I pulled up to my daughter’s school on Friday afternoon. I was dressed pretty conservatively in a pair of khakis and a Springview polo shirt. I went into the office and smiled at the secretary, Mrs. Garon. “Morning, Mrs. G,” I winked. “How are you?”
“I’m good, Mr. C.,” she chortled. “Are you here to pick up Emma?”
“I am. I have an appointment and Emma’s been asked to be there,” I said.
“I’ll call down to Ms. Denali’s room to get her ready to go,” Mrs. Garon replied.
After she made the phone call, I leaned against the counter. “I have a question. I’d like to add another adult to be approved to be allowed to pick up Emma. Right now it’s me, my mom and Emma’s mother,” I sneered the last one. “How can I add someone else?”
“Just fill out this paperwork,” Mrs. Garon replied. “Would you like to add this person as an emergency contact as well?”
“Yes, please,” I answered. She handed me a stack of paperwork and I quickly added Bella to the list of approved adults to pick up my baby girl.
“Isabella Swan?” Mrs. Garon asked. “Is she someone special, Mr. C.?”
“She is,” I blushed.
“Well, there will be a number of soccer moms that will be incredibly upset that you’re off the market, Mr. C. You were quite the fodder for female admirers,” Mrs. Garon giggled. “Our principal included.”
“Oh lord,” I laughed nervously.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Mr. C.”
“No harm, no foul. I just never realized…”
“You were so wrapped up in your little girl, you couldn’t notice it. There aren’t many parents like you, Mr. C. Now, the ex-Mrs. C. She falls into the pile that leave much to be desired,” Mrs. Garon spat. “She behaves worse than the students.”
“She’s just very catty and belittles the other children. I’ve only ever heard her in passing, snickering about one kid who is fat or another kid who is not from money. She makes her opinions known about she feels about the less fortunate. She was actually asked to leave the PTO Mommy and Me event because she made some comment to another parent about their daughter’s weight and behavior.”
“What did she say, Mrs. Garon?” I asked, my blood pressure rising.
“She said that the little girl in question was going to be a mommy by the age of fifteen and that her mother dressed like a whore,” Mrs. Garon whispered conspiratorially.
“When was this?”
“In late September,” she replied.
“The night she showed up with Emma bawling at nine at night,” I growled. “It was supposed to be a lock-in, right?”
“Yes. Mrs. Jones was livid with your ex-wife and had her escorted off the property,” Mrs. Garon said apologetically. “I’m surprised that Mrs. Jones allowed her back on school grounds after that. I’m so glad that Emma lives you. She takes after you and your kind disposition, Mr. C. You’re a good man and you’ve raised a wonderful little girl.”
“Thank you, Mrs. G.”