by Jo Noelle
Me, my, it’s easy to confuse those two words. I smile at Ms. Proste and place my hand on my folder, wondering if she would like me to show her his current samples now. Trying to spin this back toward schoolwork, I say, “It’s good to see he’s also writing at home.”
“Uh-huh, there’s more.” She keeps moving new ones to the top for me to scan. It’s like watching time-lapse photography of an emergent writer. “Look at this one. It’s my favorite.” She slides a new one to the top.
This one really shows how much his writing skills have grown. It’s easy to read now. “Oh!” The story on the top says “I luv my techr. She is booteeful.” It shows Chad holding my hand by something looking like a swing set. The next is obviously Chad and me again at recess. Is the whole folder Chad’s crush file? Yes.
“This is his latest.”
My eyes widen as I read the story. Maybe he read a little more into receiving a Valentine from me than I thought.
His mom laughs a little. “I know. I was so surprised. They’ve been so cute—I’ve kept each one. Good for future blackmail maybe.”
The words written on this page say, “I’m going to mary my techr. And giv her candy.” This page has more detail than the rest, showing, of course, me and Chad, but also other people, along with the familiar brown squares around the page that have decorated other pages. I point to one and look at his mom.
“They’re desks.” She chuckles.
Our wedding is in our classroom with our classmates. Too cute!
“So, it really isn’t a surprise why he’s having a great year. He’s almost like a different child. Last year, he was in trouble all the time, and this year, he’s just in love.” She smiles like she’s letting me in on a secret. “It seems to work better for him to want to please you.”
I don’t know what to say.
“So my guess is that his schoolwork looks fine. His progress is fine.” She looks in my eyes, nodding. “His behavior is fine. Everything’s fine, right?”
I nod mutely along with her.
“Okay. I was pretty sure it would be. Well, thanks for meeting with me,” she says, pushing her papers back into the folder and sliding her chair away from the table.
“It’s just a crush. I’m sure it will fade away.”
“Let’s hope it lasts through the end of the school year,” she replies, giving a wink.
On Friday morning, I wake with a headache and a cold. I could feel myself getting run down the last week or so, going to sleep tired, waking up still tired. Today, my nose is stuffy and my throat is scratchy. I stand in front of my class to welcome them, but after two days of talking all day and all night at conferences, now all I can manage is a whisper. I call on students during the lessons, and they all whisper back. The day progresses mildly. Everyone is quiet and subdued. If I’d known they’d react this way, I would have faked laryngitis weeks ago.
I have to cancel another date with Liam. Of course he lets me off—I’m sick, but the way he sounded was not just disappointed, but a little annoyed.
Partnership meeting is longer than usual today. We jump into our updates and talk non-stop for an hour.
“Have you been sick?” Kevin asks.
I nod to confirm. “Again.”
“It seems like you get something every couple of weeks. Teaching is a rough gig, isn’t it.”
“I can’t even count how many times kids sneeze or cough on me each week. It’s a miracle I’m not sick more.”
“Have you considered what you’ll do next year?”
“A little. No decisions yet.”
“Sophie, I want you as a full-time partner. Things are going well the way they are, but we would rip it up if you were full-time with me.” Kevin looks into my eyes and opens his mouth just slightly. Then his eyes change, as if holding back what he considered saying and leans away a bit, smiling at me. “Well, I hope you consider it. And I hope you decide to do it. Good partnerships are hard to come by. This is really good for both of us.”
I smirk back. Okay, Kevin, don’t get personal.
“Real estate will come back, and because we’ve stayed in it, we’ll be poised to take advantage of the building market. We’ll have a strong brand and a market presence when that happens. This is good right now, and it will be better in the future. It takes a while to build any relationship worth having, Sophie. We need to stay available and open.”
We are talking about business relationships, right? And not code for, “We need a relationship-relationship.” “I’m thinking about it. I’m in it for now, and I’ll let you know about future decisions.”
“Things are good right now. It looks like we’re going to have another strong two to three weeks with the leads and offers we have on the table.”
I’m too tired to even respond.
March 1, 2008
Newbie Blog:
Do I Have to Be a Teacher?
Before the school year started, the answer was definitely yes! I needed a job and a paycheck. I really wasn’t qualified to do anything else on the short notice of a crashing economy. Then the answer was no! It was just too hard. I didn’t know what to do, how to do it, when to do it, or if it was the right thing to do. Then the answer was maybe. I was keeping up with the prep, and my class was running smoothly. Finally, I started enjoying it. So the answer was yes! Again.
But the real question is, do I choose to continue doing this now that I have options? Oh, I’m finishing this year for sure, but it’s time to start thinking about next year. My real estate career is strong. It’s a lot harder to get to a closing, and it takes three times as many listings before I can hope to see a paycheck. If I were to throw myself back into it full-time, it would be more than enough.
I don’t want to do both careers. I want my personal life back. I want to wake up without bloodshot eyes. It’s nice to have two good things to choose between.
Before bed, I have a message from Liam and return his call. “Hi. I just called to say good-night.”
“You sound like you’re feeling a little better.”
“I think so. But I came home after partnership meeting and took a nap. I’ve been so tired.”
“You went to partnership meeting?”
“Yes.” I was half dead, but I dragged myself to the restaurant.
“I…Well, I thought you were too sick…but I guess…I’m glad you’re feeling better. Goodnight, Sophie, and I’m glad you called.”
I shut my phone and lie in bed. My room is dark but my eyes are open as if I’m staring at the ceiling or the light. I’m battling myself. The real estate me and teacher me battle for my attention and time, circling and jabbing. I wonder which will win. Whichever one it is, I’m afraid I could just lose the me me.
March 8, 2008
Newbie Blog:
Reenactment
On Tuesday, one of the little boys in my classroom came in complaining, “Oh, that mother-in-law of mine. She will be the death of me.”
Two things I’ve Learned:
1. Teachers should only believe half of what children say about home.
2. Home should only believe half of what they hear about teachers.
Nicholas, Nelson, and Noah. All Ns—no wonder I didn’t catch their names over Thanksgiving. I need a trick to remember them. Nicholas has the longest name—he’s the oldest at eight. Noah, shortest name—youngest, four. Nelson in the middle, six, Spider Man. Got it.
I cut partnership meeting short today, crunched calendars, had a bagel, and left. Liam and I haven’t had a lot of time together this past month. My calendar has been packed, then throw in a cold and honestly, I’ve made time for everything and everyone but him.
Today, I arrive at Liam’s house by ten. Elise and Paul’s family got in last night. Elise and Paul have the day planned for celebrating their anniversary, so Liam and I are babysitting. When I walk in, I hear Liam and the boys yelling in the basement. From the bottom of the stairs, I see that they’ve scooted everything against the walls and are playi
ng soccer. I sit on the stairs and watch the rest of the game. Afterward, they slump into the sectional to watch a video.
“A classic,” Liam says. “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.” The boys throw their fists in the air and cheer.
Noah is a cutie with thick, dark auburn hair, curling and twirling in every direction. It’s rather long but it’s so beautiful, I can imagine it would be hard for his mom to cut it. Nicholas and Nelson are sandy blonds. Their hair is combed in a messy, spikey way. I wonder what our children might look like if Liam and I married.
I look between their hair and Liam’s. “Did you do their hair?”
“Men don’t do their hair.”
“But you did, right?” He ignores me. “You didn’t quite get Noah’s hair right,” I tease. Noah hears his name and climbs on my lap. His arms circle my neck, and he snuggles in.
Liam gives me a surprised look and whispers, “I guess he likes you.” Then he puts his arm around us both, and we watch the movie. During several scenes, the boys (yes, Liam included) jump up, kicking and chopping around the room, spewing grunts and faking dramatic falls to the floor.
This is what Liam will be like as a dad. More and more, I catch myself considering what it would be like to marry Liam, to be a family with him and have our own children. I study his profile, wondering what our children would look like, maybe his eyes and my hair.
Liam smiles at me and kisses my forehead, then continues watching the movie.
“Lunch,” Liam announces as the credits roll.
“Lunch!” all three boys echo and chant, running upstairs to the kitchen.
“What’s for lunch, Chef?” I ask.
“Octopus slime!” the boys answer, chanting, “Octopus slime, octopus slime.”
“Mac and cheese with hot dogs,” Liam whispers back to me.
The boys sit on the barstools and watch as Liam splits half of each hot dog a couple of times to make legs. He dumps green food coloring into the pot, then he throws the hot dogs in with the boiling pasta. A few minutes later, he fishes the hot dogs out and puts them on plates, drains the pasta, and stirs in the cheese, milk, and butter. Then he pours mac and cheese on top of each hot dog octopus and places them in front of the boys.
“Octopus slime,” he announces as they dig in.
At the end of lunch, Noah stands beside me and reaches up, his chubby fingers opening and closing. As I pick him up, he rubs his eyes saying, “Happy nappy?” I toss a questioning look to Liam.
Liam softly coos, “Okay, Noe. Come on.” He reaches for Noah, and his arms gently curl the boy into his chest like an infant. Then he settles Noah’s blanket across the top of him and picks up a sippy cup. Liam twists, rocking the child from side to side. He smiles, and his eyes twinkle as he leans close to Noah’s face and kisses his forehead. Liam’s hand smooths across Noah’s curly hair and he softly sings, “It’s happy nappy time, it’s happy nappy time,” as he shuffles, swaying down the hall to a guest room. My eyes follow Liam as he walks slowly away, his voice fading. Noah’s plump hand is wrapped under Liam’s arm, scrunching a wad of shirt in his dimpled fist.
I can’t help thinking, this is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen Liam do.
March 15, 2008
Newbie Blog:
What Happened?
I had no idea it would happen like this. Suddenly, I have a class full of readers. Since January, the change has been startling. They can read on their own, real books—not the kind where the same sentence is on every page. They share books and talk about them and hoard them. They even sneak books out during other lessons. It’s like someone magically opened their heads and poured in an easy-peasy-reader potion. I’d really like to know what happened. Maybe we could bottle it and use it all year. Watching this is my other paycheck.
I’ve been asking myself for months if I want to be a teacher or real estate agent? Teacher wins. I’m no longer a first-grade teacher because it’s my job. I feel confident what I am doing is good for children.
I’m going to talk to my principal soon, then I’ll talk to my real estate partner and arrange an exit strategy for our partnership over the summer. The crashing real estate market was a fortunate tragedy, nudging me in the direction that would truly bring me the most happiness in a career. In my very core, I am a teacher.
As I pull into the restaurant’s parking lot, I see Kevin sitting in his car, having an animated conversation on his phone, his hands moving up and down the way they do when he’s excited, his head rolling back occasionally to laugh. When I catch his eye, I point to myself, then the front door of the restaurant. He nods and holds up his index finger, then points at himself and the restaurant. I get it—he’ll be in in a minute.
We have a regular booth now, near the corner. After our server checks back twice, I decide to order.
Kevin comes in just before our server takes my empty Diet Coke glass for a refill and my omelet is almost gone.
“Sorry about that. How are you?” he asks, sliding into the bench. “Another crazy week, right?”
Since my mouth is full of egg, cheese, and mushrooms, I nod in agreement.
“Omelet, please,” he tells the server, pointing at my plate as she places another Diet Coke in front of me.
“I wonder … that was an old friend that just called me out of the blue.”
I look up as he pauses. My face must have revealed that I’m not connecting how this relates to me or to the partnership meeting, so it probably doesn’t. I give him a weak, fleeting smile—the kind reserved for a crazy person.
“I wonder if you would go with me to a friend’s house and …”
Choking down my current bite, I interrupt his question. “Stop. We’ve had this conversation before. I’m with Liam. He’s with me. We’re together. Got it? I like being your partner. In fact, we-re great partners, and we’re ripping up the short sale market. Of course, that might not last because someone is bound to find out what we’re doing and start up some competition. Until then, we’re partners, and I’d like to keep it that way. So as much as I’m flattered, frequently flattered, and frankly flattered a little too often by your come-ons, I’m not having this conversation with you yet again. Give it a rest. You’re persistent, but because you sell for a living. Anyway. Move on. Find another girl. Date. Have fun. Just not with me.”
“It’s a listing.”
I stare at him.
“I wondered if you would go with me to a friend’s house for a listing appointment.”
“Oh.” He’s staring at my eyes. “Sure.” He turns his wallet over and over beside his spoon, still holding my gaze. “When?” I ask.
“Friday. He and his wife are considering selling their home and would like our opinion. Their home is probably worth between one and two million.”
“You could do that on your own. It’s hardly worth our time. There aren’t a lot of buyers for McMansions right now, even on short sales.” I move my empty plate toward the end of the table.
“It will probably take some time to secure the listing and even more time to sell something in the luxury home market, but maybe the size of the commission would be worth the wait.”
I really don’t think I’ll be around for showings or a closing since I’m quitting, but haven’t told him yet. “Okay, Friday is fine.”
“I’ll have to pick you up at four thirty to be there on time. You probably won’t be able to eat first, so we can grab something on the way back from their house.”
We exchange update information about appointments and listings for last week and next, and I rise to leave. Kevin stands as I do. Dang. Another cheek peck.
On Friday after work, I rush home and quickly change into a power suit with high heels and a short skirt. Kevin rings the bell as I finish brushing my teeth.
The home is in an area outside of Larkspur developed as gentleman estates of ten to fifteen acres per lot. Glimpses of the landscaping and lights peek between the tall hedges lining the street as we enter the stamped concrete drive
. As we approach the house, I’m sure my jaw drops—rockin’ curb appeal! The concrete drive gives way to cobbles as it makes a graceful turn along the front of the home and ends near the other side of the house at a connected garage.
Three chimneys dot the shake-shingled roofline. Stone pillars separate the wings into three sections and define the front door. Each section is characterized by a pitched roof between the pillars. All the lights are on, and a soft yellow glow backlights the exterior trees and landscaping. I sigh. “Great staging.”
After we park in a spot near the garages, Kevin gets out and asks, “Could you grab the listing packet out of the glove box?”
I fumble a bit finding the handle and opening it, but I can’t see a listing packet. “It’s not here,” I say as Kevin opens my door.
He shrugs. “I can help the sellers finish up paperwork another time. We can lay the groundwork tonight, but let’s take it easy. Let them bring it up, okay?” He extends his hand and helps me from his SUV. “We don’t want to appear too eager.”
I guess it would be a little touchy to be in jeopardy of losing such a beautiful home, most likely their dream home. We’ll have to take this sales pitch slower than we usually do, since this is also a friend of Kevin’s.
“Oh, and Landen called back to ask us to stay for dinner. Will that work for you?” I nod as Kevin touches the doorbell and the speaker above our head plays “Glamorous” by Fergie. I dance along until Mr. and Mrs. Garrett invite us in.
“It’s my wife’s month to choose the doorbell song.” He smiles sheepishly toward Kevin.
