By Julie Teixera

It was Chloe’s first day of first grade, and she insisted on wearing an embroidered linen blouse with a pair of swishy athletic shorts. The outfit reminded Gina of a mullet: business on top and a party on the bottom. But despite Gina’s pleading, Chloe refused to change. Gina took pictures of her daughter in that strange outfit, pictures of her smiling so wide it looked like her jaw might unhinge. Chloe’s doe-eyed optimism made Gina’s heart tighten.  

Please, she thought. Please let her make friends. 

Chloe was the sort of child that other children naturally disliked. She had a mealy-mouth way of speaking that caused her to spit. She was chubby. Squat. Sometimes Chloe would laugh too long at a joke while the other kids eyed each other like, What’s up with her? And then, upon realizing she was the odd one out, Chloe would cry. If the children in Chloe’s class were each a shade of blue (aqua, cerulean, robin’s egg), then Chloe was burnt orange.  

Afternoon rolled around, and Gina rushed home from work to meet Chloe at the bus stop. Her husband was already there; his construction company was doing a job a few streets over. As they waited by the stop sign, Gina made small talk with their neighbor Virginia Vitale, a housewife so chatty you’d think she spent her days in solitary confinement. Gina listened as Virginia spoke compulsively about fresh produce.  

“So then I drove to the farmer’s market in Bozrah and was like, Does anyone have watermelon radish? And they didn’t even know what it was. So then I went to Preston, and they’d never heard of it either. I was like—” 

At this point, Gina was imagining putting a drill to her temple and boring into her brain with gentle force, thereby slowly lobotomizing herself. Virginia was always inviting her over for a glass of wine, and Gina was always claiming that she was, like, so busy. Maybe next time! 

The bus rounded the corner and came to a halt. Kids bounded out. Virginia’s twins ran at her wielding beige folders, shouting, “You forgot to sign our lunch slips!” Next came Delilah, the neighborhood’s primary source of Girl Scout cookies. At last Gina’s daughter stepped off the bus. Her eyes were raw and red-rimmed.  

Tony and Gina exchanged a glance. Chloe approached them, her backpack dangling off one shoulder. She put her face against Gina’s chest and let out a long sigh. 

“Hey baby,” Gina said. “How was school?” 

“It was good. I cried all day.”  

Chloe’s voice was so sweet that, for a moment, Gina thought she’d misheard her. She raised an eyebrow at Tony, who shook his head. Best not to unpack this in front of the entire neighborhood. Already, Virginia Vitale was sniffing nearby. She’d probably text Gina later, something innocuous like, How are things? And Gina would bat her off with the ease of a tennis pro: Things are fine. She wasn’t going to confide in Virginia. It’d be more cathartic to write her concerns on a napkin and shove it into the garbage disposal.  

The three went up the driveway and into their yellow house with black shutters. After Chloe had been served her peanut butter crackers, Tony sat down across from her. The table was stained from years of arts and crafts. Arrowhead plants grew in glass beer bottles along the windowsill.  

“Chloe,” Tony said, “what do you mean you cried all day?” 

“I cried all morning and then the principal came and took me for a walk.”  

Tony nodded, unfazed, while Gina scrubbed a tupperware container with furious precision.  

“Why’d you cry all day?” Tony asked.  

Chloe shrugged, and that was all he could get out of her. He took her outside for a game of pickup in the driveway. Gina watched through the window above the sink. Her husband had set up one of those five foot hoops. He was teaching Chloe how to dunk on the plastic rim. Chloe was good at handling the ball—she looked smooth moving it across the driveway—but the dunk evaded her. They played until dinner time, at which point Chloe was so hungry that she wolfed down three tacos and a bowl of chocolate pudding. 

Once the dishes were clean and Chloe’s teeth were brushed, it was storytime. Gina read a chapter from the first Harry Potter book until she heard Chloe snoring. Gina dog-eared the page, switched off the lamp, and slipped into the hallway. She found Tony slumped on the living room sofa.  

“She must have been crying for a while if they brought in the principal,” he said. 

“I know. And what’s wrong with that school? Not even a phone call?” 

“I mean, she wasn’t hurt,” Tony said. “She’ll figure it out. It was just a bad day.”  

It became quiet then. Tony reached for the remote. Gina took a stack of papers from her schoolbag and set them on the coffee table. She poured a glass of wine. In this assignment, kids were supposed to write about their dreams and aspirations. One girl wrote that she wanted to be an Influencer and described a life so vapid that Gina felt only pity. Another boy wrote that he wanted to be a Loir. Gina could not for the life of her figure out what he was trying to say until she got to a sentence about law school. A lawyer. She drained her glass of wine. On the television show she was half-watching, a man had just discovered his wife was having an affair. Gina flashed on Tony’s affair, but before she could feel the weight of the memory, she lost interest. It was nearly a decade ago. Why dwell?  

Tony was asleep on the couch letting out monosyllabic farts. She poked him until he woke up, and they went to bed. 

The next morning, Chloe dawdled and whined. She missed the bus, so Tony had to drive her to school. Gina’s students filed in around 7:30. This year she had four sections of freshmen, which meant her days would be spent using Navy Seal intimidation techniques to get students to put away their cellphones and learn some goddamn English. A girl with fried, blonde highlights started whining when Gina brought out the phone pockets. She insisted that she needed to check her phone every fifteen minutes, otherwise she experienced debilitating anxiety.  

“That’s like saying I need just a tiny bit of heroin,” Gina said. 

When Gina first got into teaching, she’d been young and idealistic. She maintained high expectations, and her students met them. But fifteen years into her career, standards had become a bygone relic. Maybe she was jaded, but it seemed like today’s administration cared more about graduation rates than education. Little by little, Gina had come to accept that this wasn’t a school but a diploma factory. She half-listened as her students spent the block whining about having to do work. No one had a pencil. There was chatter, chatter, chatter. A girl asked, “Are you going to collect this?” and rolled her eyes when Gina said, “Yes.” When the final bell rang, Gina collapsed into her seat.  

She spent her prep block grading homework assignments. While typing a particularly scathing comment, her phone rang. It was Chloe’s school. The nurse said that Chloe had tripped and fallen on the playground. She had a split lip, nothing serious, but she wanted her mom. In the background, Gina could hear Chloe wailing.  

“How’d she fall?” 

“She won’t say.” 

Gina told her department head she needed to go pick up Chloe. There was one block left in the day, and another teacher would cover for her. She drove to Chloe’s elementary school, which had once been her elementary school. Besides the bulletproof glass in the entryway, nothing had changed. In the nurse’s office, Gina found Chloe sitting in a red chair. Her lip was swollen, and there was blood down the front of her shirt.  

Gina was strategic. She took Chloe to the deli in town. There, she ordered everything Chloe asked for. They snagged seats by the window and spread their bounty on the table. As Gina used a plastic knife to cut Chloe’s sandwich, she said, “You need to tell me who hurt you, or I’m going to call the principal.”  

Tears formed in Chloe’s eyes. She had a perfectly round face, and when her bottom lip wobbled, Gina felt her chest tighten. But she kept her expression impassive, and sure enough, Chloe began to spill.  

“Nino Vitale pushed me,” she said, “and when I hit on a rock, he laughed.”  

Gina asked Chloe if Nino had hurt her in the past. The answer was, “Yes.” The Vitale boys had been torturing her. Chloe said that during circle time they pulled her hair. At lunch, Bernard stuck his finger in her sandwich and made a hole. They called her Chunky Monkey and now the whole class was saying it. 

Of course it was Virginia’s twins, the ones she was always going on about: Oh, they’re so smart. So advanced. So healthy from all those fucking watermelon radishes. Gina’s phone was in her bag, and she had half a mind to call Virginia, but she knew she might end up saying something she couldn’t unsay, something Virginia might repeat to the other mothers in town. So instead, Gina took Chloe home and filled the bathtub. With a washcloth, she wiped the blood from her daughter’s heart-shaped lips.  

When Tony got home that night, he found Gina and Chloe in the living room watching television. A bowl of cut fruit sat on the coffee table. Chloe’s lip was swollen, and she kept running her tongue over her teeth. Tony sat on the rocking chair he’d bought Gina when she was pregnant. He already knew about the bullying, but seeing Chloe’s busted lip made his nostrils flare, and he said he was going next door to talk to Virginia.  

Through the front window, Gina watched him walk across the lawn and rap on Virginia’s door. He returned twenty minutes later. According to Tony, Virginia was shocked by her boys’ behavior. She’d actually gasped when he mentioned Chloe’s split lip. Then she told the twins that she was taking away their iPads, and Nino called her a bitch. 

“So I guess that’s settled,” Tony said. 

“What about Steve? What’d he have to say?”  

“Dunno. He wasn’t home. Also, she said we still haven’t RSVP-ed to the boys’ party.”  

Gina had gotten the invitation a month ago and forgotten all about it. Or perhaps she’d blocked it out after reading the line: Gifts are appreciated but not necessary; we know times are tough. She dug the card out of the junk drawer, dusted it off, and handed it to Chloe, emphasizing that they didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to.  

“I want to go,” Chloe said. 

“Really? Even though Nino pushed you?” 

“Everyone in my class is going.”  

“She should go,” Tony said, “and if you don’t want to take her, I will.”  

Gina spent the next couple days getting ready for the party. She bought the Vitale boys Nerf guns. At Virginia’s request, she baked a tray of chocolate chip cookies. She even took Chloe for a haircut. Gina showed the stylist photos of layered, shoulder-length cuts. The stylist said, “I got it,” and proceeded to chop Chloe’s hair just below her chin. The cut accentuated her round, chubby face. Gina eyed Chloe in the rearview mirror. What was it the Vitale boys had called her? Chunky Monkey? The name seemed more appropriate than ever. And it’s not like there was time for Chloe’s hair to grow out—the party was tomorrow.  

That night, Gina and Tony sat on the porch in Adirondack chairs. Gina wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. There was a full, yellow moon. She sipped her wine and stared into the black void beyond their driveway. There were no streetlights in Walton. No police precinct. Gina and Tony had grown up here, but Gina had been marked early on as odd and different, and besides some light tormenting, the other kids avoided her. Maybe if she’d lived in a city, she wouldn’t have felt her loneliness so profoundly, but instead she’d been raised in this shoebox diorama of a town and, against her better judgement, she decided to raise her daughter here as well. She flashed on Chloe’s ugly, unfashionable haircut. Gina considered calling Virginia and saying they couldn’t come to the party—Chloe wasn’t feeling well. But she knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Trying to evade a bully was pointless in a town like Walton, where your tormentors were also your neighbors. Chloe would have to face this one head on.  

The next morning, Gina styled Chloe’s hair with pink barrettes. She dabbed eyeshadow on her lids. Chloe emerged from the bathroom and batted her eyes at her father, asking, “What do you think?”  

“It’s a little adult,” Tony said. Gina squeezed his arm. “I like it though,” he said. “Really pretty, Chloe.”  

They walked to Virginia’s house, Tony balancing the nerf guns on either shoulder. Virginia stood in the driveway ushering people towards the backyard. She gave Gina a phony, European kiss. Out back, Virginia’s husband Steve was firing up the grill. He was a cop with a lean, muscular build. If not for his bald head, one might call him attractive.  

Steve stepped away from the grill to give Tony a fist bump. He knelt down in front of Chloe and ruffled the hairdo that took Gina thirty minutes to perfect.  

“I heard that Nino and Bernard weren’t so nice to you.” 

Chloe nodded. 

“It probably means they like you.” Steve Vitale winked. “Boys always pick on girls they like.” 

Gina looked at Tony and mouthed, Ew. Tony made a subtle snorting sound. Steve gave Chloe’s hair one final pat and sent her off to play with the other children. 

“Virgina feels really bad about the other day,” Steve said. “But you know how boys are.” 

“Sure,” Tony said.  

“Plus, they’re going through it with the separation. It hasn’t been easy on them, especially Nino.”  

Gina and Tony exchanged a glance, and Steve’s eyes widened.  

“Virginia didn’t tell you?” He took a deep breath, then said, “We’re getting divorced.” 

There was a beat of silence. Gina could hear the Vitale boys yelling, and she looked over to make sure Chloe was alright.  

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Tony said. “I’ve been there.”  

“It’s nasty. I’m trying to be civil, but she’s such a bitch. Sorry—I know that’s fucked up to say. But she hired this attorney who’s a total shark. They’re coming after the house. My pension, too. I’m playing defense at this point.”  

“I’m sorry, man. That’s tough.”  

Steve pulled Tony in for a hug. After they separated, Steve looked at Gina expectantly, but she didn’t make any attempt to hug him. Back when Gina and Tony had first moved into the neighborhood, they went to a barbecue the Vitales were hosting. Gina was pregnant at the time, and Steve had made a loud, lazy joke about the “husband stitch.” She’d disliked him ever since.  

A new crop of party guests arrived, and Steve excused himself. Gina and Tony backed into a corner of the yard where they could stand alone in the shade of an oak tree. As they spoke, Gina followed Chloe with her gaze.  

“You think he’s abusive?” Gina asked.  

“It sounds like Virginia is the one causing problems.” 

“Okay, but that’s his side of the story.” 

“Easy,” Tony said, “your anti-cop bias is showing.”  

“I just hate that guy.” 

Tony smiled. “You remember what he said to you at that barbecue? What a loser.”  

Gina felt a glimmer of affection for Tony—he’d remembered that comment; it bothered him too. Then she saw Virginia setting up appetizers and said, “Lemme go help her. You watch Chloe, make sure the twins don’t kill her.”  

“No promises,” Tony said.  

Gina joined Virginia on the stone patio. Together, they spread a plastic tablecloth on a folding table. From the kitchen they carried out cheese and vegetable platters. Quite a spread for a seventh birthday. But thinking back on the conversation with Steve, Virginia probably saw this party as an opportunity to advertise to the world that she was fine. Look at her: a woman who, in the midst of a divorce, could still whip up hors d’oeuvres and run around in kitten heels. Gina respected her. None of the other moms seemed to, though. They stood in a circle darting glances at Virginia. Gina wondered if Virginia noticed. She seemed so cool and unbothered as she shoved toothpicks into cubes of cheese. She caught Gina staring and smiled.  

“Gi, do me a favor, go inside and pull those ribs out of the oven.” 

Gina fanned an oven mitt over the steaming rack of ribs while Virginia dressed a salad. As the women worked, Steve popped his head through the sliding glass door to say that he needed burgers and hot dogs. Virginia twisted pink salt onto the salad, carrying on as if she hadn’t heard him. Her eyebrows were two even lines.  

“Burgers and dogs,” Steve said. “Virginia? You alive?” 

Virginia went to the refrigerator. Stacked inside were packages of hamburgers and hot dogs. Wordlessly, she thrust them into Steve’s arms. He left without thanking her. Virginia gestured to the space where he’d been standing. 

“That’s the most pleasant exchange we’ve had in months,” she said. 

“He told us about the separation. I’m so sorry, Virginia.” 

“Did he tell you that he had an affair with his twenty-two year old partner?” 

“Oh,” Gina said. “No, he didn’t mention that.”  

“They’re living together now, in her apartment in Norwich. And the boys sleep there on Thursdays. It’s disgusting.” Virginia stopped dressing the salad and brought her hand to her forehead as if checking for a fever. “I could use a drink,” she said.  

Virginia had a chintzy, pressboard liquor cabinet in her kitchen. Gina knelt down, selected a cabernet, and handed the bottle up to Virginia. She uncorked it and poured two glasses. They sat at the kitchen table, the rack of ribs steaming between them.  

“How did you find out?” Gina asked.  

“I went through his phone. He was always talking about Kayleigh with a fucking E-I-G-H. One night he came home late, and his story didn’t make any sense. I found naked pictures of her in his text messages.”  

“Jesus,” Gina said. “What’s she look like?”  

“She’s, unfortunately, quite sexy. And she talks to Steve in this little baby voice that makes me want to kill myself.”  

Gina had never heard Virginia speak this way. Never even heard her swear. It was honestly kind of refreshing, like watching a debutante smoke a cigarette while wearing gloves up to her elbows. But there was something unsettling, too. The wrinkles in Virginia’s forehead looked deeper, and her voice sounded scratchy and weak. Affairs had a way of aging women. They were powerfully humiliating, profoundly humbling.  

“I know how you feel,” Gina said. “Tony cheated on me.”  

Virginia wiped snot from her nose. “Really? Tony?” 

“You’re surprised?”

“He’s always struck me as such a family man.”  

“He’s complicated,” Gina said. “Listen, we went to a counselor when it happened. I could give you her number. She was pretty good.” 

“We already tried talking to someone. He’s not interested. He says he loves Kayleigh.” 

“What an idiot.”  

“I mean, I haven’t been perfect these last few years. Having kids did us no favors. We were happier before.” 

Virginia’s mouth began to tremble, so Gina went and retrieved a box of tissues from the living room. She set the box on the table between them. Then she broke off a rib. She could feel alcohol pulsing through her system; she hadn’t eaten a bite of food all day.  

“I honestly thought we’d get through it,” Virginia said, staring into her wine glass. “He was living here until last month. And you should see this girl. She’s, like, central casting for a porn stepmom. The one who blackmails her stepson into having sex with her.”  

“What kind of porn are you watching?” Gina asked. 

“Not that kind. Way sicker stuff, honestly.” Virginia slid her empty wineglass across the table. “Top me off?”  

Gina divided the rest of the bottle between their two glasses. She felt like she might pass out. She tore off another rib and told Virginia to do the same. As Virginia sucked down her rib, a ring of barbecue sauce formed around her mouth, giving her a messier, less WASP-y vibe. Gina leaned forward to dab her lips with a napkin, and Virginia laughed goofily. It was as if they’d been sleeping in adjacent hotel rooms and only just realized there was a door connecting them.  

A more literal door—the glass slider in the kitchen—inched open. In walked Steve, the man of the hour. He looked from Virginia to Gina and back. 

“Are you drunk?” he asked.  

“We’ve been drinking,” Virginia said. “But no, I wouldn’t say we’re drunk.”  

“You do realize it’s your boys’ birthday party, right?” Steve asked. 

“I’m aware.” 

“So maybe you should get up and do some hostessing? Is that a crazy idea? Or am I being a latent misogynist again? Please, enlighten me.”  

“You’re being kind of a dick,” Gina offered.  

“Thanks for that, Gina. Really. Very nice.”  

Virginia touched Gina’s shoulder and said, “Not necessary,” in a tone meant to chastise her. Without warning, her allegiance had shifted. There was a long, uneasy silence. Gina’s brow wrinkled. The older she got, the more readily her emotions appeared on her face. It was the same for Steve: in his expression she saw petty pride, as if he’d just beaten her in an arm wrestle.  

“Alright,” Gina said. “My bad.”   

When Virginia stood up she wobbled, but she managed to steady herself against the table. Then she went off with the grace of a gazelle, her heels click-clicking on the floor tiles. She shot Gina one last glance before leaving through the slider. She looked guilty, which was annoying. Not even annoying—weak. Virginia was a weak person. She’d seemed so gritty and resilient while they were splitting that bottle, but as soon as her husband snapped at her, she folded like a cheap tent.  

Forget her. While Virginia went around kissing guests and saying, “Oh, hey you,” Gina found Tony out back. He was regaling a group of dads with stories about his electric lawnmower. He had an erotic fixation on the electric lawnmower.  

“Gentlemen,” Gina said as she joined their circle, “did you know that the electric lawnmower can charge a cellphone?”  

“Where were you?” Tony asked. He draped an arm around her shoulders.  

Before she could tell him about Steve’s mistress, Tony gestured toward a concrete pad where the Vitales had set up a basketball court. The hoops looked like the one Chloe had at home. The center line was drawn in yellow chalk. On one side of the court stood Chloe and Bernard. On the opposite side, Nino bumped fists with a boy Gina didn’t recognize.  

Nino began dribbling the ball to his left, cruising down the court. He sidestepped his brother effortlessly. But when he tried to put up a set shot, Chloe got in his face and slapped the ball down. They each got a hold of the ball, and there was a tug-of-war before Nino managed to wrestle it out of her hands. He returned to center court, face flushed, eyes narrowed.  

“Watch this,” he said.  

Again, Nino tried to blow past her, but Chloe stayed with him. When he went for a layup, she leapt and knocked the ball out of the air. Tony whistled. Gina watched Chloe take control of the ball, dribbling up the court. Nino tried cutting her off, but she blew past him, charging the basket. Her motions were skilled, athletic, precise. It looked like she was about to go for a layup, but instead she rushed the basket and leapt, both feet coming off the ground. And then, with everyone watching, she dunked the ball into the plastic hoop.  

Tony went crazy, clapping and screaming as if she’d just passed the Olympic trials. Meanwhile, Nino kicked the basketball and sent it skittering across the lawn. He went to Chloe and said something that made her face fold like a paper bag. He kept repeating it, his volume increasing until Gina could make out the words: “Chunky Monkey, Chunky Monkey, Chunky Monkey.”  

Chloe’s nostrils flared, and Gina sensed what was coming. She had ample time to stop it, but instead she stood on the sidelines and watched her daughter shove both hands into Nino’s chest. He skittered backwards and landed on his butt, where he sat looking dazed and ashamed.  

Gina knew she should be angry at her daughter, but watching Chloe push Nino gave her a guilty satisfaction, like going back for a third slice of pie. Steve, however, felt differently. He stormed onto the court, but instead of helping his son, he went straight to Chloe and stuck his finger in her face.  

“It’s his birthday,” Steve said. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  

“Steve, cool it,” Tony said. “They’re kids.”  

“She could have cracked his fucking skull.”  

“He called her names, she pushed him. That’s how it goes,” Gina said.  

“Of course you would think that,” Steve said. “You’re always out here busting balls, right, Gina? Talking to me the way you did in my house. Maybe it’s time you and your daughter head home, yeah?”  

Things became quiet then. Quieter and slower; a triangle of sparrows hung suspended in the breeze, and you could hear the squeak of a trampoline from across the yard. But before Gina could grab Chloe and storm out of the party, Virginia was standing beside her.  

“It’s not your house,” Virginia said.  

Steve tilted his head. “What?” 

“When my grandfather died, he left this house to me.”  

“Okay? But we lived here together for eight years. It’s our house.”  

“No,” Virginia said, “it’s not your house. It’s my house. And if you’re going to treat my guests this way, then you should leave.”  

Virginia and Steve stepped forward as if sizing each other up on an animal scale. Whose antlers were larger? Whose talons longer? After a beat, Steve turned to Gina. His face was flushed, his breathing heavy.  

“Sorry,” he said.  

“It’s cool,” Gina said.  

She could feel the gaze of the other party guests. Gina could only imagine the conversations this exchange would generate in the school pick-up line. But Virginia, ever the professional, clapped her hands and said, “Time for cake.” She went into the house and emerged with a two-tier Spiderman cake. Steve lit the candles. Everyone gathered to sing “Happy Birthday.” The twins blew out all fifteen candles on their first try, and they celebrated in that boyish way, hugging each other and screaming. Gina looked across the circle at Virginia, who was lowering a knife into the cake. When she lifted her head, they locked eyes, and Virginia gave her a small, almost imperceptible smile.  

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Julie Teixeira is a public school teacher and an MFA candidate at Southern Connecticut State University. Her fiction has been published in StoryQuarterly and Witness.