Miss Scarlet's School of Patternless Sewing (16 page)

Contrasting emotions flooded Mary Theresa’s mind from hour to hour, swinging from one extreme to the next. The elation of making her children laugh to fear about the future of her marriage. To stay sane, she surrendered all her energy to being a mom. She cleaned the house while Rocky and Lucy were at school, and finished in time to pick them up and escort them to their various extracurricular activities. When they arrived home, she cooked dinner, helped with homework, argued and/or bribed them to bathe and go to bed. On a good night, she only spent twenty minutes begging them to fall asleep, but most nights it took an hour. By the time she settled in to work on the NorWest account, the clock hands had moved well past ten p.m. and she could barely stay awake.

Their relief came in the form of Margaret Anne, Mary Theresa’s mom. At seven a.m. sharp on Saturdays, the chipper grandma didn’t even have to walk up to the porch because Rocky and Lucy were already waiting on the patio bench, their little hands gripping their overnight bags. Mary Theresa sat next to them, excited to spend the day at Vega’s Vicious Vinyl with her patternless friends. She had already made a purse and a basic skirt. Nothing out of the ordinary; she had made more impressive garments in high school, but she loved turning off her home life and tuning in to the antics of Olivia, the teenagers, and Scarlet’s kamikaze work stories. Mary Theresa could hardly wait for the upcoming lessons, which included a mystery field trip next week, a wrap dress, and a simple shirtwaister.

She grabbed two bananas from the fruit bowl on the kitchen island, slung them under her arms, swooped up the bowls, and marched to the kitchen table.

Cooking for first-graders, Mary Theresa had learned these past few weeks, turned out to be more difficult than leading a team of snack-grubbing computer programmers. She blamed Hadley. She had specifically instructed him to feed the kids a healthy yet tasty morning meal consisting of his choice of either steel-cut oats, plain yogurt with granola, or turkey sausage and scrambled tofu. As a treat on Fridays, unsweetened Cheerios. Now that she wore the chef’s apron, she was horrified to discover that he had tweaked her list: chocolate-chip pancakes, fried eggs, and pork sausage—and on Fridays, disgusting sugary cereal.

Mary Theresa did her best to lure the kids to the healthy side. Problem was, she had never cooked much in her life. Growing up, her mother ruled the kitchen, at college she ate in the cafeteria, and Hadley had handled the spatula spinning ever since. Last week, she’d made steel-cut oatmeal, but she didn’t cook it long enough and both children spit it up. The next day she tried seasoned tofu with spinach and cheese, and grinned in delight when she noticed their plates were clean. But a few hours later, the school office called because her son had his meal in his backpack and the smell was disrupting class. So instant organic oatmeal it was. The kids were even picky about that….

“Look, Mommy, I can pick up this whole piece of oatmeal with my spoon! It’s like Play-Doh!” Lucy shouted. “Can I make a flower out of it?”

“No, it’s like peanut butter,” Rocky said. “But Mommy, I think there are too many raisins. I can’t see the oatmeal part very much. How do I only eat the oatmeal?”

Mary Theresa wiped her hands on her apron and pulled up
a chair in between her twins. “Mommy is still getting used to cooking. It doesn’t look pretty, but it still tastes yummy!” She lifted a big spoonful of Rocky’s raisinfied oatmeal and
Choo-choo
-ed it to his mouth.

Lucy broke out in a fit of giggles. “He’s not a baby! We don’t do choo-choo anymore. You’re funny, Mommy!”

“OK, then. Open your mouth and eat your breakfast,” Mary Theresa ordered.

“But Mommy, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Open.”

Lucy jumped off her chair and tugged at her mom’s arm. “He can’t!”

Mary Theresa gave her a scolding stare strong enough to send little Lucy back to her chair. Her chocolate eyes welled up with tears.

“Rocky Javier Cotorro you
will
open tu boca. Now.”

Tears streamed down little Rocky’s face as he let his frowning jaw fall. Mary Theresa shoveled in the full spoon and he began to slowly chew and shake his head in sorrow.

“Why are you crying? See, it’s good!” She said proudly, wondering if Hadley went through this every morning.

“I’m… cryin’ ’cause I’m—”

“Chew!” she said.

“I’m allergic… to… raisins,” he said as he was just about to swallow. Lucy handed her mom the phone and covered her eyes with her hands. “You hafta call 911, like Daddy did.”

Suddenly Mary Theresa remembered Hadley warning her about Rocky’s raisin allergy. Oh gosh, she had even taped a sign on the refrigerator door. How could she forget?

“SPIT IT OUT!” Mary Theresa yelled, lunging for him. She cradled him in her arms, tipped his head down, and scraped the
offending oatmeal from his tongue into the bowl. She rushed him to the kitchen sink, heaved him up, and washed out his mouth under the faucet, even though he swore he didn’t swallow any of it. Without even turning off the water, Mary Theresa clenched him to her and kissed his head and apologized repeatedly to both him and Lucy. Full-time parenting sure wasn’t what she thought. It’s like
Nanny 911
meets
COPS
meets the Dalai Lama meets Rachael Ray, all on steroids.

Once the commotion subsided, Mary Theresa let the children choose whatever they wanted to eat, and they both pointed at the Nilla Wafers in the pantry. She handed them the box.

“Go for it, sweeties,” she said as they all filed back to the table as if nothing had happened. Lucy and Rocky devoured the cookies with both hands. One day off schedule won’t hurt them, she decided, especially after the unnecessary trauma she’d just put them through.

“So, my angelitos, tell me what you’re learning in school.”

“Kwanzaa!” Lucy said. “It starts the day after Christmas, but we’re doing it now.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mary Theresa said, relieved that the raisin situation seemed to have disappeared from their minds. “Tell me what you’re making to celebrate.”

Rocky stopped chewing. “Mommy, me and Lucy are proud to be African American. You know that? I’m very proud. Kwanzaa is really cool.” He shoved another cookie in his mouth and nodded.

“Oh, sweetie.” Mary Theresa laughed. “You’re not African American, you’re Mexican American.”

Lucy shook her head no. “No, Mommy, we are African American. Our teacher told us!”

This wasn’t the first time Mary Theresa had dealt with this issue. Both she and Hadley had the complexion of tamarind,
she with wavy hair, and he with micro curls, which he often kept cropped close to his head. Many thought she was Italian and he was black. But this was a first for Lucy and Rocky.

Mary Theresa motioned for them to sit on her lap. “You are not African American, so please don’t say that. It is incorrect. I’m Mexican American, so is Daddy. All right?”

Lucy began to cry. “No, Mommy. Just like with the raisins, you don’t know. We are African American!”

Hadley’s words rang in Mary Theresa’s mind: “I want you to get to know your children.” How could she not know all this time that her kids weren’t aware of their own culture? Was this their fault as parents, or the school’s? She honestly didn’t have a clue how to resolve the wreckage.

Noticing the clock, Mary Theresa quickly put their coats on, handed them their backpacks—but not before checking them for oatmeal—and guided the kids out the door to make it to school.

When she returned, she would surrender her pride and seek reinforcement. And she knew exactly whom to call.

T
hank you for coming, Rosa. You must think this is very odd,” Mary Theresa said as she invited her new friend inside her home. “Did you have any trouble punching in the code? A lot of people who don’t live in gated communities get flustered right away….”

“No trouble at all. Joseph had a business matter to tend to, so I asked Scarlet to bring me. I hope you don’t mind.”

Scarlet came up from behind Rosa and hugged Mary Theresa. “Hi, chickie, you OK?”

Mary Theresa groaned. “Oh no, I didn’t mean to turn this into a big production. It’s really no big deal. Scarlet, shouldn’t you be at Carly’s right now? I don’t want you to fall behind on your work because of me. I know you stay up late sewing, and you were late to class last night helping with your aunt’s dress order, you don’t have time for this.”

“I took the morning off. No biggie,” she replied, removing her winter-white overcoat. “Rosa said you needed help; I’m happy to oblige. We’re here. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Well, then—thanks. Come on in and have a seat in the family room,” said Mary Theresa as she held out her arm to guide them. “I called about um… a… um… sewing project.” She
had made a sudden executive decision
not
to discuss her personal marital issues with these women. Even if she did feel awful about them driving across town on her behalf. She would whip up a quick lunch and send them on their way.

“You called about a sewing project. OK,” Rosa said, semi-convinced, noticing the clutter of plastic game pieces, chunky kids’ books, and the random pint-size shoes strewn throughout the two-level house. They brought back memories of when she had a child in her life.

Mary Theresa didn’t have any makeup on, but wore her usual creased jeans and pressed polo shirt. As Rosa and Scarlet trailed behind her, they wondered if the mom knew that she had a chunk of oatmeal hanging from her ponytail. Scarlet, in a black pencil skirt and emerald cardigan, unsnapped the hinge on her black patent-leather handbag, whipped out a tissue, and removed the clump when Mary Theresa wasn’t looking.

“Wow, this is a lovely casa,” Scarlet said, admiring the vaulted ceilings and wide hallways that stretched in two directions. The walls were tall but bare, except for a solo framed southwestern print on each one. She took a quick gander around to find the entry wall decorated with stick figures in crayon and said “Awwww…”

“The kids did that,” Mary Theresa said in a flustered but controlled tone. “My husband is working in Palm Springs until February and they miss him a little… so they draw pictures of him. On the walls. I apologize for the mess; I haven’t had much time to clean up today. It doesn’t usually look like this. It’s always very orderly.”

Rosa let out a polite chuckle. “It’s nice to see a house where children play,” she said. She felt so weak, she almost didn’t make it over. She had wrestled through the night with an upset stom
ach after her doctor’s appointment. In the morning, Joseph had tried to make her stay in bed, but she refused. She sensed an all-too-familiar hint of desperation in Mary Theresa’s tone.

“So where is that sewing project?” Rosa asked.

“What sewing project?” Mary Theresa replied, nervously spinning the wedding ring on her finger. And then she remembered. “Oh,
that
sewing project…. Hmm, let’s see.”

Just then, the sound of sizzling water came from the kitchen. Mary Theresa jokingly smacked her head. “I forgot I put water to boil for our tea. I’ll be right back; please make yourself at home,” she said, leaving Rosa and Scarlet alone in the family room.

“Mary Theresa…,” Rosa sang out. “Your computer is ringing like a telephone. I’d answer, but I don’t know how.”

Mary Theresa hustled over and hunched over the screen. “It’s a video phone call. It’s my kids’ teacher calling. This is very efficient because we can converse face-to-face at any time. I called the school and filed a complaint this morning; wait until I tell you what happened!”

“Answer it, dear,” Rosa said. “I’ll go finish making the tea.” Scarlet joined Rosa in the kitchen and they both winced when they overheard the gruesome conversation in the other room. The teacher explained, quite loudly, that Rocky told the entire class that “Mommy made his daddy live at a place called Skype in the computer and his daddy can’t get out.”

Still eavesdropping, Rosa gasped while Scarlet poured the water into the teal ceramic mugs. They heard Mary Theresa argue back that her children were Mexican American, not African American. Whatever that meant. The women waited until Mary Theresa hung up and then they proceeded to join her back into the room with the tea.

Rosa placed her hands gently on Mary Theresa’s shoulders.
“Take a breather, dear. Let’s go sit down and drink our tea and talk,” Rosa suggested.

Mary Theresa blew air out of her mouth and reached for the cup—but then the telephone rang. She held up a finger, mouthed “school principal,” and then picked up the handset.