by Emma Woods
“Tom’s daughter, right?” Rosemarie clarified.
“I keep forgetting you know him. Have you met Sophie?”
She shook her head. “Not yet, but Tom is obviously very proud of her.”
“He should be,” I said and rested my head against the back of the chair. “Sophie is really sweet. She and her dad clearly have a great relationship. It’s fun to watch.”
My mind sneaked off to think about my lackluster relationship with my own father. Once upon a time, Dad had been that involved with me. We’d called ourselves the Two Musketeers, which was a joke I hadn’t understood until I was much older. I’d just assumed that there were two musketeers who spent a lot of time together. But once Ashley had joined our family, Dad had stopped calling us that. Worse, he’d stopped treating me like his special, treasured daughter once he and Ashley started their own family.
I glanced up, pulling myself from those gloomy thoughts, to see Rosemarie giving me an understanding look. She knew all about my family situation, and I was glad not to have to go into the details tonight.
My phone pinged, and I was glad to see that Marco had finally written back.
“Marco?” Rosemarie inquired.
“Polo,” I quipped.
“I’ll leave you to it,” my friend said. She got up gracefully, gave my arm a squeeze, and floated out of the room.
My fiancé had texted, “Good luck.”
I pursed my lips. It was three hours later. Did he really have no idea that Open House was over by now? I tried to remember where in the world he was. If he was overseas, did that excuse this lapse? I wasn’t convinced that it did.
So, I pushed aside my flare of annoyance and typed, “It was great!”
When I didn’t get an immediate answer, I got up and changed out of my dress and into my PJs. I was washing my face when my phone dinged.
“Great,” was the answering text message.
“Ugh, really?” I sighed. But then my phone pinged, and I was sure that Marco had asked for details.
“We might ride elephants tomorrow.”
I stared at my phone for a long moment. Part of me wanted to text back a long, detailed message about my night in the hopes that he’d understand how much it had meant to me. Another part of me wanted to text back a long, detailed message about how obtuse he was being.
I weighed the options and decided to brush my teeth and go to bed. I would respond in the morning, when I was rested and not annoyed with my callous fiancé’s lack of interest in the most important thing that had happened to me in years.
4
It took me a long time to fall asleep. I kept berating Marco in my head, going over and over all the things that he’d done lately that were uncaring and thoughtless. Finally, I allowed myself to wonder, “Should I marry this man?” No sooner had the question formed in my mind than I jerked away from it. Of course we should be married! The familiar list of justifications scrolled across my brain. All couples have problems. We’re going through a difficult time. It’s hard to have a great relationship through text messages. Long-distance relationships are hard.
And while these were all little more than excuses, the truth was a lot harder to face. I would rather be with Marco with all our problems than be without him and learn that no one else could love me. Marco had come into my life at a time when I’d been desperate to be loved. My dad and stepmom were entirely wrapped up in my half-brothers’ lives. I was on my own and feeling very unlovable. Then I’d met Marco, and we’d hit it off. He was the proof that I could be loved. The idea of being without him was terrifying.
Which was why, when my phone rang at one forty-five in the morning, I answered it.
“Hi, Jill,” Marco’s voice drilled through my sleepy haze. “I wanted to call and hear about your Open House. You said it was great?”
Torn between appreciation and annoyance, I mumbled, “Yeah, it was.”
“Oh, did I wake you up? Sorry. I’m in Thailand and I have no idea what time it is.” He laughed lightly, not noticing when I didn’t join in.
“So, I had an idea about Christmas,” he went on. “It looks like I’m going to be at a conference in Hawaii. It starts on the 27th. What would you think about flying out a few days early and hanging out with me? I bet we could extend my booking in the hotel. Then we could split the cost of your room.”
Christmas in Hawaii with Marco? It was a really romantic idea. The only problem was that there was no way I could afford it, especially if we ended up skiing with my family over Thanksgiving.
“That sounds really great, but I can’t afford a plane ticket to Hawaii.” I waited, wishing he’d offer to give me some of his frequent flier miles. He’d told me before that he was saving them up for a “really big trip,” but I never learned what it was he had in mind. I had the niggling worry that, whatever it was, I wasn’t invited.
“Well, it was just an idea. Think about it. I’d like to see you over Christmas, and I thought this would be a convenient way to make it happen.”
Marco moved on to explain the intricacies of his latest deal. I moved automatically into my robot-girlfriend mode, in which I gave a rotating interested response without actually listening. “Uh-huh. Wow. Really?” While he talked, I groused in my head. Why didn’t Marco make more of an effort with me? I had seen enough romantic movies and read a lot of romance books, and my fiancé was nothing like those fictional men. Was the reality of men so different? Or was Marco somehow defective?
After forty minutes of monologuing, Marco ended his explanation.
I jumped at the chance. “So, I got to meet all my students at Open House. They seem really cute. There’s this one girl, Soph—”
“Hey, Jill, I hate to do this, but it looks like the guys are ready to go. I’ll call you later. Love you. Bye.”
Well, then I was too riled up to go back to sleep. I hung up and let myself have a good cry. I was confused and hurt by the actions of the person who was supposed to love me more than anyone else. Was this somehow my fault? Was I doomed to a life of listening to Marco drone on about work whenever he found the time for me? Did I somehow deserve a less-than-stellar relationship? Was I the defective one? Was this all a big overreaction?
Needless to say, I was not in great shape when my alarm went off that morning. I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower, where I proceeded to stand under the hot water, trying to perk up. My closet and drawers were almost empty, and I groaned at the thought of having to do laundry, which is the chore I detest most in all the world.
I allowed myself a special trip to the Birch Springs Beanery on my way to work and bought a ridiculously large, sugary beverage from Emily, who was working that morning.
“Rough night?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Marco called just before two,” I explained bleakly.
She pressed her lips together and wisely chose to say nothing in response. She busied herself getting my drink together. “I put in an extra espresso shot for you.”
“You are an angel,” I sighed.
Emily laughed and waved me out the door.
I only had enough time to drop off my purse and grab my notebook and pen before heading down to our first meeting of the day. Mrs. Mullens had provided us with a breakfast of prepackaged, sugary pastries and a vat of coffee, and the barest of accoutrements. She stood at the end of the table, watching us with an eagle’s eye as though daring us to take a second chocolate muffin.
Still trying to prove I was a good girl, I darted in and took one of the smallest cinnamon rolls before retreating to a table with Julie and Lisa. In what I was coming to understand was her trademark rebellious fashion, Julie had three plastic-wrapped muffins in front of her. She tore the paper back and bit heartily into a blueberry muffin. Lisa looked over everything with disdain and plunged a green tea bag into her Styrofoam cup of hot water.
The meeting finally began as a few stragglers came in late, disrupting Mrs. Mullens’ greeting each time. I lost track of
what was being said, wishing I was back in bed, asleep. I promised myself that next time I wouldn’t answer Marco’s call if it came so late.
Between sipping my latte, picking at my cinnamon roll, and daydreaming about taking a nap, I had no idea what Mrs. Mullens was talking about. We were about an hour and a half into her mind-numbing list of “important” topics when Julie’s hand went up in the air.
I blinked and looked around. Several teachers had their hands up. Were they asking questions or signing up for something?
“Thank you,” Mrs. Mullens said, taking notes on her pad. “And the other committee?”
This time Lisa put her hand up. I groaned inwardly. What in the heck were we doing? Was I expected to volunteer for something?
“And, the final category?” our principal called.
I gave Julie and Lisa a questioning look, but neither of them looked my way. When about a third of the teachers raised a hand, I put mine up, too.
Mrs. Mullens looked us all over, jotting down names as she went. “Wonderful. Looks like we’ll have a superb after-school program, then.”
I dropped my hand. Dang it! Had I just volunteered to be part of the after-school program? I’d planned to keep from committing to too many things right off the bat, so that I could focus on teaching.
“Do we get paid extra for doing the after-school program?” I whispered to Lisa.
She nodded. “It pays pretty well, too.”
I sat back and chewed my lip. If I had a plane ticket to Vail to buy, and maybe one to Hawaii, I needed the money. Looks like I was going to be working after school. Still, I wasn’t too happy with my sleepy self.
When Mrs. Mullens adjourned the meeting for lunch, she quickly called the after-school volunteers over. “Let’s get a few things planned out before the school year begins,” she explained.
This time, I forced myself to listen carefully to my principal’s explanation of how the program would work. She went over the hours and days we would meet, how to fill out the overtime payment sheet, and the expectations for behavior. Finally, she began to delve into the various clubs that would be offered.
“If you have an idea for something in particular you’d like to do, let me know. Dan, are you still planning on doing the open gym time? Good. Martha, can I put you down for the yearbook club? Okay.” Mrs. Mullens called on all the repeat volunteers from the previous year. “Now, we have a new program starting, and we’ll need several people to help with it. I’ve spoken with Tom Jerrett, who’s the new foreman at Triple Star Ranch. We’re going to be able to offer a horseback riding club in partnership with the ranch. We should be able to arrange transportation to the ranch at least two days a week, but we’ll need several sponsors.”
A horseback riding club? That sound like fun. Plus, I liked Tom. I figured he’d be easy to work with. When Mrs. Mullens got around to asking for volunteers, I put my hand up. I was particularly glad to have agreed to sponsor this club, because the next club that needed help was a hip-hop dancing club. Watching kids ride horses, I could handle. I had no business trying to teach anyone how to dance.
I was able to spend the rest of the day in my classroom. School was starting Monday, and I wanted to leave for the weekend feeling like everything was ready. Lisa had advised me to over-prepare for the first day.
“Nothing ever goes like you think it will. An activity you planned might take half the time you thought it would, or the music teacher will have to help with something and won’t be available. Be sure to have more planned than you think you’ll need,” she’d told me at the copier the previous day. “Last year, the air conditioner in my room broke and it was about a hundred degrees in there. We had to go to the library for the entire day.”
I lifted up a quick prayer that my first day wouldn’t be as dramatic as all that. Which got me thinking about how nervous I was about Monday. I decided to walk around, touching each desk and saying a quick prayer for each student. Once I’d accomplished that, I felt much calmer. I was able to move on to planning the rest of the week without breaking out in heart palpitations every few minutes.
In fact, I was so calm that I texted Rosemarie and asked if she was available to help me with laundry. She sent back a thumbs-up emoji, and I decided to stop at the grocery store to pick up a carton of ice cream. Rosemarie and I had a laundry party about once a month. She would help me wash, dry, and fold all my dirty clothes, which was how I knew that we were best friends. We typically had music pumping and would break into terrible dancing throughout the evening. Then we would celebrate finishing it all with ice cream. Rosemarie was the only reason I survived that awful chore.
At the store, I contemplated the ice cream choices at length. We both liked chocolate, but Rosemarie liked nuts in hers more than I did. I was really, really grateful that she was helping me with this, but I was tired and needed a treat. I’d narrowed the choices down to cookies and cream and chocolate fudge when someone called my name.
I looked up and saw Tom standing with a basket in hand.
“Hi!” I said, a smile immediately breaking over my face.
His own smile widened so that his eyes crinkled and almost disappeared. “You look like you have big plans for tonight,” he said, pointing at the ice cream behind the glass.
“I have to do laundry,” I explained. “I hate it. I find that having something to help me celebrate when it’s over helps.”
“How can you hate laundry?” Tom asked with an incredulous chuckle.
I rolled my eyes. “How can you not? It’s the never-ending chore. You wash everything, then you have to dry it, then you have to fold it, then you have to put it away. And you can’t wash all your clothes together. And you can’t put everything in the dryer. It’s the worst.”
I grabbed the cookies and cream ice cream, and the two of us started walking down the aisle toward the checkout stands.
“I don’t mind laundry. It’s cleaning the bathroom that I hate,” Tom admitted.
“That’s funny. I don’t mind that one so much. It doesn’t take long, and I really enjoy a clean bathroom.” I paid for my ice cream, and then waited while Tom paid for the items in his cart.
We turned together with our purchases and headed toward the parking lot. “What are you and Sophie doing tonight?”
“Friday night we get McDonalds and watch a movie. Unfortunately, it’s her turn to pick, which means we will be watching ‘Tarzan’ for about the twelfth time in a row.”
I laughed at his wry tone. We’d reached the place where we needed to walk off in different directions. I was a little surprised at how reluctant I was to stop talking to Tom.
“Well, have fun with your laundry,” he said.
“Have fun with your movie,” I replied.
I unlocked my car and got in, watching as he strolled to his battered pickup truck. By the time I arrived home at Bumblebee House, I realized I was in a much better mood than when I’d left it, and I had no idea why.
5
I had everything prepared for my first day of the new school year. The night before, I’d laid out my outfit right down to the shoes and jewelry I was going to wear. It had taken almost an hour to make my final decision, but I liked the dress I’d chosen and knew I’d be comfortable and professional in it. My lunch was packed and in the fridge. My teaching tote bag held my grade book and lesson plan book. I hadn’t strictly needed these over the weekend, but when I pictured myself walking in on the first day, I was carrying my adorable teacher tote bag with my coordinated planning books peeking out of the top.
You’d think that all this preparation meant that I was cool and collected and ready for the big day. You would be wrong. I woke up fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to go off, heart pounding and brain swirling. I jumped in the shower and almost forgot to wash the conditioner out of my hair. I was in such a frenzy to be ready that I ended up with a full thirty minutes to eat my breakfast and drink my coffee.
I left the house ten minutes earlier than I needed t
o. I just couldn’t bring myself to wait around any longer. Once I arrived at the school, I had nothing to do until the bell rang and students were allowed into the building. I turned on the computers and the projector. I tried sitting at my desk, but kept fidgeting. I paced up and down the rows.
Finally the bell rang, and I skipped to the door, ready to greet each child as he or she entered second grade. The other teachers on my hall slowly arrived at their own doors. Lisa looked happy enough, but Julie only sipped her coffee groggily. I called a greeting to them, and they waved back.
I had enough time to rub my hands together nervously before the first children started coming around the corner. There they were! It took a real effort to keep myself from dancing with excitement.
The day flew by from there. All twenty-three of my students arrived on time, and we dealt with the influx of tissue boxes, packs of lined paper, and new backpacks. We had an extended morning meeting on the carpet, and every child had a chance to share about his or her summer. The team-building activities I’d planned went mostly well. There were a few short tempers, but everything worked out pretty easily once I talked to the grouchy students.
By lunchtime, my adrenaline had left me tired and starving. I sat at the lunch table across from Sophie and a little girl named Tabitha. Julie was slumped at the teaching table, and my day was too good to deal with a downer right then.
“I didn’t get to tell you before, but I think your dress is really pretty,” Sophie said to me with shining eyes.
I smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you. I was very nervous about today, and I tried on about a hundred outfits.”
Tabitha’s eyes grew wide. “Why were you nervous?”
“I wanted today to be perfect. I was so excited!” I took a bite of my sandwich and glanced down the table to make sure no misbehavior was bubbling up.
“I was excited, too!” Tabitha admitted. “I mean, it is my first day of second grade.”
