by Kelly Myers
Sudden rain always moves the plot along. And, maybe that’s what I need in my life: something to move my plot along.
Despite my wishes, I make it to my apartment before it starts pouring. I let myself in and set the papers down. Amy’s essay is at the top of my pile. Her father’s face flashes in my mind once more.
I have to allow myself a small smile because there is a silver lining: for once I’m obsessing over a guy who isn’t Logan.
Chapter Six
Wednesday is my least favorite day of the week. No matter what, it always feels like it should be Friday already, and the kids are always rowdy or grumpy, and I’m always behind.
This Wednesday is no exception. By lunchtime, I’m already exhausted.
My first period class wouldn’t focus, and I’m convinced half the kids didn’t even do the reading.
After that, I had an extremely awkward interaction with the other seventh grade English teacher, Amy Grant. She’s great, and usually we work well together, but she’s not as committed to innovative projects as I am. I had all these ideas for a final assignment where the kids could pretend to direct their own movie adaptation of a book we’ve read this semester. They could work in groups to pretend they were casting the film and come up with storyboards.
I wanted all the classes to do it, not just mine, but Amy has been giving me pushback. She doesn’t see why we can’t just do a simple assignment where we have kids act out some scenes. There’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just basic. I want my students to push themselves to really consider what artistic choices they would make with filming location and camera angles. I don’t want them to just recite lines in front of everyone else.
I’m usually really patient with my co-workers, but I got a bit snippy with Amy, and of course, she’s sensitive, so she got really sullen and quiet, and then our meeting was over because we both had to teach, and now things are awkward between us.
I’m not the type of person who can just brush off tense interactions. I obsess over confrontational conversations or even mix-ups. I have known Amy is a bit sensitive since I started working with her two years ago, so usually I’m patient and careful to word things really gently. I just got frustrated this morning and commented on how I didn’t want us to be lazy teachers who lacked innovation.
I knew before the words left my mouth that she would take it as an insult. If it was Friday or even Monday, I wouldn’t have said it. But Wednesdays are my curse.
Due to my mental unrest over Amy taking offense, I’m out of it as I teach my classes before lunch. The students pick up on my lackluster energy and it makes them reticent. That just makes me more frustrated because nothing is worse than a group of students who don’t participate. It causes the minutes to drag by, for me and for them.
My feet start to hurt during the period before lunch. I’m wearing new shoes, and they’re giving me blisters. Usually I like to walk around the classroom a bit while I teach, but I retreat to my chair due to the pain. This is what I get for splurging on new shoes with cute pink bows.
Now that I have a moment to sit with my salad and sandwich, I tell myself to calm down. Amy will get over it, and I don’t have to apologize. I only spoke the truth. And, I’m going to use my idea for the final project whether or not she does the same. It’s a good idea, and I don’t want to not do it just because Amy is in a tiff.
My resolution doesn’t really make me feel better. My friends say I’m a people-pleaser, and it’s true. I want Amy to like me again. I want her to feel good. And, I don’t actually think she’s lazy; I just think she sometimes takes the “good enough” option instead of striving for a better option.
Not that I can ever say that to her face.
I like to get along with people. I like my coworkers to be happy. I do what I can to get people to like me. Does that make me a doormat? Maybe. But I’ve been working on that.
I sigh and set aside the remains of my ham and swiss sandwich. Just a few more hours, and then I can go home, and this annoying day will be over.
I’m about to go over my calendar for the next few weeks when my desk phone rings. All us teachers have phones in our offices with extensions that are listed in the school directory.
I roll my eyes. With the way this day has been going, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a parent calling to scream about a recent grade I handed out.
I take a calming breath and remind myself that I love my job before picking up. “Hello, this is Miss Ramirez.”
“Hi Elena, it’s David.” His voice is as smooth as honey. How did I not notice that before? “David Russo.”
“Hi.” I clench the phone in my hand and sit up ramrod straight. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” He sounds stilted and just a little bit awkward. “I just wanted to thank you for your email.”
I furrow my brow. I sent him an email on Monday with my suggested reading list for a second-grader. He responded right away thinking me via email. He doesn’t need to call me as well.
“It was no problem,” I say. “Anytime.”
There’s a pause, and I start to cringe. I hate weird silences, even if it’s not my fault. He’s the one who called me, if the conversation is strange, that’s on him.
“Was there anything else I could help you with?” I ask.
“Yeah, uh, I just wanted to follow up after the conference.” He clears his fault. “Make sure Amy is doing ok.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s been three days. There hasn’t been much time for me to observe any great changes in Amy. “She’s been great. Her last assignment was well-written, and she’s seemed upbeat in class.”
“Right.” David clears his throat again. “Good.”
If I didn’t know any better, I would say he’s nervous. But, why should he be nervous? He’s a handsome doctor. I’m just the young middle-school teacher.
“I can definitely keep you posted if I notice anything, Mr. Russo.” I lean back in my chair and look up at the ceiling. I try not to imagine what he looks like on the other end of the line.
“David, please, call me David,” he said.
“Oh, ok.” I wince at my words. Why can’t I say anything that sounds remotely intelligent. “Force of habit.”
“Of course.”
Then he’s dead silent. I try to think of something to fill the void, but my mind is totally blank. What does he want? He could have just emailed me to check in on Amy, and he honestly doesn’t actually sound that interested in Amy at the moment.
My heart flutters. Maybe he’s interested in me? I quickly dismiss that thought. I’m reading too much into this call.
“Sorry, I haven’t done this in a while.” David sighs and lets out a breathy chuckle. “I was actually calling to see if we could have dinner.”
My mouth drops open, and I freeze. David Russo, the older doctor with the charming smile, wants to have dinner with me? The guy I couldn’t help but be attracted to. Also the dad of one of my students. I frown. Maybe, I’m interpreting this wrong. I’m not sure of his age, but he’s definitely too old for me, there’s no way this is a date.
“Oh, to talk about Amy some more?” I ask.
It’s not actually that out of the norm. I’ve met up with parents before, especially to discuss a child with behavioral issues or learning disabilities. Usually we go for coffee, but I’ve definitely had lunch with a parent. Dinner wouldn’t be that weird.
David pauses for a long time before answering. “Yeah, we could talk about Amy and other things too.”
I’m at a loss for words. What other things could the two of us possibly discuss? Granted, I don’t know much about him, but I’m pretty sure we have nothing in common.
I know I should clarify. I should ask him exactly what this dinner would mean. But I have no idea how to phrase it.
Luckily for me, David keeps talking: “Tomorrow my shift at the hospital ends at 7, I can meet you somewhere in Lakeview? I know it’s a school night, but my schedule is pretty tight on
weekends.”
“No, tomorrow is fine,” I say.
My voice sounds light and casual, which I’m pretty impressed by since internally I’m screaming. He wants to have dinner tomorrow? That gives me zero time to mentally prepare. And, I still have no idea what this dinner would even mean.
“Great!” David is smiling, I can hear it in his voice. Just like that, despite my panic, I smile too. “I can email you some options, unless there’s somewhere you would prefer?”
“No, you can email me.” There’s no way I want to be responsible for choosing the restaurant. I’m already having a breakdown at choosing an outfit for a dinner meeting that is this ambiguous.
“Awesome!” He sounds young when he’s enthusiastic. It’s cute. “Alright, I’ll let you go.”
“Alright, goodbye.”
He hangs up, but I keep the phone pressed to my ear, staring into space while the tone beeps.
Do I have a date? Is this dinner a date?
I slowly put the phone back down.
I can’t go on a date with the parent of a student that I teach every day. And even if he wasn’t a parent, I don’t want to date him. He’s too old for me. Plus, he makes me nervous. He’s kind, but he’s not approachable like all the other guys I’ve been with. If he kissed me, I would faint. I would be too nervous.
Even just thinking about a man like David Russo kissing me causes my hands to start shaking. He’s too mature and too experienced.
I already get self-conscious in bed, no matter who I’m with, so with David I would be terrified.
All the guys I’ve ever dated have been my age. And, guys in their twenties are basically boys. It’s the truth. Men take longer to mature than women, and the men my age, even if they have good jobs and clean apartments, they still look young. They still hang out with friends from college and wear ratty T-shirts.
I like that. I’m ok with that. I understand men my own age.
But older men feel like real men. I wouldn’t know what to do or how to act with a real man.
Plus, David is a widower. That’s a whole other can of worms. Most guys my age aren’t even thinking about marriage, but David is past a point where he was ready to settle down.
And, then his wife died, leaving him a single parent, which must have involved so much grief and hardship that I can’t possibly understand anything about his life.
I don’t know anyone who has ever dated a widower! Not even Marianne, and she’s dated the widest range of people, including a few very out-there guys.
I groan and bury my face in my hands. Why did he have to suggest tomorrow? It’s too soon, I don’t have time to mull this whole situation over. Why couldn’t I think of an excuse?
Then again, maybe it’s better that the dinner is tomorrow, otherwise I would spend an entire week in a state of unrest. This way I can just get it over with.
The thought that tomorrow night, David might flirt with me over a meal, sends shivers up and down my spine. The thought that we could end up being intimate in less than 48 hours...I shake off that hypothetical. It won’t happen. It can’t happen.
I haven’t been with anyone since Logan. I haven’t even kissed another guy. I know I’ll want to eventually, but I saw no reason to force myself.
It’s stupid to consider being in bed with David, because I’m not even sure it’s a date! He did say we would discuss Amy. And he’s clearly a very attentive father, maybe he just wants to do the most to help her.
I chew on my lip as I check the time. I have five minutes before my lunch is over, and I have to teach my next period. I flush as I realize Amy is in my next class.
I do not have time for a full-blown freak-out right now. I need to put aside my questions about David and this possible-date for later so I can survive the day without breaking down in front of my students.
I take a few deep breaths and pull out my lesson plan. Focus on the task at hand, worry about that phone call later.
I’ll call in back-up and consult my friends on whether it’s a real date or not.
The last question I can’t answer is the one that bugs me the most: do I want it to be a date?
Chapter Seven
I would have liked to meet all my friends at once so they could all weigh in on the David situation, but it’s too short notice. In the end, I get Marianne. It’s her day off, and she can swing an early-morning coffee before my school starts.
Marianne lives within walking distance of me in Lakeview with a bunch of artist-type roommates. She agrees to meet me outside the Lakeview Middle School so we can sit on a bench and debrief. I thank her over text and volunteer to bring coffee and pastries for both of us. Marianne just says she’s excited to hear the details. I was too overwhelmed to go into it the night before, I just told her it involved a guy. That was all it took to pique Marianne’s interest.
We agree to meet at six outside the school. I don’t have to be in my classroom until 7:30, but I want to make sure we have enough time. I’m so stressed and unsure about the entire David situation that I know it’s going to take more than a ten-minute chat to set my mind at ease.
In fact, I’m thinking nothing short of a lobotomy could possibly set my mind at ease. I couldn’t fall asleep last night because I kept imagining that David thought it was a date, and it was going to be awkward. Or, that I was going to show up acting like it was a date, and he was going to feel awkward because it’s not a date.
Why couldn’t he have just clarified on the phone? If he had only said the word “date,” I would at least know what I was getting into. It’s like I’m the only person in the world who cares about the nuance of language.
Although, maybe he does care about language and it was his intention to not say the word “date.” Because it’s just a dinner to discuss his daughter.
I feel like I’ve tied my brain in knots by the time I sit down on the bench outside the schoolyard, lattes in hand.
There are about a bajillion questions beyond the whole issue of whether it’s a date or not. If it is a date, I’ll need to end it quickly. Or make it such a bad dinner that there won’t be a second date. Because I can’t date a parent of one of my students, I just can’t. I would feel weird every time the student came into my classroom, like I was cheating on them. Kids are sensitive about this kind of thing. Right now, I belong to Amy. I’m her teacher. It would be a betrayal to date her dad.
Unless she knows about the date? No, that’s not possible. Whatever else David is, he’s a good father. He wouldn’t overshare details about his dating life with his tween daughter.
It’s not fair to me that I’ll have to sabotage this date, if it is a real date. Because this would be the first time I’ve gone out with someone since Logan.
And, I did not picture my first try getting back on the dating scene to be this complicated. I imagined a nice low-stakes date with a nice non-problematic guy. I don’t know exactly when this easy date was going to happen, but it was sometime in the blurry future. And, even in my imagination it wasn’t with a guy who is at least ten years my senior.
I sigh and lean back against the bench. It’s going to be another warm day, but there’s a cool morning breeze. If it was winter, it would be pitch dark, but the sun is already up despite the early hour.
I grin as I see Marianne’s golden hair bobbing down the street. She clearly just rolled out of bed and pulled on whatever clothes were at hand, and yet somehow she makes the loose cotton pants and cut-off T-shirt look fashionable in a bohemian way. She flops down on the bench next to me and happily accepts the latte I offer.
“Alright, spill,” Marianne says. “I need the hot details to wake me up.”
“There is nothing hot about this scenario.” I shake my head and frown. “You’re going to have to rely on the espresso.”
Marianne purses her lips and takes a sip. “Stop being cagey and just tell me, this is the first time you’ve mentioned a guy in years, I’m dying of curiosity.”
“Ok, so.” I straighte
n my back as I prepare to repeat the whole story out loud. “I had parent-teacher conferences last week, and there was this single dad who came in.”
“Oh my god.” Marianne wiggles in excitement. “I always knew you were that teacher that all the fathers had a crush on.”
“I am not that teacher,” I say. “And, I’m not sure he even has a crush on me, listen.”
Marianne grins and leans forward. I wish she would take this a little more seriously, but it still feels good to share.
“He called me yesterday on my classroom phone, and he suggested we go to dinner together,” I say.
Marianne interrupts me with a squeal. “Oh my god, it’s your first date! Finally, you’re going to have your rebound!”
I wack her arm and shush her. “No, I’m not even sure it’s a date, that’s the problem. He never clarified if it was a date or just another meeting to discuss his daughter. Her mom died, and she sometimes struggles.”
“He’s a widower?” Marianne raises her eyebrows. “That’s so Victorian and old-fashioned.”
“No, it’s sad.” I stare ahead and frown. “Plus he’s old, way too old for me.”
“How old are we talking?”
I shrug. “I think 38 or 39.”
“How do you know?”
I blush. This is slightly embarrassing, but I can’t lie to Marianne. “He’s a doctor and I looked him up online and read his bio to see when he graduated medical school.”
Marianne tips her head back and cackles. I roll my eyes. It wasn’t my proudest moment when I was hunched over my computer searching his name, but I was so stressed last night, I had to do it.
“What kind of doctor?” Marianne asks.
“Cardiovascular surgeon,” I say.
“A healer of the heart! That’s a sign.” Marianne thinks everything is a sign.
“Listen, I agreed to the dinner, and it’s supposed to be tonight.” I snap my fingers in front of her gleeful face to get her to focus. “I think I should cancel. Tell him I have food poisoning or something.”
