Chapter 4
Dear parents,
Welcome to the Hopkins School Parent-Teacher Association!
We managed to exceed our fundraising goals last year, and this year we are hoping to exceed our total from last year! But we need volunteers to achieve the standard of excellence that is expected of our PTA.
I hope all of you will consider attending our first meeting at the Hopkins School library on Tuesday night. We will be discussing all of our goals for the year and how you can help us to achieve those goals!
The meeting is expected to last approximately three hours.
There will be NO FOOD. If you do attend, you will be expected to stay for the duration of the meeting.
I would also expect that when the meeting concludes, you will help us rearrange the tables and chairs back in the configuration they were prior to the meeting.
IMPORTANT: All electronic devices should be powered down during this meeting. The welfare of your children requires your complete attention. Simply putting your phone on silent is not acceptable.
Hope to see you Tuesday night!
Your PTA President,
Julie Bressler
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
I had an episode of Sweet Secrets about French toast. Technically, it’s not a baked good, but I love it, and the episode was really popular.
My secret for the perfect French toast batter is a pinch of brown sugar.
And of course, brioche bread. Bobby always gobbles it up and asks for more. And so does Elliot, for that matter.
I cook it in a mix of butter and oil until it’s perfectly crisp on the outside and still moist in the center. I love the way my boys’ eyes light up when I put the plates down in front of them.
“You make the best French toast in town, April,” Elliot declares as he shovels a bite into his mouth. “You’re going to give me a heart attack, but I don’t even care.”
“Aw, you really know how to flatter a girl.”
There are some cut-up strawberries on the plate too, so that’s the healthier element. But Bobby is meticulously eating around them. Oh well.
My own plate consists of an egg-white omelet and three strawberries.
If I’m going to be on camera every week, I have to maintain my figure.
So I never eat any of my sweet treats, and I go running three times a week.
And speaking of looking my best, tomorrow I’ve got an appointment at the hairdresser to touch up my roots.
My dark roots are very visible on camera—if I let them go, I always end up getting comments from viewers.
Elliot finishes his French toast in two minutes flat, then downs the rest of his coffee in a single gulp. Part of me is hoping he might stick around for a bit, but it’s clear he’s rushing to get to the office. Again.
I miss my husband.
“Sorry I’ve got to run.” Elliot leans in to kiss me, and I let him, although I’m tempted to turn my head, so he’ll get cheek rather than lips. “I’m not sure if I’ll make it back in time for dinner.”
My heart sinks. “Elliot…”
“I told you, it’s really busy right now at work.” He chews on his lower lip. “Listen, if you can, why don’t you stop by the office, and we’ll grab lunch together?”
I sniff. “Are you sure you’ll have time?”
“Hey.” He pulls me close to him and presses his lips against mine. Even after all these years, I still melt when he kisses me. Yes, my husband isn’t perfect, but I love being married to him. “I can always make time for you.”
Well, that’s not really true. But I’ll let that one go. Why pick a fight first thing in the morning?
Bobby is still taking his sweet time finishing his French toast, so I walk Elliot to the front door.
He kisses me one last time, then hops into his Tesla and takes off, nearly smashing into the postal truck pulling up in front of our house.
Considering how much money he spent on that damn car, you’d think he would drive more carefully.
I own a white SUV that was voted safest car in the year I purchased it.
As he drives away, I go to my phone and load up the latest episode of April’s Sweet Secrets.
The brownie episode is still in editing, but the episode I recorded last week is now live.
I made a chocolate soufflé. The episode took me forever to film, because my first set of soufflés totally fell. I had to do the whole thing twice.
I’m very pleased with the number of views I’ve had so far. It looks like I may surpass the views on my last video. I start scanning through the comments:
April, this looks delicious!
You are a master in the kitchen! You make it look so easy!
I’m making this for my next dinner party. Thanks, April!
Love that shirt on you! Blue is your color. The soufflé looks great!
I smile at the first several comments. For the most part, everyone is very supportive. I mean, it’s a baking show.
There isn’t much controversial stuff on there. But then my fingers pause as the comments abruptly change in tone.
Disgusting! Why would April think anyone wants to eat this pile of crap?
Looks like something my dog did!
I think she poured that soufflé out of some newborn baby’s diaper.
One after another negative comment filling the screen. I’ve received plenty of negative comments before, but never quite such a barrage of them. I thought the soufflé episode was really good. It came out looking just like a professional chef would make it.
A lump forms in my throat as I scroll down, waiting for the hateful comments to end. I finally get to the last one:
April’s secret is that she is a terrible cook and a worse person. Trust me—I know.
My phone almost falls out of my hand. You would think after all these years, I would be able to ignore comments like that.
And I can, for the most part. I even had an episode where I made fun of some ridiculous mean comments I’ve gotten over the years.
But this onslaught…it’s so unexpected. And the last one is especially disturbing.
Trust me—I know.
“Shit,” I breathe.
“Mommy, you said the S-word!”
Oh God, where did Bobby come from? Ninety percent of the time, he’s so loud that people down the street can hear him, but every once in a while, he’s like a stealth ninja.
I quickly lock my phone and lower the screen. “No, I didn’t.”
“You did! I heard you say it!”
“No. I said ‘sheet.’ Like a sheet of paper.”
“No, you didn’t!”
I put my hands on my hips. “Bobby, we have to be at your school in fifteen minutes, and you don’t have your shoes on or your backpack ready. Did you even put your lunch in your backpack?”
“Yes…”
“So if I look in the refrigerator, I’m not going to find the lunch I packed for you?”
Bobby wrinkles his freckled nose. I make lunch for him every day, but for some reason, he has glamorized the school lunch, to the point where he manages to “forget” the lunch I packed with alarming frequency. So apparently, it’s one more thing I have to police.
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But Leo says only losers bring lunch from home.”
I wince. I’m really glad Bobby has made friends with Owen from next door, because Julie’s son isn’t the best influence.
Bobby trudges off to pack the lunch I made for him. It’s only when he’s back in the kitchen that I take one last look at the final comment on my YouTube video:
April’s secret is that she is a terrible cook and a worse person. Trust me—I know.
I log into my account, and one by one, I delete all the mean comments. There. Now it’s like it never happened.