Good Moms Should
Desperate to live the life she’s always wanted, she risks losing the one person she loves the most – her daughter.
Sneak Peak
May 2022
Sam whispered a curse into the sky, tipping her face towards the sun. It burned her eyelids, and she welcomed the dull ache of the heat, imagined it searing her blind. When she opened her eyes, the crisp black type on the white background of her phone screen stared back. Bright blades of green grass framed her outstretched hand, and she bristled with anger at all of it; the email, the phone, the grass, even the damn sun. Chucking the phone onto the ground and stomping on it seemed like something a sane person would not do in the middle of an elementary school science fair, so she refrained. Instead, she squeezed her fists tightly until her short stubby nails bit the soft flesh of her palm, easing the ache in her chest.
It was just like Noah, sending an email instead of calling about something this big. He had been in town a week ago for Brooke’s spring choir concert and the school carnival, but of course, he didn’t say anything then. Well, he would have to wait now. She clicked off the phone, stuffed it into her dress pocket, and searched the crowd for her daughter, Brooke.
As Sam grazed her eyes over the swarms of overly cheerful parents and hyped-up fourth-graders, a trickle of sweat slid between her shoulder blades. She wondered idly what she had been thinking, wearing a dress on such a hot spring afternoon. But Sam knew exactly what she had been thinking; she wanted to fit in, look like all the other moms at Winston Elementary dressed in designer jeans and expensive athleisure wear and, although it pained her, dresses. She found it on sale at the mall last week and bought it in a moment of weakness. Now, the black nylon material stuck to her body like glue. She picked at the fabric to release its grip on her skin, but touching it only made the heat worse. She needed to get out of there, go home, and get things done before the last hours of her weekend dwindled.
Sunday afternoons were always the best and the worst time of the week. Brooke probably still had homework to finish, and Sam needed to look over a work project before her Monday morning meeting. Then dinner needed to be decided on and prepared, which she dreaded every single night of the week. Should they have chicken again? Or pizza – again?
A fly buzzed near her eye, interrupting her thoughts. She swatted at it, missed, and swatted again. The insect flew off as Brooke emerged from a group of kids surrounding a giant solar system and sauntered to the next table, displaying an active volcano replica.
Even though Sam hated things like this, showy events for kids to compete over who is more intelligent or faster or better, she tried to pretend to hold an interest. No, not just pretend, to feel interested like all the other mothers. When it came to Brooke’s academics, Sam knew she should ask questions about testing, homework, and the current math method, just as she knew she should have a genuine interest in this backyard science fair. But it was a struggle. Brooke could scarcely get through a school day without a trip to the principal’s office. Worrying about grades seemed silly compared to whether she had another outburst during reading group or got a red card for digging a hole in the carpet during math. Today, Brooke wasn’t even presenting a project at the fair because she refused to participate.
“What’s the point, Mom?” Brooke had asked when the information sheet came home from school two weeks earlier. “The kid with the solar system always wins. Besides, everyone’s parents just do it for them.”
Sam couldn’t argue with that, she knew it was true. And Sam was not about to do the work herself, so Brooke wrote a paper instead. Still, her teacher required her to attend to get a grade.
Sam stood a few feet from the tables, letting Brooke explore, watching her. That’s what she always did - watched Brooke. She kept an eye on her, kept her close, making sure Brooke wasn’t pushing another kid, running into traffic, or jumping from somewhere too high. Sam’s heart seemed to beat five times too fast, always in fight or flight mode and ready to extinguish a fire. Even as Brooke stood calmly, her chin tipped up, eyes glued to an erupting volcano, hands resting on the table, a slight smile playing on her lips, Sam waited for a flash of anger or an elbow war to break out. They always did. These incidents had decreased over the last year thanks to Brooke’s new medication, a godsend, but Sam’s anxiety over what Brooke would do next had not.
“When is this thing going to be over?” a crisp, clear voice interrupted Sam’s thoughts, almost making her jump. A woman with giant sunglasses and shiny brown hair, whom Sam recognized as Remi Taylor, stood beside her. She wore a white tank top, white shorts, and bright red Birkenstock sandals. Everyone knew Remi. She ran the PTA and volunteered for everything. From Sam’s distant point of view, Remi was infused in every nook and cranny of the social goings-on in the community. At some point, though, Sam had gotten the impression she was not actually very nice. She remembered hearing another mom talk about Remi dressing her down in front of a group of friends, but who had said that? When? She couldn’t remember now.
So why was Remi talking to Sam?
