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43 | Harvest Time SASHA

Isn’t the fun of a festival contingent on it being special? I was once invited to a bluegrass festival in Colorado. That was fun. Once .

But I am not the PS421 event planner. I do not volunteer enough as it is. And, so, I cannot throw shade at the VIMs who have organized yet another gathering. It is Saturday. Crisp and overcast. We are headed to the schoolyard for yet another school-sponsored bonanza: the Harvest Hellscape! I mean, festival!

At least, we are spared wearing costumes, though Nettie has put a leaf on Bart’s head and called him “deciduous.” He’s game to keep it there for as long as it’s along for the ride. And for as long as it takes to him to figure out what the word means. His big sister is making him guess.

“Does it mean tall?”

“Nope.”

“Yellow?”

“Nope.”

“Good at balancing stuff on your head?”

“Nope.”

We may be here for a while.

The kids are perfectly happy with our plans. I am more dubious. After all, they are off to play pirates with friends on the jungle gym, draw scenes with chalk on the asphalt, take a single sip of hot apple cider before realizing they hate it again. Maybe they will make leaf collages. Maybe they’ll eat Rice Krispies Treats imbedded with candy corn and topped with autumnal sprinkles. Maybe, afterward, I’ll be lazy and order pizza for dinner.

But I am nervous. And excited. But mostly nervous. Because I don’t know what it will be like to be with Ethan here. We haven’t been at school together since our cotton candy shift, and no labels have been established since he came to my house. Will we hang out or play it cool? Will I spend my time pretending not to scan the surroundings for him while I chat with other parents? And, then, when I do inevitably spot him, will I pretend I don’t see him until he sees me? Will I look without looking? Long to stop longing?

It has been five days since he appeared in my doorway, then pressed me up against my door. Five days since he handed me conch shells and I jumped his bones.

It left me wanting more. I am still envisioning how we might’ve desecrated the couch if pick-up hadn’t come so soon.

In those five days, Peter sent me and the editor the raw footage for the Escapade video content. I watched clips and sections and thought it was good. I watched as Ethan and I, as silhouettes, walked to the farthest point of the sand spit, then I stopped it before I watched myself fall.

I am not the better for the last five days. I am not less hooked on Demon Dad. I am replaying every second of my time on the island, pretending I am mining it for intel but really basking in its joy. How long can I ride this wave?

When I am supposed to be cooking dinner, playing Clue, watching Clue , doing work, in my mind, I flash to me and Ethan getting carried away en route from the outdoor shower to my villa room. My hand against his stomach. His rough against my hip. Our towels askew in all directions.

I have almost been able to push worry for my mother out of my head for a minute, worry for my dwindling bank account. As we near the school gate, I see Celeste waiting just inside. She waves. Looks pale. Jamie is still playing mountain man. I haven’t seen her all week, except in passing. She has hired a sitter to help with pick-up. But I know enough to know he’s not back.

Nettie, Bart and I head up the steps to the schoolyard. Inside, a few of the usual VIMs are sitting at a folding table with the school administrator standing beside them. Yes, that school administrator. A toy soldier.

They sure do love a folding table. Red Vest. Green Vest. Kaitlin.

Has he told her? If so, I think I would know. Ethan and I have been texting nonstop since he showed up at my house and changed the way I see my furniture forever. In fact, he has planned what he is calling our “non-first-date date” for tomorrow night. (We still do not agree about whether we had a date at Citrine.) And he is being secretive about where he’s taking me.

I haven’t been so excited about something for ages.

At the sight of Kaitlin, I bristle, inwardly. She has always creeped me out a bit. The intensity behind her hawkish eyes, especially when she talks about our shared past. But now I push those thoughts aside. She’s just another mom. Another divorced mom, making it through the day.

I stop in front of Green Vest, a hand resting on each of my kids’ shoulders.

“Hi,” I say.

She opens her mouth to speak, but Kaitlin cuts in.

“Continue down this way to make space for others, please.”

We do as we are told.

“Hi,” I say again.

“Hello,” Kaitlin says. She doesn’t smile. Except her eyes. There’s some amusement there.

“We’d like three entry tickets and two activity wristbands, please.” I pull out my debit card.

She looks up at me, not down at the roll of red tickets. Her hands don’t move. She is wearing a purple knit hat with a pom-pom on top. Her scarf is a match. There’s nothing wrong with either. In fact, they look expensive. Pretty. Cashmere. But they are a set. Her blond highlighted hair sticks out the bottom, blown out. She doesn’t look like she grew up here. She never did. Never quite fit.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she says.

It takes a moment for me to absorb this. “Wait, what?”

“I can’t sell you tickets.”

“Um. Okay. Why not?” Was I meant to purchase tickets in advance? Did I miss yet another reminder?

“Because. Your kids’ medical records are not up-to-date.”

This is unexpected to say the least.

My heart starts pounding. Zero to sixty. The school administrator is giving me that look again. Patient but impatient. Like I’m here to complicate her day.

“Of course they are,” I say. “We filled out the forms at the beginning of the year. They’re still good. That was only two months ago.”

Right? I’m sure that’s right .

Kaitlin shakes her head. “Their vaccination records are not in the file.”

“Mommy,” says Nettie, looking up at me. “Are we not allowed in? Do we have to go home? Or get a shot?” She looks worried. The leaf floats off Bart’s head and lands at our feet. Neither she nor Bart notices.

“Don’t worry, Nettie,” I say. “It will be just fine.”

“Come over here to wait,” says Celeste. She walks up and shares a meaningful look with me, then urges my kids off to the side, a hand on each of their backs.

“My kids are fully vaccinated,” I say to Kaitlin. “For all the things.”

“Are they though?” She crosses her arms, leans back in the folding chair like a Mafia king. “Unfortunately, unvaccinated children are not permitted at school functions. But perhaps you can clear this up before school on Monday. Or move to Florida.” She shrugs like she’s so sorry-not-sorry and then says, “Next!”

“No!” I yelp, as some dad steps up and then jumps back. I have had enough. Not just of this, but of the uphill battle that is existence. I know I should try to keep the peace with Ethan’s ex for future’s sake, but this is pushing it.

“First of all, they are vaccinated,” I say. “Second of all, the school has the files. Third of all, how would you even know what’s missing? Why are you rifling through my kids’ files?”

Kaitlin purses her thin lips. “As class mom and PTA president, it is my responsibility to know all things and protect the student body.”

“Excuse me, but as class mom and PTA president, it’s your responsibility to organize bake sales, not invade my privacy!”

Kaitlin shrugs, unmoved. “I have earned special access. Something you wouldn’t know about because you’re so uninvolved with the school community.”

I get it. I do. To an extent. Lisa—Mom Who Never Stops Talking—is standing nearby gaping and biting her nails. Even she won’t speak up. I’m not surprised to get pushback from Kaitlin, though this is more psychotic than anticipated. But she knows. Ethan obviously told her. And she’s mad. Why didn’t he warn me?

“Look,” I say. “Kaitlin. Is this about Ethan?”

If possible, her glare sparks with even more hatred. If her eyes were lasers, she would end me. “About Ethan how?”

And now I am trapped. Does she know or not? She is emanating a rage that suggests she does. Also, she is refusing my children entry to their own school. So, I’m going to bet on yes.

“About me… and Ethan. Being together.” Sort of.

I swear, in that moment, the wind picks up. An oaktag sign blows off the popcorn stand and across the blacktop. Kids duck to avoid getting hit. The streamers and ornaments grumble and clash.

Kaitlin tilts her chin up at me and hisses, “I fucking knew it.”

Ah. Okay, then. She didn’t know. And now I have confirmed her suspicions.

I wish I could burrow into the ground. But there is no hole to be found.

Ethan said this wouldn’t matter much. Kaitlin didn’t want him anyway. The divorce was mutual. But, in this moment, she does not strike me as thrilled.

“But to be clear,” she continues. “No. This isn’t because you’re banging my leftovers… again. This is because of your lackluster parenting. Let’s just say I checked the file because I had a sense you’d let certain details fall through the cracks and you’d feel entitled to a free pass. As usual, you aren’t on top of things!”

And I am about to open my mouth, to protest this assault on my character, when suddenly those words echo through me. On top of things. Again . And, in that moment, so much clicks for me.

Those words. That became an inside joke between me and Ethan. The words he hurled at me outside the school when Ruby took Nettie’s drama club spot. They were unconsciously borrowed from his ex-wife. This phrase was no accident. It’s something Kaitlin said about me at home. I could just picture her at the dinner table: “Nettie’s mom is never on top of things.”

But why? Why was she talking about me at all?

Maybe I don’t understand the why, but I definitely understand the what . And I can hardly believe it.

Adrenaline ricochets through my body like a comet. It boomerangs like a golden snitch. I have been catapulted into an alternate universe.

And all that comes out, as I point a shaking E.T. finger at her, is: “You!”

A smug smile creeps onto her face. Her eyes look hollow. Like she is not sleeping.

“Me what?”

“You. You’re the reason I’m not getting the school updates. None of the reminders. Why I lost the after-school drama slot! And the hoodie—well, maybe not the hoodie. But kind of! You’re the reason my information keeps getting erased from the system. Why I got cotton candy duty! You’re doing this to me—on purpose!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Even as Kaitlin laughs, she eyes me with triumph. She looks to Red Vest for commiseration, but her buddy is too rapt to notice.

“This predates anything with Ethan. So, why would you do this? What do you have against me?” I ask.

Her mouth drops open. “What do I have against you?” she repeats.

I have pushed the right button. Or maybe it’s wrong. The nuclear one. It’s clear from the way she pushes her camping chair back, scraping it against the blacktop, and stands up. She makes herself big like I’m a bear she is trying to scare off.

“Yes!” I press. “What’s your problem ?”

“What’s my problem? What’s your problem?” she spits. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else! You always have. Waltzing up in your stupid leopard jackets and wide-leg jeans and high-tops, thinking you’re so on trend!”

“Now my wardrobe is a problem? Is it also unvaccinated?”

We are making a scene. Especially here. In this quiet neighborhood with this quiet school. We are not at all quiet.

This feels like my new MO.

“You’ve always been this way!” she snaps, her face contorting with rage. “You’ve always been above it all. Always had it so fucking easy.”

Always?

“Please watch your language!” says the school administrator. “There are children here.”

But Kaitlin is well past listening. “You just take whatever you want and don’t even care who you step on or ignore! Well, welcome to Earth, where you can’t just treat others like shit.”

I am pretty sure you can treat others like shit on Earth, unfortunately. And I cannot believe what I’m hearing. How long has this woman hated me? Is hate even a strong enough word? She’s been actively working to make my life harder for months!

The part of me that isn’t vibrating with fury is struck by the fact that she thinks my sheen stuck. The teenage sheen that dulled decades ago. This woman thinks I am still the person I was at sixteen years old. At twenty-two. At thirty. I am both horrified and compelled by this realization—and the chasm between how others see us and how we see ourselves.

“Fine,” I say. “I’m not your favorite person. But why would you sabotage another woman? Other children? Another mom?”

“Oh. Like you’re here to help other women? Or do you just take what’s theirs? When I got divorced, you could have offered me commiseration. But you just ignored me as always!”

There it is. At least in part.

I exhale. “Kaitlin, I’m sorry if you feel like I’ve ignored you, but I really don’t understand. You were fucking with my life before Ethan and I even met. What did I take from you?”

“What’s going on?” booms a voice from behind me. A deep male one. With equal parts authority and shock. Demon Dad. I know without turning around. “What’s happening?”

When I do swivel to look at him, disbelief is surely written all over my face. Eyes popping out of their sockets. He too looks alarmed. What she has been doing to me—to my kids—is mind-boggling!

I take a deep breath. I will remain calm. “What’s happening is that your ex-wife has apparently been on a mission to ruin my life.” I can’t believe the words as they come out of my mouth. “I know it sounds bonkers, but it’s true. And now she won’t let my kids into the yard.”

He closes his eyes, lets his chin fall to his chest. Exhales sharply. Like he wishes this wasn’t happening, but it is within the realm of possibility. Then he approaches the table. “Kait,” he says quietly. “What are you doing ?”

Kaitlin brings a hand to her neck, perhaps the slightest bit chastened by Ethan seeing this go down in the light of day. She sticks her chin in the air, defiantly. “She did it to me with Hugo and now she’s doing it with you.”

“What did I do?” I ask.

“Who is Hugo again?” Green Vest asks Red Vest.

I’m wondering the same thing.

“Hugo! The guy she cheated on Ethan with,” Red Vest stage whispers back. “Keep up!”

“Wait. That same guy from high school who she’s always talking about?” I ask Red Vest. She nods until Kaitlin turns and glares at her.

Ethan looks beyond humiliated. Like he wishes he could disappear.

“I legitimately don’t understand,” I say to him. “Do you? What is she talking about?”

He exhales. Clears his throat. His shoulders slump. “She thinks you stole her boyfriend in high school.”

“What? She does?” I look at Kaitlin. “You do?!”

“Yes! I do!” she shouts.

“Hugo—?”

“Reyes!” she finishes.

“I don’t even remember him, really.”

“Of course you don’t,” says Kaitlin. “You only care about yourself! You just make out with whoever the fuck you want!”

“But weren’t you broken up?” I say, scrunching up my nose. I am trying so damn hard to remember. Kaitlin in those days. This random boy. One mediocre drunken kiss. One random night. Eons ago. And now this?

All I can come up with is my own heartbreak from that time. It obscures everything else. An encompassing fog through which I can only catch glimpses of objects. My high school boyfriend had recently cheated on me and then surprised me by dumping me instead of groveling when I found out and confronted him. He was sorry, he said, but he was out (though we would both come back for more punishment later). There was pressure from his friends; there were a lot of pretty girls who liked him. In his defense, he was essentially a child. But he left me desperate. And I went looking for absolution in flirtations with other boys in baggy jeans and backward baseball hats. Other boys who acted more grateful to have me around.

God, I feel old.

“Technically, yes!” Kaitlin is saying, her pom-pom bouncing as she talks. “But we only broke up the day before! And you were supposed to be my friend, even if you dumped me. And, I swear, everything has been shit from then on.”

“You blame that incident for ruining your whole life?” I say, even as I silently recognize my own lingering abrasions. I’m not judging her for holding on to it. I’m legitimately trying to understand. “Like, this is why you hate me enough to punish my kids?”

She crosses her arms. “It was love. And, because of you, it was unfinished business.”

Love. I turn to Ethan. Lower my voice. It is all starting to crystalize before my eyes. “And that’s the man she cheated on you with? Like recently ?”

He nods. Lips tight.

“Like she found him on Facebook or something?”

He nods again. Jesus. This is next level.

“Did you know she hated me this much?”

“Not this much,” he says, destroyed. “She kind of hates everyone.”

“I definitely hate you!” Kaitlin says to him.

I look at Red Vest. Green Vest. Lisa. They all nod like this is true. Why am I on a Real Housewives episode?

“Is this why you pursued me?” I ask Ethan, suddenly stricken. “Like, as revenge? To hurt her?”

“I didn’t think I just pursued you. It seemed kind of mutual?”

“Ethan!”

“No. Of course not,” he says gently. “I told you. I don’t care what she does. I’ve never wanted revenge. Especially now. This is extreme. And worrisome.” He brings a hand to his temple. Rubs like he’s trying to reset his brain.

“Oh, sure!” says Kaitlin, who has clearly overheard. “But it’s not extreme that she went after you?”

“Actually,” I say, turning to her, “I didn’t go after anyone! We didn’t even know each other before, really. When you screwed up my life, you kind of forced us together. God! I should have known when your daughter happened to get that one after-school spot.”

Ethan runs his hands through his hair. It is safe to say he is stressed out. “Obviously, I didn’t know,” he says to me. “I hope you realize that.”

I look at Kaitlin, all red-faced and deranged. Red Vest, Green Vest and Lisa, staring wide-eyed. Celeste, her hands like one-sided ineffectual earmuffs on one of each of my kids’ ears. The line of parents behind us, gaping as they wait to get in. Redhead Mom near the front, unblinking. I look at Ethan, a perfect barn jacket, over a perfect gray hoodie, over a perfect white T-shirt. The color drained from his face, creased with worry. And I cannot believe this is my life.

I’m not sure for whom I feel worst.

I turn back to the table. “You need to let my kids in now,” I say. Red Vest and Green Vest stare down at the blacktop. They want no part in this, and I can’t blame them.

“No,” says Kaitlin.

“Let them in,” I say.

“You’re missing a form,” she says. “And also you suck.”

“Let them in, Kaitlin!” says Ethan. “This is not okay.”

“No.”

We are at an impasse. Except we are not.

“You. Will. Let. Them. In!” booms the school administrator, stepping up to the side of the table. My hero in a festive blazer and leafy necklace. “I don’t know what’s happening, but we will get to the bottom of it all. This is most certainly an abuse of your power.”

Kaitlin opens her mouth to protest.

“Take a break!” the administrator says firmly before anyone can speak. She looks to Celeste. “Please walk the children in. They don’t need tickets. It’s on me.”

Celeste hurries Nettie and Bart inside, hopefully not as traumatized as I feel.

The school administrator’s eyes rest on me. The eyes I have so often felt were filled with judgment. “I will personally ensure that you are no longer left off school mailers and newsletters.”

“Thank you,” I say with a shuddered exhale. “I appreciate that.”

In that moment, I realize I have been so busy complaining about being “Mom” at drop-off and pick-up, about having no name, that I never noticed that she didn’t have one either. Maybe this woman also just wants to be seen.

Kaitlin throws her hat down, hair wiry with static, and storms off toward the bathrooms. Red Vest, Green Vest and Lisa do not follow. She is radioactive.

I take a few steps back now that my kids are in. Take a moment to collect myself. Ethan stands against the fence, shell-shocked. One hand white-knuckles the wire grid.

We are silent for a full minute. The ticket line begins to move again. Other parents file in, buy wristbands and join the throngs. Like nothing happened. Almost. Redhead Mom steals a look at me, then pretends she didn’t. Hurries her kids inside. Our silent kinship is over. I have become that mom. I am flashing back to when the Golden Globes video of Cliff first surfaced, the way the others looked at me. I realize that at least now, faced with public humiliation again, I don’t care nearly as much. Growth.

“Did you know—?” I ask Ethan, but I’m not even sure what to say. “Kaitlin was this troubled?”

He shakes his head.

“She wasn’t always like this,” he says.

I nod. Although I kind of think she was, to a degree. It’s why I never got close to her when we were kids. I could feel the way she moved around the world with a scarcity mentality, like she always felt she’d somehow been shortchanged, even then. She seemed to experience other people’s wins as her losses. Ethan may not have seen it. But sometimes people don’t notice all the things. If they don’t want to.

“I didn’t steal her boyfriend,” I say. “In 1995.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“What’s Hugo doing now, by the way?”

I figure Ethan has done his homework on the other man.

“You want to look him up too? Rekindle things?”

“I think I’ll pass.”

“He’s a substitute doorman on the Upper East Side. And a ‘music producer.’ At least according to his social profile.”

I nod. “That tracks.”

“Tracks track.” Ethan pauses. “I think maybe Kaitlin needs a vacation,” he says, staring into space.

“It seems like it,” I agree.

We stand together, watching the buzzing schoolyard for a beat. A group of fourth graders are competing in a Hula-Hoop competition and they are all terrible.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asks me finally. “I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this.” He looks like he really is. He’s the one who is likely not okay.

I care about him. Am almost moved to offer help. But there are red flags everywhere. And I’ve already been burned too many times. If age has taught me anything, it’s to learn from my mistakes.

“You didn’t know she was messing with my life,” I say. “But you definitely knew she hated me. And you didn’t warn me. You said this wouldn’t be a big deal. But that was a lie of omission. And, to be honest, Ethan, this isn’t the first thing you neglected to tell me.”

“Sasha, I’m so sorry.” His shoulders slump. “I never imagined it could get this bad. I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”

We both know this is a no-go now. We are a no-go. The non-first-date date is off. For good.

I want to cry. My stomach feels like a void. But, instead, I say, “On the upside, now I know, despite all the missed Silly Sock Days and permission forms, that I’m not losing my mind.”

I force a smile. He can’t really return it.

There isn’t much left to say. Whatever ease existed between us has been blown sky-high. Life was certainly simpler on island time, where only the iguanas were thorny. Where’s a baby stingray when you need one?

“I better go find Bart and Nettie,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Assure them I’m not a hussy. Then explain what a hussy is.”

He nods absently. “I should find Ruby too.”

He doesn’t move. A pall has settled over us. We are coated in sad.

Who are we now? I wonder. All of us. Besides hollowed-out versions of our former selves. Are we us from before? From three minutes ago? From three years ago? From thirty years ago? Who are the people we carry with us? Can we ever reclaim them or, conversely, let them go?

As I walk away, Celeste spots me and runs up to give me a big hug, shaking her gorgeous head in shock and shoving a ginger cookie in my face. My heartbeat is only just returning to normal speed. And, when I look back, Ethan is still standing where I left him. By himself. Leaning against the chain-link fence. Perhaps trying to find himself in time.