“Look mommy,” my 4-year-old says while pointing to a girl with a red bow in her hair, “that’s Mary!”
I’m not exactly sure who Reichen is referring to at first. I mean, standing in the long line at the mall to see the Easter Bunny the weekend before the holy holiday happens isn’t exactly the best idea I’ve ever had.
“Oh,” I say after finally realizing why he recognizes the little blond beauty, “it’s Mary from preschool.”
And according to Ms. Jill, Reichen’s preschool teacher, Reichen loves Mary. But so does Simon, Reichen’s classmate and best buddy. Both boys want to marry her, Ms. Jill says. But sadly, Mary has told them she’s simply not ready to wed.
“Hi Mary,” Reichen says softly while waving.
“Hi Reichen,” Mary replies while waving back.
The sweet scene reminded me of my little brother when he was about Reichen’s age. Every day at school, my brother walked around holding the hand of a blond little girl name Cherice and every now and then, I’d also see him sneak a quick kiss. My brother may have only been 4 or 5 years old, but the kid had game. And it appears, my son is following in his Uncle’s footsteps.
“Mommy, can I please talk to the the Easter Bunny with Mary,” Reichen pleads while clasping his hands and hopping up and down.
“I don’t know,” I say. “We’ll have to ask Mary’s mom.”
Before I even say it, I know the answer. Mary’s mom and I are not friends. And I don’t know why. Every day, I drop Reichen off at preschool and every day, I say a happy ‘Hello!’ to Mary’s mom. And every day, she never replies. Ever.
“Hi there,” I say to Mary’s mom.
She looks at me like I have a booger hanging from my nose.
“I’m Reichen’s mom, Tasha,” I trudge on, “This is Reichen. Mary and Reichen are in preschool together.”
And here’s the best part, Mary’s mom didn’t say one word to me. Not. One. Word. She just turned around, finished writing her check for the Easter Bunny pictures, packed up her kids, and left. David couldn’t believe it.
“Seriously? Did that just happen,” he said.
“I TOLD YOU,” I whisper shouted, “I TOLD YOU SHE NEVER TALKS TO ME. EVER.”
And I had. I’ve told my husband a million times about Mary’s mom – the one who never says hello.
“Well,” he replied, “I thought you were exaggerating, but I guess you weren’t.”
We put our conversation on pause so the boys could take their picture with the Easter Bunny, but David quickly pressed play again when we reached the mall play area.
“I can’t believe that woman,” he said. “I mean, who does she think she is?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “I mean, I’ve never done anything but say hello to the woman.”
And our conversation carried on for another couple minutes before I realized little Mary was in the play area, too. I didn’t see her mom, but I was sure Mary’s dad must be near by and I had no idea what he looked like.
“Oh my gosh,” I stop David. “Where is Mary’s dad? Do you think he heard us talking?”
“No,” David replies. “I’m pretty sure Mary’s Dad is that dude over there. There’s no way he can hear us from here.”
And as if on cue, Mary calls out to the guy standing right next to us, “Daddy, look at me!”
Seriously. Mary’s dad heard our entire conversation.
“Oh well,” a good friend of mine said after I later repeated the sordid story to her, “she wasn’t going to be your friend anyway.”
“Good point,” I replied.
And now, I thought, at least I know why.