Chapter 12 Vanessa
Vanessa
I’ve never been the mom that all the other moms love.
I’m not super organized or adept at running things. I’m not exceptionally crafty. I don’t dress in the trendiest stuff, and I’m not great at planning things. I can barely manage to keep the right food in the house so my kids can make lunches.
I’ve always worked, at least part time, but usually full time, and I’m just not Natalie.
So I’m not at all surprised when I show up for the Fall Showcase and discover that Natalie knows everyone’s name and they all know hers.
The mothers at the Blackwater Community School love her already, and we’ve been here two months and change.
Meanwhile, all the moms who should be my friends hate me.
“Hey, you.” Natalie hooks her arm through mine. “Trina’s bird painting was far and away the best.”
They looked more like Franken-birds than real birds, but it’s nice of her to say. “You saw it?”
“It was the closest to a parrot, with the rainbow feathers, and that made it the best.”
“It was supposed to be a painting of a local bird.”
“You know, back home, there was a little flock of parrots who always flew around the park. Apparently people bought them and then somehow lost them, and they all banded together to keep from getting eaten by hawks.”
“Did that work?” I can’t help smiling. “I can almost picture it. Parrots in leather jackets with spikes.”
“I mean, they still got eaten, but not as fast, anyway.” She’s smiling. “I think if they’d put on little jackets, that might have dissuaded the hawks.”
“Birds of prey are amazing.” Trace drops into step beside me. He takes care of our owl, Niamh, every single day like he promised. She likes him as much as she likes me. “But you know what’s not?”
Bryce falls into step on Natalie’s other side. “School showcases.”
I love that they’re getting along so much better than they ever did back in Colorado. “I don’t know,” I say. “This has been pretty neat so far.”
“That’s because you went to the elementary side first,” Trace says. “Trust me, no one wants to read my lame essay on the history of the Protestant church in Ireland.”
“Wait, did you write that?” I’m actually impressed.
“More like ChatGPT wrote it,” Bryce coughs.
Trace throws something at him, but I can’t tell what it is. It’s small, and it bounces off Bryce’s shoulder and careens into the wall. Before I can try and pick it up, Trace tugs on my arm, pulling me right up next to the fire escape doors. “C’mon, Mom. If we go home now, I’ll do all my homework.”
I glare.
“Without using ChatGPT to do it.” He grins.
And I cringe. If I was trying to convince Natalie that he’s not a horrible match for Clara, this would not be anywhere on my list of the best ways to do it.
“Hey, I’m headed over here to check on the twins.” Natalie points. “But I’ll catch you over on the high school side in a bit.”
“No, she won’t,” Trace says. “Right?”
Just then, I see Naomi, Maeve, and Ciara whispering in the main hall. “Fine,” I say. “Sure, let’s bail. We just need to grab Trina.”
As if he had been hiding her in his pocket, Trina springs out from behind Bryce. “Boo.”
“Where did you come from?” I press my hand to my heart. “I swear, you were not there four seconds ago.”
“It was her idea,” Trace says. “She wanted to see if she could surprise you.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Jack.
Hey, just finishing up with the kids. Meet me in the main hallway?
That decides it for me. The only thing worse than seeing the other moms point and whisper is having Jack there so they have to fake smiles, and knowing they’ll be whispering and criticizing me later.
“Fine, fine,” I say. Then I text Jack back.
Just left—catch up tomorrow. I’m exhausted.
That night, I go to bed early, feeling like a pretty big loser.
But the next morning, I remind myself that it doesn’t matter if none of the other moms like me.
I didn’t move here for them. I moved for Bryce and Trace, who are loving it here, and for myself, because I have two best friends who live here.
I toast some amazing Brioche bread from a local bakery that I’ve fallen in love with, and then I smear it with mascarpone cheese, and I slice the somewhat decent strawberries I found at the market and place them on top.
My cute little breakfast looks like a work of art.
So when I march over to Natalie’s place, and I realize she must be at the barn, I’m in such a good mood that I keep right on walking until I approach our nearly-perfect new barn and arena.
Sure enough, Natalie and Sam are riding in there.
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t realize. . .” I can’t help my frown.
Sam pulls Scout up next to me, reaching out over the railing. “What is that? Is it food?” She gestures with her hand. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a hippo.”
“Gross,” Natalie says. “Hippos are all blubber.” She stops, but she doesn’t reach out her hand. “I had coffee already. Two cups. It was a mistake—I can still feel it sloshing around in my stomach.”
I lift my toast, noting that Sam has already downed an entire slice. “You could sop up the coffee with this.”
“What is it?” Sam asks, from around a full mouth. “It tastes like a fruit-flavored cloud of cream.”
I laugh. “Mascarpone toast with strawberries. It’s like buttered toast but more decadent.”
Natalie frowns. “And probably even more calories.”
“Please tell me you’re not dieting again,” I say.
She laughs. “Haven’t really ever had a successful diet. It turns out I only lose weight when I’m happy and busy.”
“So right now,” Sam says. “Because you’ve looked pretty happy riding every morning.”
“I had to ride every morning,” she grumbles. “I was terribly out of shape when I started, and the show is this weekend.”
“You need to nail that counter canter today,” Sam says. “So if you aren’t eating, back to posting trot and get warmed up.”
Natalie grumbles.
Sam crams down another piece of toast, leaving me five more slices, and then she shoots me an apologetic look as she pushes Scout forward. “I don’t need Foxy today,” she says. “You should go grab her and join us.”
Trail rides are one thing. Riding in the arena. . .it still makes me all shaky to think about it. “I just came to watch, guys. No riding for me today.”
Natalie stops alongside the rail again. “Oh my gosh, you have to grab her and pop in, even if it’s just for a bit! But imagine if today’s ride goes great. Maybe you could ride a few times, and then you could show with us this weekend, too! Please, Vanessa! Come on! It would be so fun.”
Show with them in four days, after barely riding more than a trail ride or two for the last few years?
I know they’re excited for me to join them, but it kind of feels like they only want to be my friend if I do what they want to do.
“Sorry, guys. I have to get back to do my accounting stuff. Maybe next show.”
Natalie pulls her horse up, the red roan. I forgot its name. Looks like a mare, from the way it’s tossing its head. “Yeah, but—”
“Natalie, I just can’t.” I wish I could fold my arms, but I’m still holding the toast they didn’t want, that’s now cold, like an idiot.
She blinks, her eyes a little hurt. “Okay. Sorry.”
Now I’m the villain. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not being fair. Why don’t we all grab lunch today? I can go back and do my work, and then we could all get a sandwich or something.”
Natalie freezes, her whole body stiff, and she glances at Sam. The two of them make eyes at each other, and then Sam jumps in.
“The thing is, we have to do some shopping in town—”
“I like shopping,” I say. “In fact, I could use a new sweater or two.”
Natalie’s frowning. “It’s not that kind of shopping.
It’s the boring, tedious kind.” Her face brightens.
“Actually, maybe you could come with us. You can help mediate. I want to go with bigger pipes, but if we do that, we have to extend the tack room wall, and then the saddle racks Sam wants won’t fit. Or at least, four of them won’t.”
“And then we won’t have enough saddle spots for the horses we have,” Sam says. “Which would be stupid. So I think we just use the same old pipes, and with the new extender things, we should be fine.”
“You think it’ll be fine, but there’s no way to know. We could wind up here again, with another leak, only this time the insurance company won’t pay for any of it.” Natalie’s scowling and it has the look of an old argument.
“They won’t cover all of it now,” Sam says. “You said—”
“I don’t like the price, either.” Natalie whips back toward me. “But hey, now you can be the tiebreaker.” She beams at me. “You’ll totally get that we’re better off paying more now than risking future damage, even if it means less saddle space, right?”
I would rather die than be their tiebreaker. “Uh, actually, I forgot I had to do that projection you wanted with the different booking numbers.”
Natalie frowns. “So you’re not coming shopping?”
I grimace. “I don’t think I can make it this time. Sorry. You’ll have to work this stuff out yourselves.”
As I trudge my way back to my little cottage, I can’t help wondering how the morning went so badly.
I thought we’d all eat some toast, and they’d compliment me for finding this fun, relatively low-calorie breakfast. I thought we’d talk about the upcoming holiday season, and maybe I could grumble about the other moms. But instead, they kind of ignored me, only wanting my opinion to help referee their fight.
Though, from their perspective, maybe I was the ridiculous one.
They were both busy doing something on a limited amount of time, and I march in with my plate of food, expecting them to, what?
Stop riding, ignore their horses, and just gush over how nice I am to make them breakfast when they didn’t expect it and probably already ate?
What’s wrong with me?