PART 1
I believed that maintaining a friendly relationship with my ex-husband was best for our son. But his new girlfriend kept finding opportunities to humiliate me, and Nigel seemed perfectly happy to let her. At the school fall fair, her latest insult triggered something neither of us had anticipated.
When my ten-year-old son stepped onto the stage and picked up the microphone at his school’s fall fair, I assumed he was going to show everyone the pumpkin cupcakes we had baked together.
Then I noticed my ex-husband’s girlfriend gripping his arm.
“Make him stop!” Annabelle whispered.
Nigel looked bewildered.
“He’s just showing pictures.”
But Annabelle appeared to understand what those photographs might expose before I did.
Judging by her expression, she was terrified of what Dustin might reveal next.
A week earlier, Dustin had come home from his father’s house with an unexpected question.
“Mom, do you think your clothes are ugly?”
I was cutting fabric for his pumpkin costume.
“That’s an interesting question. What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Annabelle says you dress like you’ve given up.”
I put my scissors down.
Annabelle was Nigel’s new girlfriend. They had been together for several months, and lately, Dustin had seemed unusually withdrawn after spending time with them.
“What else has she said?”
Dustin picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.
“She said you have terrible taste in clothes. Last weekend, she asked Dad how he stayed married to you for so long.”
“What did your dad say?”
“He laughed.”
I looked at the orange fabric spread across our table.
At thirty-five, I had a full-time job, a growing son, and most of the household responsibilities to manage. Making a good impression on Annabelle wasn’t a priority.
But hearing Dustin repeat her insults worried me. I pulled up a chair beside him.
“Listen, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have to hear people making fun of either parent.”
“Then why does Dad let her?”
I had no explanation for Nigel’s behavior, but I could confront him about it.
After Dustin went to bed, I called Nigel.
“Annabelle needs to stop insulting me around Dustin.”
He sighed.
“Becca, she has a strange sense of humor.”
“Dustin isn’t finding it funny. He shouldn’t dread having dinner with you.”
After a pause, he replied, “I’ll speak to her. Promise.”
I wanted to believe him.
Three days later, Annabelle approached me during school pickup. She had brought the sneakers Dustin had left at his father’s house.
“Nigel mentioned you’re helping with the fall fair.”
“Dustin’s class has a pumpkin booth.”
“I thought I could buy decorations and help with the display.”
I hesitated, but Dustin’s face brightened.
“Really? We could all help!”
Seeing how excited he was, I agreed.
“All right. But the children’s decorations need to stay.”
“Of course, Becca.”
Annabelle glanced at my cardigan.
“I’ll make sure everything looks presentable.”
Despite her comment, I decided to give her a chance.
At the volunteer meeting, Annabelle arrived with photographs of expensive decorations she had ordered.
“You’re organizing the booth?” another parent asked.
“Pretty much,” Annabelle replied.
“We’re sharing the work,” I said. “I’m baking the cupcakes and helping with setup.”
She laughed.
“Of course. You’re handling the food, Becca. That’s very on-brand.”
Then she pointed toward the children’s handmade paper pumpkins.
“Those won’t match my decorations. We should leave them off.”
“No. The children made those.”
“They look cheap.”
“They’re made from construction paper, Annabelle. They’re staying.”
She dropped the subject.
On Saturday, Dustin and I baked pumpkin cupcakes together.
He insisted on placing exactly seven chocolate chips on each one.
“Four would be enough,” I told him.
“Seven looks better.”
I passed him the chocolate chips.
“Then you’d better get started.”
While we baked, Dustin used my phone to photograph our progress.
His teacher had invited the students to prepare presentations about the fair and had agreed to review his finished slideshow.
“Please leave out the picture where I dropped the frosting,” I said.
He grinned.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Later, we tried on the pumpkin costumes we had made.
Mine was round, bright orange, and slightly crooked at one shoulder.
“We look ridiculous,” I said.
“That’s why they’re so good!”
Remembering Annabelle’s criticism, I hesitated.
“Are you sure you want me wearing this?”
“Mom, we made them together.”
“Then we’re wearing them together.”
He hugged me.
“It’s my favorite thing we’ve made.”
I kissed his forehead.
Then his expression became serious.
“Mom, why don’t you tell Annabelle to stop?”
“I’ve spoken to your dad about it, honey.”
“But she keeps doing it.”
I sat beside him.
“You’re right. I need to handle it differently.”
“Will Dad get mad?”
“That’s something your dad and I will deal with. You don’t have to fix it.”
Dustin nodded, although uncertainty remained in his eyes.
We arrived early Sunday morning for the fair.
While Dustin arranged the cupcakes, I noticed that the children’s paper pumpkins had vanished.
I found them inside a box beneath the table.
Annabelle was adjusting her orange banner.
“Why did you put these away?”
“They made everything look cluttered.”
“The children made them, Annabelle. They’re staying.”
I hung the paper pumpkins along the table.
A teacher approached us.
“Oh, wonderful! The children were asking where those went.”
Annabelle stepped aside.
A few minutes later, I overheard her telling someone that she had organized nearly the entire display.
“Annabelle bought the extras,” I corrected. “The children made these, and we all helped set up.”
She shot me an irritated look.
Nigel arrived around noon.
“Dad!” Dustin called.
Nigel embraced him.
“Look at you! That’s quite a costume.”
“Mom made us matching ones!”
Nigel turned toward me, but Annabelle spoke first, looking me up and down.
“With your figure, that pumpkin costume suits you perfectly, Becca!”
Nigel burst out laughing, pulled her close, and kissed her.
Several parents turned to look.
Dustin remained serious.
“That’s mean, Annabelle,” he said.
Nigel frowned.
“Watch your tone, Dustin.”
I stepped forward.
“He’s allowed to tell you when something hurts him.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes.
“It was a joke.”
“Then explain what was funny about it.”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t answer.
Nigel stepped in.
“Becca, can we not do this here?”
“You brought it here, Nigel. Dustin and I were enjoying ourselves.”
I turned to my son.
“Come on. Let’s see how many cupcakes we’ve sold.”
He followed me, his smile gone.
