Not Perfect(6)

“I’ll be right back,” she said, handing Nora the pills and glass and going into the kitchen to google “$500 bills.” She learned they do exist, but haven’t been printed since 1945. She went back in and looked again at the game. The money was all still there: ones, fives, tens, twenties, fifties, one-hundred-dollar bills, and five-hundred-dollar bills.

“Can I fill your bank, dear?” Nora asked.

“Fill my bank?” Tabitha asked. She had to get out of there. Nora seemed fine. She was happy, now she’d had her Advil, the oven was off. “I have to go.”

“No, dear, please play a little,” Nora said, and for the first time Tabitha heard something other than playfulness in her voice. Sadness? Hopelessness? It sounded awfully familiar.

“Okay, just a little,” Tabitha said, taking a seat across the board from Nora. It was all set up with the Scottie-dog piece ready to play on the Go space and the rest in a pile waiting for Tabitha to choose. She reached for the thimble. She felt she needed protection of some kind and this seemed like the best choice.

“I’ll go first,” Nora said, rolling the dice.

Tabitha couldn’t stop looking at the money. She knew there should be fifteen-hundred dollars in front of her, if Nora had counted right. She fingered the dollar bills then went to the far left of her stash and picked up a five-hundred-dollar bill. It looked funny to her. Real but unreal. How hard would it be to take it? To drop two bills on the floor and come back up with only one, after pushing the other one into her shoe? Would Nora notice? Five hundred dollars would buy a lot of everything bagels. But then again, was there any way to spend a five-hundred-dollar bill today? Was that part of the setup?

“Your turn, dear,” Nora said.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” Tabitha said quickly, standing up too fast and jostling the board. Nora’s dog fell over onto its side.

“Okay, dear,” Nora said matter-of-factly, righting the dog. For a very brief second, Tabitha felt slighted that Nora didn’t ask her to play for just a little while longer, that she didn’t seem to care anymore if Tabitha stayed or went, but then she told herself again that this was not her mother. Her mother was gone.

“Come back soon, dear,” Nora called, picking up the dice and rolling. She moved the Scottie forward.

“Thank you,” Tabitha said. “Thanks for the muffins.”

“Speaking of,” Nora said. “Please take the rest. I can’t stand cranberries.”

Tabitha hesitated, then went back to the table and lifted the muffin pan, which she could see was disposable.

“Take the whole thing,” Nora said.

Tabitha hesitated again, even looked over her shoulder, wondering if there were cameras capturing this exchange. “Will she or won’t she take the muffins?” A television host was whispering into the microphone in a control room somewhere. “Well, folks, she takes the muffins. That’s how desperate she is. But at least she didn’t take the money.”

“Thanks again, Nora,” she said.

She pulled the door closed and leaned against the wall while she waited for the elevator. She had to get a grip. Offered muffins were one thing, money was an entirely different animal. That could have been bad.



“What’s for dinner?” Fern asked the minute she saw Tabitha in the schoolyard. She must be so hungry. Tabitha presented her with the muffin tin, four big cranberry muffins. Fern’s eyes went wide, and kids swarmed around them, as they always did when there was food in a schoolyard. Tabitha had the urge to aggressively push them away. But Fern was parceling out the muffins, and the kids were cheering and skipping off. In the end, Fern had just one muffin to herself, and it took all of Tabitha’s energy to not grab them all back.

“So what’s for dinner?” Fern asked again in between crumbly bites. Her question didn’t sound as urgent as it had a few minutes before.

“All things goat cheese,” she answered, pushing Fern’s hair out of her eyes.

“At home?” Fern asked.

“No, at Aunt Rachel’s store,” she said.

“Oh, that reminds me, they need you to bring a snack tomorrow. They want a cheese plate,” Fern said. “With some nondairy alternatives.”

If that weren’t such an impossible request, Tabitha would have laughed. With some nondairy alternatives? Why do a cheese plate in the first place?

“I’ll be right back,” Tabitha said, leaving Fern in the yard.

She went through the school’s front door and stepped into the lobby, feeling normal for the first time all day. Here she was just Tabitha Brewer, Fern and Levi’s mom. She was not the poor little rich girl she now felt like out in the world or the recently abandoned wife.

“Tabitha!” Julie called to her. Julie was the head of the parents’ association, one year into her two-year term. It seemed to Tabitha to be the most thankless job out there. Sure, she was acknowledged at all the meetings and luncheons, but really, she didn’t get paid and she spent her days trying to find volunteers to help her with events that most people could live without.

“Julie!” Tabitha said back, hoping she sounded nicer than she felt.

“Did Fern tell you we need a cheese plate for the parent reception tomorrow? It’s at lunch, after the string ensemble concert. I don’t know how many parents will be present, hopefully a bunch, so make it nice, and make it feel like a meal. Okay? Baguettes are always a good addition, some fruit. Oh, and there has to be something for those who can’t tolerate the dairy—hummus maybe?”