Tiny Imperfections

by Alli Frank

  Elsa

  FROM: James Dyer

  DATE: March 7, 2019

  SUBJECT: Interim Head Position

  TO: Josephine Bordelon

  Dear Josie,

  I have been informed that you are on a college visit with your daughter. In light of this weekend’s events, Nan, with the support of the board, will be taking a six-month leave of absence. In her place the Fairchild Country Day School Board of Trustees unanimously voted for you to act as interim head of school given your previous experience in the job. Please contact me at your first availability.

  Warm regards,

  James

  FROM: Elsanansassistant

  DATE: March 8, 2019

  SUBJECT: Nan’s leave of absence

  TO: Josephine Bordelon

  Dear Josie,

  I believe I will now be your assistant. Please let me know if you need anything. Nan only allowed me two bathroom breaks a day. Would it be possible to have one or two additional ones? I would love to go a whole year without a bladder infection.

  Yours,

  Elsa

  FROM: Roan Dawson

  DATE: March 8, 2019

  SUBJECT: Interim Head of School

  TO: Josephine Bordelon

  Does this mean I get to be Director of Admissions?!?!?

  Roan Dawson

  ADMISSIONS ASSISTANT

  FAIRCHILD COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  It was a two-Chardonnay flight. Or maybe four. I lost count.

  * * *

  • • •

  “Damn I love these shoes.” I say out loud to a quiet office. Who knew ecru could look so good on a pair of size-ten black feet.

  I head out of the large bronze doors and down the stairs to the sidewalk to stand front and center for first day of school drop-off. While my summer was full of budgets and facilities issues and the annual audit—all boring head of school stuff I have no desire to continue once a new head of school is found—I love being in front of the school on the first day. Day one is particularly magical with fresh haircuts, summer sun freckles, giant hugs for favorite teachers, and effortlessly clean backpacks. The first day of school always says, Anything is possible. The past does not have to dictate the future. Everyone gets a fresh start.

  Some of my favorite parents are the ones who, though living in the middle of a city, figure out a way to bike with their child to school. Perhaps it’s because I never got to (I can’t imagine Aunt Viv riding a bike), or maybe it’s because it makes the Bay Area, the epicenter of technology and investment, seem sweet and simple. A small bicycle brigade comes down the block and as they pull up to the sidewalk there’s a man I don’t recognize. He’s in scruffy khaki shorts with a bit of a rip starting on the thigh and an unkempt beard. He’s wearing a faded red Friends T-shirt, circa 2000, and Converse shoes that, I can tell from here, must smell something awful.

  I approach the vagrant-looking man—prepared to ask him where he needs to be, and can I help him be on his way—when I see a boy on the back of his bike. The boy taps the man on his shoulder and he turns around to unbuckle the child’s helmet. As it comes off, the boy beams and raises his arms to be lifted up. The man kisses an exposed chubby cheek and lifts the little boy off the bike. As I walk closer, I see a flash of tummy roll peeking out from under a well-worn Superman shirt. Harrison Lawton gives me a shy wave and then grabs for his dad’s hand proud, that his father will deliver him to his first day of kindergarten.

  “Hello, I’m Christopher. Meredith has told me so many great things about you and about Fairchild. Harrison is raring to go—aren’t you, buddy? Been talking about kindergarten for weeks.”

  So, this, finally, is the infamous Christopher Lawton. Certainly not what I expected, but the surprise is a pleasant one. For the first time since I met her almost a year ago, I give Meredith credit for having a big heart in the right place. Only a woman who can see past the exterior to love the interior could hop in bed night after night with this affable Linus lookalike.

  “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Christopher. And, Harrison, you’re going to love Ms. Brooks, she’s the best kindergarten teacher in the whole world.” I shake Christopher’s hand and he picks up Harrison and throws him on his shoulders, a ride into kindergarten fit for a king. A happy tear drops on my nose. There is nowhere else a person can work where there is so much boundless, endless love. Working in schools . . . Best. Job. Ever.

  With the children tucked happily in their new classrooms I head to Nan’s, I mean, my office to check a few things before my 10:00 a.m. meeting in the conference room. It’s never too early for chocolate pretzels so I bust open one of the five bags I have tucked away. A new stash for a new year.

  I’ve never been a person to have pictures on my desk, but like I say, new year, new beginnings. To the left of my computer screen is a goofy picture of Etta and Ty from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. They look like they’re caught in a wind tunnel, but the expression on their faces is pure joy. I was hesitant to invite Ty to come with me to drop Etta off at Juilliard, afraid it was too much too soon for Etta and for me. Aunt Viv reminded me that nothin’ good comes from movin’ slow at my age and, more important, I needed someone to put together the IKEA furniture for Etta’s dorm room. I couldn’t disagree with her, the fantasy of Golden Boy and me riding off into the sunset or at least on a 747, pure bliss. And it helped to have a shoulder to cry on for the plane ride home. That man took every snotty tissue without hesitation.

  After the Viva la Viv confession, it took Ty a few weeks to persuade me to go on a public date with him. I held him off until after admissions acceptance letters had gone out (call it a separation of church and state kind of thing) and then I folded. Once we dipped our toes in the waters of dinners out, it only took him a few meals to convince me that we have other things to talk about than Aunt Viv’s health and the possibility of her dying. He continues to assure me that time is years and years away. As summer progressed, so did my need to see him, to be near him, and certainly to have my hands all over him. But it was always with the caveat that getting Etta organized for and settled into Juilliard was my priority until the end of August. He happily let me set the dating pace, but maybe now that Etta’s launched, I can let my freak flag fly a little bit. Golden Boy might get an eyeful of me in a naughty nurse’s uniform. I look juicy as hell in white.

  Oh goody, a text. Even heads of school procrastinate.

  TY

  Hope you’re wielding your power wisely over there, Head of School Bordelon. No going full dictator on me.

  9:18 A.M.

  JOSIE

  Are we role-playing over text, Golden Boy?

  9:18 A.M.

  TY

  Is that a thing?

  9:20 A.M.

  JOSIE

  Could be our thing . . .

  9:20 A.M.

  TY

  Getting to be with you is my thing. Damn, gotta run, someone was rude enough to have a heart attack in the midst of my sexting. See you tonight.

  9:21 A.M.

  I reread our text strand three more times because that’s what you do when you’re a woman in the honeymoon phase of romance. You text, you reread it a zillion times for hidden meaning, and then you think about it for hours on end. Doesn’t matter if you’re fourteen, twenty-four, or almost the big four-oh, the behavior is similarly pathetic and yet still causes the internal tickle of excitement we all crave. Lola is eating up every moment, waiting and willing to plan a wedding since she has no daughters. I’m just planning what I’m wearing tonight for my back-to-school dinner date with Ty at the Slanted Door. One thing Lola and I do agree on is that we now have something new to talk about at Absinthe on Tuesday afternoons.

  Before I dive into a day of excruciating meetings concerning things I care zero about (seriously a meeting about standard vs. mini
ature toilets in the lower school?) I hop on my computer to check on a few things. I go to the Fairchild website and beam like the proud mama that I am. Roan remembered. At the top of the home page is a banner in Fairchild’s signature cornflower blue.

  FAIRCHILD SCHOOL IS NOW ACCEPTING APPLICATIONS

  Like I’ve always said . . . Best. Hire. Ever.

  The Bordelon women made it through Etta’s senior year and today feels like a fresh start. Etta is settled into her life at Juilliard, Aunt Viv is continuing for her fifty-first year as head cook at Fairchild, and I have another opportunity to enjoy being head of school for the first time. To top it all off, I have been given another chance to discover if I like being one half of a pair.

  There is one loose end I’ve been avoiding dealing with all spring and summer, unsure what I want the outcome to be. To my surprise, Aunt Viv has not inserted her opinion once, but in this particular instance it is her opinion that matters to me most. Regardless, it’s time to get this task off my to-do list and move on.

  FROM: Josephine Bordelon

  DATE: September 20, 2019

  SUBJECT: Us

  TO: Ophelia Santos

  Ophelia,

  I’m sorry I couldn’t see you when I was in New York getting Etta settled into Juilliard. I could make all sorts of excuses about needing to focus on Etta, getting her settled in her dorm and having it be all about her, but I’d be lying. I was the one who needed the trip to be about Etta and me, not about you and me. I wasn’t ready.

  Aunt Viv and I will be back for Etta’s first performance in early December and perhaps I’ll be ready to see you then. It will be frigid cold in New York for this California girl so maybe we can get coffee.

  Josie Bordelon

  INTERIM HEAD OF SCHOOL

  FAIRCHILD COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL

  I reread my e-mail several times with my finger hovering over the delete button. I want to make sure this is what I want to say to my mother six months after meeting her for a second time.

  And then I hit send.

  * * *

  • • •

  Golden Boy scoots in next to me on the booth side of our table at the Slanted Door. Nothing says new romance to a packed house more than two people who can’t even stand to be separated by a two-top. I tuck myself tight up under his arm. Perfect spot ’cause when I turn to talk to him my nose catches the soapy aroma of his neck. Divine. Ty is twirling his index finger in the strap of my dress. Every time his finger brushes my shoulder my lady parts remind me that, at forty, they are in the best shape of their lives.

  “I got you something for your first day back.” Ty reaches under the table and I hear a rustling of plastic.

  “Better not be a mug. News flash, people who work in schools hate mugs, particularly ones with trite sayings. And theme jewelry. We also hate theme jewelry. I hope to God you didn’t get me pumpkin earrings or a Flag Day scarf.”

  “Oh I got you something far better. Something that’s a little bit for you and a little bit for me, so maybe I should call it a we present.” Lord, men are so predictable. I put my hand out ready to see what Ty’s fantasy lingerie looks like. Is he a traditional black satin man or more of a modern see-through red silk kind of guy? Is it long and flowy or does it play peek-a-boo with my goodies? Instead, he hands me a shoe box with STELLA MCCARTNEY in big black block letters across the top. Damn, I think I just fell a little bit in love.

  “Should I open it now?” I ask, petting the box, hardly able to contain my crazy couture excitement. I pop the top off before Golden Boy is able to answer.

  There, in mint condition, are a pair of brand-new, never-been-worn, not-from-eBay pair of Stella McCartney Eclypse turquoise lace-up running sneakers, and a matching tank top and running tights.

  “I thought you might be willing to go running with me if you had the right outfit to wear. Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect,” I gush, caressing the gorgeous workmanship of the shoes. I slip off my purple suede heels, out for their third date ever, and tie up my new kicks. “Just beware, my Fairchild track record still stands for a reason. I’m fast. So fast I might leave you in the dust.”

  “Don’t you worry, Josie Bordelon, I plan on keeping pace.”

  “I sure hope you do, Golden Boy.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Asha, who knew my hours of sitting on your PreK counter, eating your mac and cheese, laughing our heads off, would lead to this moment. Working side by side with you has been the best part of this journey called writing a book. If we are blessed to get to do this a second time, I promise not to eat all your tortilla chips, but keep the mac and cheese comin’. Though Josie would cringe, I have to say it: You rock.

  Some are born with the gift of speed, a natural hand at drawing, a mind for numbers. I was born with the gift of always choosing to surround myself with strong, highly-capable women with sharp senses of humor and boundless positivity. After two decades of working in education, when I told my closest friends I wanted to write not one of these women doubted I could do it. Not one questioned my ability to make this leap, of which there was zero evidence I had any skill or talent. These women have cheered me on relentlessly, they are my Lolas: Nicole Avril, Shelley Bransten, Kristy Clark, Stephanie Griggs, Ally Gwozdz, Elizabeth Herrick, Caren O’Connor, Beth Scheer, Beth Silber, and Deborah Zipser.

  Mom and Dad, I won the parent lottery. I really don’t know what else to say. Mom, you are such a warm and open person on stage, in public, with all people. I am more reserved, but it turns out these incredible attributes you possess do live in me too, via, the characters of this book. Thank you for wanting this for me as much as I wanted it for myself. Dad, never could I have imagined a more perfect fit for a father. You get me. You always have. Thank you for letting me be me.

  Scott, I waited many years for you and you showed up! Your patience, patience, patience as I found my stride as a writer did not go unnoticed. We are so lucky to have us and to have our girls, Lila and Lexi. My greatest hope in life is that you will find, own, and share your voices—the world wants to hear what you have to say. Aunt Viv would tell you to, “Do what you gotta do, to get where you want to get.” I’m telling you to be fierce in your own ways. Love you forever.

  —ALLI FRANK

  Thanks so much to my coauthor, Alli, for the invitation to this party and for all the laughs. Our meeting among a roomful of frolicsome preschoolers and their hopeful, hand-wringing parents is proof magic happens in schools. The years we spent in service to our students and their families are the foundation of our common values, familiar histories, and similar senses of humor. On our writing journey, you put the zing in the yin to my zany yang and I look forward to more adventures among the pages with you.

  Premiere praise goes to my family, who are my greatest source of strength and who showed me how to value life, laugh out loud, and believe in love. My late father, TJ Vassar, is my hero who taught me that the secret to connecting with others, and finding myself, could be found within the pages of books. My mother, Lynda Vassar, is my role model in womanhood who instilled in me that being a fabulous wife and mother can include a healthy sense of self and enduring independence; I am the woman I am because of her. My sister, Mikelle Vassar, and my brother, TJ Vassar III, are my cradle-to-crypt crew, who never make me face a fight alone. There are no better road dawgs than these two and I love them fiercely. My in-laws, Fred and Mary Ann Youmans, and my brothers-in-law, Chris Youmans, Matt Youmans, and Greg Youmans, are the extended family of my dreams and true family in my heart, whose support is unfailing. And I can’t forget Ma and the Luna family, the members of my village who are always there to show me the way home.

  A huge shout-out to the people in my life who added to the spirit of the characters in this book. You are part of a colorful sista-hood and I am grateful for your friendship: Latasia Lanier, Sarah Kietzer, YC Spring Chang, the Moore Hall Corner Crew, and
the YoGreenies.

  Finally, my greatest gratitude is for my three guys at home. To my sons, Jared and Michael: You boys taught me all the greatest lessons of my life; I am humbled and proud to be your mother. To my husband, Jeff, who makes me laugh like no other, believes in me completely, and makes me a better person: Thank you for being a stellar dad and for making me happy. My love for you is forever.

  —ASHA YOUMANS

  Our collective appreciation for the following people is overwhelming and overflowing. We have learned more about writing and publishing in half the time from our fast-talking, tenacious, and hilarious agent, Liza Fleissig. Along with Ginger Harris, at Liza Royce Agency, we could not have landed in more capable hands. Our trust in both of you is complete. Tegan Tegani, from the get-go you were as committed to Aunt Viv, Josie, and Etta, as we were. Thank you for holding the story we wanted to tell so closely to your heart and convincing us we could do it by helping us get there. Tara Singh Carlson, thank you for being brave and acting quickly! We knew we needed to land at a publishing house that would not only care about our book but also care about us. The dedication you and Helen O’Hare gave to us during the editing process and the attention to detail provided was above and beyond what we expected. You both made sure our story would sing on the page. From our first meeting at G. P. Putnam’s Sons, we knew our book had found its home.

  Sally Kim, Ivan Held, Christine Ball, Alexis Welby, Ashley McClay, Lauren Monaco, Jordan Aaronson, Nishtha Patel, Meredith Dros, Maija Baldauf, Andrea St. Aubin, Kristin del Rosario, Anthony Ramondo, Monica Cordova, and Sandra Chiu, each of you touched the Bordelon family along its path to bookshelves across America, THANK YOU. You are dream makers and we hope to make you proud.