“So, is everything all right at school?” I ask David, sitting on his bed as I watch him bang on his drums.
“Mm-hmm.” He nods, though I’m not sure if he’s nodding at me or to the music.
He’s finally allowed me inside his bedroom and he’s talking to me now – mostly mumbling and nodding. He doesn’t look into my eyes. But at least he’s no longer pushing me away. Maybe the time Randall spent with him yesterday did some good, after all.
“So, how’s Josh?”
“The usual.”
I pick up the leaflet for his school recital from the bedside table. It’s on Thursday. No wonder he’s practicing so much.
“Do you think it’s okay for me to go to your recital?” I ask him.
He just shrugs.
Okay.
“Is this the song you’ve decided to do?”
It’s “Two Steps Behind” by Def Leppard.
He nods.
“I know this song. It’s one of my favorites.”
No answer. I’m beginning to think I’m having a monologue.
“Who taught you this song?”
“My drum teacher last summer,” he says.
Finally.
“You seem very good,” I tell him. “I can tell you’ve been practicing for a long time and that you really like the drums. How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was six.”
“I see. I learned to play the guitar when I was your age.”
David falls silent again.
“If there’s anything you need—”
“Sorry but I’d like to concentrate on practicing,” he cuts me off.
Right. That’s my cue to leave. At least I lasted more than ten minutes.
I stand up, the leaflet in my hand. “I’ll give this to your dad. Keep up the good work. You’re doing great.”
I leave the room, sighing but trying not to feel down. Hopefully, after the recital, David will have more time and then he’ll warm up to me again.
I go back to the bedroom, finding Randall there, sitting on the bed and looking at some papers while he watches TV.
“How was it?” he asks.
“Better,” I say as I sit on my side of the bed. “But I think we still have a long way to go.”
He looks at me. “At least you’ve started again.”
“Yup. My visiting rights have been restored.”
Randall chuckles.
“By the way, this is the leaflet for his school recital on Thursday.” I hand the piece of paper to him. “You’ll go, right?”
“Of course.” He looks at it. “And so will you.”
I sit against the pillows. “I’m not so sure I should go.”
“Why not? Did David tell you he doesn’t want you to go?”
“Not directly.”
“I’ll take that as a no. You’re imagining things again.”
“I just feel like he doesn’t want to be seen with me, especially in school. What will his friends think? That his nanny is now his mommy?”
Randall touches my hand. “Who cares what they think?”
“David may. He’s the one who has to see them every day at school. What if they tease him?”
“They don’t know you were his nanny before. I don’t even think David tells his friends that he has a nanny.”
“But he still doesn’t want me there. Maybe if I go, he’ll think I’m really trying to be his mother and–”
“Sabrina.” Randall squeezes my hand. “You’re my wife. That makes you David’s stepmother. You’re his mother now so you have every right and reason to be there and to cheer him on, whether he likes it or not.”
I sigh. I’m not yet used to this mother thing. I’m not even used to this wife thing. I’ve only been married for two days.
Already, I’m finding it difficult to be a mother to him here at home. How much more in public where everyone can see? And in a school which is filled with experts on motherhood, what will the other moms think?
***
“You’re so young,” the mother who’s sitting beside me in the school amphitheatre says. “How old were you when you had David?”
“Oh, I didn’t,” I tell her. “I’m his stepmother.”
“I see. No wonder I’ve never seen you before.”
“Michelle isn’t going to be happy when she hears Mr. Brewster is married again,” the woman on her other side, who’s wearing a striped blouse and a blue skirt, says. “She was hoping to get Mr. Brewster this year.”
My eyes grow wide. So, it’s not just the nannies who throw themselves at Randall, huh?
“Shh.” The woman beside me holds a finger to her lips. “Don’t be rude.” She turns to me. “I’m Fiona, by the way. I’m Kimberly’s mother. She’s in the same class as David. And this is Tracy. She’s Alex’s mother. Alex is a year older, and he’s the brightest in his class.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” Tracy scolds.
“It’s true,” Fiona says. “Alex is smarter than Emily. Everyone knows she only won that last quiz show because the history teacher has a thing for her mother.”
Tracy gives a look of disgust then offers me her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I smile as I shake her hand. “I’m Sabrina.”
“By the way, nice dress, Sabrina,” Fiona remarks.
Is it? For the afternoon, I decided to wear a faded denim dress with buttons in front – maybe Randall’s right and I do like buttons – and some embroidered flowers. It comes with a brown belt, too, and I’ve worn it with a pair of black, suede ankle-high platform boots.
“Nice shoes,” Tracy adds.
“Thanks. You, too.” I glance at her white sandals. “And nice pedicure.”
“I’ve got a great nail artist if you’re interested.”
“And I have a great hairdresser,” Fiona says.
I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Oh, look.” Tracy puts her hand on Fiona’s lap. “There’s that Paula. I thought she wasn’t going to show up. I bet that’s her new boyfriend. She…”
I no longer listen, turning to Randall.
“Seems like you have new friends,” he says.
“Not really,” I whisper.
I’m not sure I want to be friends with mothers who gossip too much and are too concerned about their children’s performance at school or their looks. Are all the mothers like this?
“Coming to these things alone must have been tough, huh?” I ask him.
Randall looks at me and holds my hand. “You have no idea. That’s why I sometimes bring Tess, just to scare them off or keep them at bay.”
I chuckle, imagining Tess glaring at the mothers.
Just then, the show starts. Some of the parents start filming and click away but Randall and I just sit and watch, enjoying the kids’ performances, some of them dancing, some of them singing, some reciting poetry and others playing musical instruments.
Finally, Josh goes on stage, playing his drums as an older girl sings.
“That’s Josh,” I whisper.
“Who?” Randall asks.
I don’t answer, simply watching. I have to say he’s good but not as good as David sounded during practice.
I see David watching Josh’s performance from the side, and he doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry just before he disappeared.
I squeeze Randall’s thigh. “I think I’ll go talk to David.”
“Okay.”
I go to backstage, where I find David sulking, his leather jacket on a chair.
“David, what’s wrong?” I ask as I kneel in front of him.
“I don’t want to play anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Because Josh is better.”