Page 7 of I Think He Knows
Carter:*gif of Gordon Ramsay saying “you’re getting your knickers in a twist! Calm down!”*
Lana Mae:Don’t bring my knickers into this.
Carter:You’re the one who started all the ass talk.
Carter: Although in the land across the Atlantic where knickers are actually a thing, I think they prefer the term ‘arse’.
I’m chuckling and blushing all at once as I stare down at my screen. So much so that a sudden rap at the window makes me almost jump out of my skin.
“Sorry, sorry,” I say automatically as I look up from my phone, but the line in front of me hasn’t moved. And then, I see who’s knocking.
Oh, great. Mona Freaking McCreary.
AKA Mona the Informer, The National Enquirer, and The Buttinsky.
Which is a real word, believe it or not.
And it couldn’t be a more accurate descriptor. Mona’s the president of the PTA and one of those people who always acts nice, but not in, like, a nice way. She spreads gossip like farmers spread manure. Every word that comes out of her mouth feels like a thinly veiled insult, and her smile is so forced and wide, she looks like one of those ventriloquist dummies.
Which might be a little harsh. But in case you can’t tell, I’m not Mona’s biggest fan.
“Cooee, Lana Mae!”
Bang bang bang.
Jeez Louise, is she trying to break the glass?
I reluctantly roll down my window. “Hi, Mona. What’s up?”
“Texting and driving, are we?” She laughs and gives a big, exaggerated wink. “Tsk tsk, naughty naughty. My husband’s a police officer, you know. He’d have you pulled over for that.”
“Would he now,” I say halfheartedly, narrowly avoiding rolling my eyes.
“Hi Keisha, dear. Hi Allegra, that’s an interesting color you’re wearing. Did you pick that out or did your mother… and oh look, how sweet, you got a puppy!” There’s finally a pause in Mona’s monologue. “Do you have time to raise a puppy, Lana Mae? You know, what with being aworking momand all?”
She lowers her voice over the words “working mom” like they’re filthy swears. She’s leaning forward now, practically tilting her head into the car. On the passenger seat beside me, Chimi lets out a little growl.
“Ooh!” Mona retreats hastily.
“Good boy.” I pat the pup’s head, and then give Mona awhat can you do?shrug. “Guess he doesn’t like strangers.”
Mona smoothes her already perfectly smooth white button-down, and puts her smile back in place. “Anyway, I wanted to drop by to say hi and see if you’re interested in running for treasurer of the PTA now that Rebecca is stepping down.”
“She is?”
Mona clutches her chest as her eyes widen. “Oh, didn’t you hear?Divorce.Messy one.” She tsks again. “I’m not one to gossip, but from what I hear, there was another woman involved. Terrible. Just terrible.” She looks positively gleeful about this poor woman’s misfortune. “So, are you interested?”
There’s more likelihood of me signing up for naked unicycle lessons than volunteering to be Mona’s treasurer-slash-minion, but I simply nod and say, “Maybe.”
Mona laughs again, and her next words may be merry, but there’s a clear bite to her tone. “Well, with an attitude like that…”
I refuse to feel inferior to Mona because she always seems to have it together. I’d rather be me, stains and lateness and all, than bemean. If anything, I just want to find poor Rebecca, whoever she is, and give her a hug.
“Oh, look,” I say as cheerfully as I can muster. “The line’s moving. Better go—”
“One sec!” Mona’s freaking head is back through the window before I can get the hell out of here. “Before you dash off, it has come to my attention that Miss Allegra herestillhasn’t turned in her permission slip for the daddy daughter campout at the end of the month. Will she not be attending? We’re raising money forsucha wonderful cause.”
I glower at the steering wheel for a moment and take a deep, calming breath instead of saying what I actually want to say. Which is “What’s the cause? Making Families Without Fathers Feel Like Crap?” When I do finally speak, my voice doesn’t waver. “We’re not sure yet. But I’ll let you know ASAP. Bye, Mona.”