phone multiple times. Begins tapping her toes.

She’s late. She’s late. For a very important date.