Not Ready for Mom Jeans (3 page)

“You know, the women of my generation felt like we had to be Superwoman so we could have a family and a career.” My mom’s voice was proud and stiff as though she was teaching me a valuable lesson.

“Yes, I know. And my mother-in-law, who is a whole one year older than you, tells me how the women of ‘her generation’ considered their families to be their careers and is horrified I’m going back to work,” I said, and laughed.

“Yeah, well, Marianne and I grew up on two different planets. Listen, I have to jump on a conference call here in a few minutes, but I just wanted to make sure you were OK.”

“I’m about as OK as you could expect today.” I put my chin in my hand and sighed loudly.

“Well, I’m sure Jake is being supportive,” my mom said.

“Of course he is—he’s almost like a mutant that way. He said all the right things this morning and even packed me this sad little lunch. Listen, I have to go. Talk to you later, Mom,” I said, and hung up the phone.

“OH MY GOD, THAT IS SO CUTE. A MOM TALKING TO HER MOM ON HER FIRST DAY BACK AT WORK. DID SHE HAVE A HARD TIME LOSING PREGNANCY WEIGHT, TOO?” Mule Face screeched from outside my door as she walked by and picked a wedgie.

Realizing I only had a few minutes before the new client meeting, I scrambled to the bathroom to check my sure-to-be-haggard appearance. I stared in the mirror, not recognizing the homeless woman looking back at me. I ran out of concealer over the weekend and forgot to buy more, so this morning I tried to cover my bluish black under-eye circles with mere translucent powder. I also put highlighter on my brows and cheekbones, desperately hoping to distract from the whole wife-with-an-abusive-husband look.

It was to no avail. I just looked tired, sick, and sorely misguided with shiny brow bones and cheeks. I sighed and washed off the highlighter and tried to convince myself that my appearance probably wouldn’t matter to the Leukemia Foundation staff.

As I smoothed my hands down my Miss Piggy black wool crepe pants, I looked down toward my feet.

That’s when I noticed I was wearing two different shoes. Not just two different shoes, two
completely
different shoes. Different colors, different heel heights. One black pointy-toed mary jane, approximately two inches high, and one gray crisscross peep-toed pump, approximately three inches high.

Thanks to extreme sleep deprivation, motherhood has officially made me resemble a homeless person. Who is blind. With very poor taste.

I wearily smoothed my frizzed-out hair over my shoulders and walked back to my office. I heard Mule Face leading the foundation staff into the conference room, so I grabbed a pen and paper and met Christina in the hallway.

“My kid really needs to start sleeping through the night,” I whispered to her.

“What?” she said. I noticed her makeup looked perfect. Not to mention she appeared to be wearing matching shoes.

“Look.” I pointed down and she snorted.

“Nice. Sure to make a good impression on the new clients.” She sympathetically patted me on the back.

We walked into the room. There were three foundation staff in the room, all resembling slightly dorky suburban moms, and one man, the chair of the golf outing. He was young … hot … familiar …

Holy. Shit. Why today? Why now?

Seriously, God, what did I do? Was I a serial killer in a previous life? Did I abuse little children and defenseless animals? Or am I just your court jester, existing only to provide comic relief?

Greg Thompson. My ex-boyfriend from college. The guy I dated for two years before Jake. The guy who dumped my ass in the middle of a fraternity party. The guy who broke my heart, because I really thought I would marry him. Until one day until he met someone else. It crushed me and nearly killed my fragile twenty-year-old confidence, as I had to undo all of the dreams of us together in the future.

And now, after eight years, here he was—standing in front of me. And I in front of him, wearing two mismatched shoes, twenty extra pounds behind my flabby, stretched-out skin covered by black Miss Piggy pants.

“Clare, wow. What are you doing here?” Greg said, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

I felt my morning bagel start to rumba in my stomach. “Um, I, uh, wow,” I said brilliantly. “Hi!” I finally said as I felt my skin flush.

Everyone looked at me, eyes narrowed. We all stood in silence for a minute.

“I work here,” I finally said. Brilliant once again. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, and the Genius Clare Finnegan will wow you with her amazing IQ and eloquent verbal skills.

“How do you guys know each other?” Mule Face asked, keenly aware of my discomfort.

“We went to college together,” Greg said quickly.

True, technically. But it would’ve been nice if he said:
Clare and I dated in college for the best two years of my life until I made the biggest mistake of my life and broke up with her. I’ve been pining for her ever since, but alas, I heard she got married and now I spend every night of my life dreaming of her. I am also celibate now, since she was so good in bed, no woman could ever compare.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Christina said, and quickly moved over to the foundation staff and began shaking their hands and handing out her business card.

Greg and I just stood inches from one another, radio silence between us. I noticed his gaze moving down toward my shoes and I quickly threw myself in a chair. Except it was a rolling conference chair and it kind of slid out from under me, so I almost toppled out of it. Not exactly a graceful move.

“Er,” I said as my throat closed. I felt my face begin to grow hot as I adjusted the chair. I took a deep breath as I tried to regain my professionalism and composure.

Mule Face’s head snapped back and forth like a rubber band. “So,” she said coyly, “you two were friends in college?”

“Something like that,” I said, and smiled. My lips quivered a bit and my breathing was erratic, but I tried to appear collected. Because, twenty pounds, hideous Big Girl pants, and two hours of sleep be damned, I’m not twenty anymore.

“What a coincidence. And you haven’t talked since?” She pursed her hot pink lips together and tapped her cheek with a Lee Press-On nail.

“Not really,” Greg said. Now it was his turn to look uncomfortable.

Besides, for all he knows I’m living some fabulous life in the city, eating at hip restaurants every night and attending movie premieres.

“Well, I’m sure you two have
lots
to catch up on. Greg, you really should be congratulating Clare right now.” Her eyes narrowed as she got ready to lower the boom.

“Doesn’t she look fantastic for just having a
baby
?” Mule Face said.

I silently wished in that moment that either (a) the world would open up, revealing a secret society living at the Earth’s core where Jake and I could take up residence, or (b) sulphuric acid would rain down upon the conference room, requiring immediate evacuation.

At the very least, I wished Mule Face would spontaneously combust and flail around the room before disintegrating into a pile of ashes at my feet.

“Really? Congratulations! Boy or girl?” Despite seeming gracious, Greg cleared his throat nervously.

“Girl. Sara,” I said briskly as I organized my papers in front of me. I looked over at Christina and she widened her eyes a little, silently asking me to end the reunion already and start the meeting. Mule Face waddled out and everyone sat down to begin. Yet as soon as I turned my attention to the foundation staff, I became keenly aware of one of the women intensely staring at me. I figured she was wondering if I was an escaped mental patient impersonating an event planner (due to the fact that I failed the whole “wear matching shoes” fashion rule and “sit down in chairs without wobbling” motor skills test) until she finally clapped her hands together and said, “
That’s
how I know you!”

I blankly stared at her, wondering if she was another ex from college I’d forgotten about.

“You’re Clare, right? From
Am I Making Myself Clare
? The blog?” Heads snapped in my direction as Christina rolled her eyes.

“Yep, that’s me,” I said quickly.

“I love, love, love your blog. I read it every day. I just loved your last entry about your theory on a global conspiracy between battery companies and infant swings, thus why no infant swings have electrical cords.”

I kept a smile frozen to my face. I saw Greg shift in his chair and look confused. I turned to him. “I have a blog on the Internet.” As I said it, I realized that sentence was probably, um, unnecessary.

“Sounds like it,” he said.

“It’s not just any blog, it’s like one of the most popular on the Internet. All of my friends read it.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and nodded her head. She turned to Greg. “It was even featured in
The Daily Tribune
and now she’s going write some columns for the newspaper!”

“Impressive,” he said, lacing his fingers together.

“So, the outing is going to be at the golf club on September thirtieth?” Christina gave me a pointed look.

“Yes, the golf club. September thirtieth,” I repeated, and opened my notebook. I was thankful the conversation had turned away from my personal life to my professional.

He looks exactly the same,
I thought to myself.

I saw one of the foundation staff members write “Golf Outing” at the top of her page, like a fifth grader doing a history report.

Exactly the same as when I met him freshman year in college.

Exactly the same as move-in day at school, when we met in the quad outside our dorm.

Exactly the same as the day he told me he loved me.

And exactly the same as the day he dumped my ass.

Too bad he can’t say the same for me right now.

“So, we’re lucky to have Greg as the Chair this year,” my blog fan said. She beamed at Greg and he smiled at her.

He always did have that effect on women.

“We roped him into this since we consider his family some of the foundation’s closest friends and family,” my fan said.

Read: they have a ton of money.

“Yeah,” Greg said, and adjusted himself in his chair. “I really don’t know much about planning an event like this at all. So, I’ll be relying on y’all a lot,” Greg said, and looked around the room at each of us.

I smiled at him, bristling at his use of “y’all.” I mean,
c’mon.
We live in Chicago. He’s from Illinois. Using random southern slang does not equal charm.

Christina and the foundation staff did most of the talking in the meeting. As it ended, we all stood up and Greg and I awkwardly shook hands.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” Greg said.

“Absolutely. We’ll ensure the event is a success,” I replied as I made unflinching eye contact.

“Give Jake my best,” he said as he walked out the door.

“Will do,” I said. Right, I’m sure Jake will be just thrilled to hear I’m going to be working with Greg. Jake doesn’t harbor any anger or feelings of ill will toward Greg, since we broke up long before I met him, but I’m sure it’ll make him a little uncomfortable.

“So, details please.” Christina stood in front of my office, blocking the doorway, after Greg and the staff left.

I sighed. “Not a whole lot to tell. College. Two years. He dumped me for some anorexic-looking chick in the middle of a party. Public humiliation followed by heartbreak. Then I met Jake. End of story.”

Christina nodded. “I’m sure you will be a total professional, as you are with all your clients.”

“Thank you. I will be,” I said firmly. At least Mule Face isn’t working on the project. She’d just spend hours pumping Greg for information and filling him in on every stupid thing I’ve ever done, like the time two years ago that I broke the crown on my front tooth trying to open a package of M&Ms.

I settled back down into my office chair, picked up my phone, and dialed Julie, my best friend. I knew if anyone could appreciate the drama of the situation, it would be her. Thankfully, she didn’t have a nursing shift today and picked up her phone on the first ring.

“What’s goin’ on?” she answered.

“Julie, you’re going to die when I tell you who my newest client is,” I said.

“Never say ‘die’ to a nurse. Do you know how many times I hear people say that when they’re admitted into the ER? It has little to no dramatic effect on me,” Julie said. I could hear her favorite show,
General Hospital,
on in the background.

“Greg, you know,
Greg,
is the chair of this golf outing that I’ve been assigned,” I whispered into the phone.

“Greg as in GREG GREG?” Her voice rose about fifty octaves.

“Yep,” I said, and sighed, happy I got a reaction out of her.

“So, let me get this straight. You have to work with Greg, as in your asshole ex-boyfriend who deserves to have his balls cut off and fed to his dog, on a golf outing?”

“Apparently, yes. He’s my new client.”

“I’m sure you were great, though. You probably look fabulous.”

“Something like that,” I said. I put my head down on my desk as I thought of my two mismatched shoes.

“Are you going to tell Jake?” Julie said.

“Of course. It’s not like he has anything to worry about.”

“Why is he the chair of a golf outing anyway?” Julie asked.

“He got roped into it or something. I don’t really know,” I said as I lifted my head up and noticed a streak of baby puke on my Miss Piggy black pants. Note to self: hire stylist when rich enough.

“Just don’t go drinking too many Natural Lights and then call him Dildohead again like you did junior year when you saw him out with his new girlfriend, OK?” Julie said, and laughed.

“I’ll try.” I ran my fingers through my frizzed hair.

God, I’m exhausted.

“This is why I never dated anyone seriously in college—too many opportunities for humiliation later in life,” Julie said.

“Thanks. But dated? Would you even call it that?” I said, and laughed.

“Funny. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll see you Saturday.”

I hung up the phone and sat silently for a moment, giving myself a mental pep talk on how I handled the meeting with Greg. I was pretty sure I kept my head straight and came off as professional and capable. I felt brave enough to pull my compact out of my purse and open it up.