It was her fault. She’d made the decision to keep Circle Time at her students’ tables during her mini lessons. Without their name tags, she couldn’t remember who was who to save her life. If she taught her lessons at the circle, though, she could sit in the rocking chair while they sat on the rug.
“Hannah,” she called, shifting her weight again. Her joints protested. Tears burned her eyes. Ten minutes. She could stand for ten minutes. She could. She would.
“Eight,” the little girl responded.
“Good.” She pointed to each side as her class counted with her. They were so smart, like little sponges. She could’ve gone to a four-year university for elementary education, but there was nothing like teaching three- and four-year-olds. Besides, she’d needed a degree fast. When she got sick, it became painfully obvious that she couldn’t hold a job like Dunkin Donuts for much longer.
Literally.
She erased the octagon and drew a trapezoid—or tried to, anyway. The joints in her fingers were stiff, and her lines looked more like squiggles. The marker clattered to the floor, leaving a bright red slash on the linoleum. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath in through her nose, then opened her eyes again as she exhaled.
“This one’s tricky, but who wants to draw a trapezoid?”
Half of her students’ hands shot up eagerly. Yet another reason why she’d opted for teaching pre-schoolers. They didn’t have the apathy of older students. Everything was exciting, even if most of her students couldn’t quite remember what a trapezoid was.
She could make her new job work. She had to. It’d taken months to find something after she’d finished her degree in December. She’d only snagged the position because the previous Pre-K teacher was out on maternity leave. Technically it was a temporary job, but if she worked hard enough, maybe they’d keep her. After all, her salary as a new teacher was a lot lower than someone with seniority.
Isaiah’s hand stretched the highest. Because of his behavior, he was teetering on the edge of receiving a yellow for the day, but she couldn’t help but give him a chance to redeem himself.
“Come on, Isaiah. Draw a trapezoid for us.” Stooping, Amarie bent to retrieve the marker. Her hip cracked, and she nearly collapsed. The classroom around her went gray for a moment, the pain blinding. Swallowing hard, she straightened, forcing her face into its pleasant teacher mask. Her joints had cracked since childhood, but they’d never hurt before. Lately it hurt every time, further aggravating her pain.
Either she was a good actress or her kids were too young to understand, because Isaiah took the marker from her and the rest of them fixed their eyes on the board. Writing on it was a major privilege.
With a hand almost as unsteady as hers, Isaiah drew a crooked triangle.
“Good.” Gently taking the marker back, she drew a trapezoid next to it. “A triangle has how many sides?” She led them in counting. “One, two, three! And how many sides does a trapezoid have? One, two, three, four! Good.” Capping the marker, she put it in its spot high on top of a book case.
Even though snack time was another three minutes away and she still had their attention, she sent them to their cubbies early. She needed the break more than they did, she surmised with a pang.
One week in, and it was becoming more and more obvious that she just couldn’t keep up.
∞∞∞
After work, Amarie drove home and went straight to the blanket nest on the couch in her bedroom. With tears blurring her vision, she grabbed the pill bottle from her nightstand and shook two Tramadol pills into her hand. Though the painkiller was basically the baby aspirin of the narcotics family, it usually kept her pain in check if she took it regularly. Because she wasn’t allowed to take it while at the school, though, she had to work twice as hard in the evenings to get her pain back under control.
She pulled the lever for the recliner and eased back into the plush couch, her body practically breathing a sigh of relief. If nothing else, at least some of the pressure was off her hips and knees.
Soft knuckles tapped at her bedroom door.
“Yeah, Mami,” she called out.
Her mom eased the door open and poked her head in. “Hey, baby. How was your day?” Paloma’s dark eyes, clear skin, and corkscrew curls were an exact mirror of her own. She’d inherited pretty much everything from her mother—except, apparently, good health.
Like her mom, though, Amarie tried to remain upbeat. “Good. My afternoon class is going to master shapes before my morning class. You?”
“Eh.” Her mom grimaced. “My first group has never heard of Maya Angelou, my second group might as well be on Mars when I’m talking to them, and my other two groups haven’t even moved on from the last unit. Do me a favor, love?”
“Anything for you, Mami.”
“Have your kids memorize ‘Still I Rise’ before they get to me.”
Smiling, Amarie nodded. “Promise.”
Her mom smiled back, but remained in the doorway.
“Is something wrong, Mami?” Amarie glanced at the Netflix home screen on her TV, her fingers itching to select the show she’d been binging. Between how exhausted her body became from the days on her feet and how foggy her brain was, TV and movies were the only things she could focus on for relaxation.
Paloma’s eyes flicked to the TV, then back to Amarie. “Papi will be home soon. I was thinking we could order pizza and have a game night.”
“Thanks,” Amarie said, “but I think I’m gonna call it a night early.”
Her mom nodded, but she wore that concerned mother look that Amarie had long been familiar with. It was the one that said her mom wanted to talk to her about something, but wasn’t sure how to breach the subject.
“What?” The word came out harsher than she’d meant. “Sorry,” she said quickly. “What’s up?”
Paloma eased into the room, closing the door behind her. She sat next to Amarie on the couch. “Look, I know dique you don’t feel good, but staying in this room all the time isn’t helping you, either.”
Amarie frowned. “‘Dique,’ Mami? Really? Like I’m making this up?”
“No, mija. No. That’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m just saying that maybe you’re letting this get the best of you.”
Rubbing her temples, Amarie closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose. “Mami. I work from seven in the morning ’til four in the afternoon. I’m exhausted. Every joint in my body hurts. I’m sorry if the last thing I want to do is sit in a hard chair and play board games with you and Papi.”
“Amarie Milagros Locke, don’t you dare try to make me the bad guy here.” Her mother’s nostrils flared—another trait she’d inherited. “I’m just saying that even Lucas is feeling like you’re isolating yourself.”
Lucas. She squeezed her eyes shut. Shit. She’d all but forgotten about him during the past seven or so days. He’d texted a few times, trying to coax her out for dinner or a movie, and she’d had to turn him down each time because she just hadn’t been up to it. She’d explained that, yet he’d gone to her mother. “Is he seriously that insecure?” She rolled her eyes.
“Insecure? Mija, he’s trying to be your boyfriend.”
She laughed bitterly. “If he wanted to be my boyfriend, he would’ve shown up here this weekend with junk food and a movie, instead of talking to my mother about me behind my back.” She sighed. “I’m tired, Mami. I just want to relax. It’s been a long past few days, and the blizzard didn’t help.”
Paloma held her hands up, palms out. “All right, all right. Get your rest.” She retreated toward the door. “But make sure you get out and live once in a while, si?” She closed the door behind her.
Amarie blinked back tears. “Get out and live”—as if it was that simple. As if just taking a shower didn’t completely drain her. No one understood. Even the people in her life who were supportive, like her best friend Neve, couldn’t possibly get what it felt like to be trapped in a sick body.
A body
that was only twenty-one. She should be going out to bars three times a week, drinking and dancing her face off. And, even though she’d never been a morning person, she should be able to get up at 5 a.m. for work without feeling like microwaved zombie. The last thing she wanted to do was sit on the couch all evening watching Netflix. She’d trade anything to be a normal twenty-one-year-old—anything.
Including her baby of a boyfriend, who apparently couldn’t take a date or two being canceled.
If she had the energy, she’d give him an earful of what she thought about that. She could understand him feeling lonely or missing her, but going to her mother was just petulant. He didn’t even deserve a “Hey babe, how was your day?” text, she decided.
She kept her phone beside her on the couch, though, and hit the play button for Netflix. No one except Neve knew how much she loved The Fosters. It’d quickly become her guilty pleasure, and there were several seasons to get through, too, making it the perfect spoonie binge show. She didn’t care if it was a family show. No matter how crazy things got, each episode usually ended on a positive note, and the Adams-Foster family always had each other.
Lena and Stef—the main couple on the show—always had each other, too.
Her phone buzzed, announcing an incoming text. Amarie glanced at the preview on the screen. It was Neve—the only person she could never ignore. Since Neve went to school all the way out in California and only came home during the summer, Amarie had a “drop everything” rule when she called or texted—even if that meant pausing The Fosters.
She let the show keep playing, though. In the middle of the week, Neve was probably just saying hi. Plucking her phone from the couch, she swiped to open and read the text.
“Who: you, me, the gang
What: your 21st birthday party!
Where: Lucas and Matt’s
When: this weekend!!!!”
Leaving the text, she FaceTimed Neve. “You’re coming home this weekend?!” she asked as soon as Neve answered.
“Duh. It’s your birthday!” A wide smile spread across her friend’s face, the plum rose lip gloss she wore complementing her golden brown skin.
“You never come home during spring break, though.” Amarie grinned.
“You only turn twenty-one once. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t properly get you wasted?”
“True.”
“Dude. Are you watching The Fosters again?” Neve giggled.
Amarie hit the pause button, putting her full attention on Neve. “No,” she said, drawing out the word and making shifty eyes.
“I miss you,” Neve said. “I can’t wait to see your face.”
“I miss you too.” Amarie sighed. “I don’t know if I’m up to a party, though.”
Her best friend’s smile dropped away. “No way. You can’t cancel on your own birthday party.”
“I didn’t even know I was having a party. I mean, Lucas knows I’ve been flaring. Why would he throw me a party smack in the middle of it?” Amarie shook her head. She was going to have to talk to him—a serious talk, at that. The kind that guys got nervous about.
“Lucas isn’t throwing you a party. I am,” Neve said.
“Oh.” Amarie looked away, her heart twisting in her chest. Reality slammed into her. Her own boyfriend hadn’t planned anything for her birthday. While she was grateful that her best friend cared enough, she couldn’t help but feel incredibly lonely. Not to mention completely frustrated. She probably wouldn’t even be able to go.
“Amarie,” Neve said softly, “I love you. I’d never want to guilt trip you into doing something you can’t. People do that to you enough. Hell, you do it to yourself.”
Too true. Amarie blew curls out of her face.
“But if there’s ever a time to blow all of your spoons on something, it’s this,” Neve continued. “We’ll make Sunday a recovery day and drink lots of Gatorade. I’ll make it worth it if you want to come—promise.”
“I do want to come,” Amarie said. “But that means I’ll have to rest all day before the party. No lesson planning. No cleaning. No grocery shopping. When am I supposed to get all that stuff done?”
Neve nodded. “I understand.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “What if I do the cleaning and shopping for you on Sunday? That way, you can do the lesson planning in spurts.”
A smile curled Amarie’s lips upward. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”
“I’m your favorite best friend ever, I know,” Neve replied with a grin.
∞∞∞
She was going to have fun, Amarie commanded herself as Lucas’s car pulled into her driveway. She’d made sure she’d gotten enough sleep and taken regular doses of Tramadol all day. Neve had even helped her find an outfit that hid the ThermaCare patch she wore on her hip. Still, her pain was hovering close to an eight out of ten. There was a meme she’d seen once that basically said that scale was useless, that people with chronic pain had two units of measurement: tolerable and intolerable. She’d saved it on Pinterest immediately, but the meme creator had forgotten the third level: that surprise increase that sometimes assaulted her, thrusting her into writhing agony.
She’d gotten better at managing the pain attacks, but they still rendered her gasping for breath and came at the most inconvenient of times. Like when she was getting water from the fridge to take her final dose of pain medicine before leaving. She’d had to hop across the kitchen to a chair, keeping all of her weight off her ankle until it passed.
Hopefully it wouldn’t happen again. She definitely wouldn’t be doing any dancing, though.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her cane and left the house.
As she neared the car, Lucas remained focused on his phone, the glow from the screen washing his deep bronze complexion in blue. It wasn’t like she needed him to open her door for her or anything. She could manage on her own. It’d be nice to be acknowledged, though.
Babying her ankle, she slid into the car, pulling the cane in behind her. There was no graceful way to get in and out of a vehicle while using a cane, though she’d determined that getting out was much easier. Since she’d had to teach herself how to use one, part of her wondered whether she was even doing it right.
“Hey,” she said as cheerfully as possible, leaning toward Lucas and planting a kiss on his freshly shaved cheek.
“Oh.” He glanced up from his phone. “Ready?”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Nothing.” He slid the phone into his pocket and put the car into reverse.
Pressing her lips together, she absorbed the impact of his distance. Things between them had been strained for a while. At first she’d thought it was the change in their routine. They weren’t going to the same school or working at the same place anymore. After graduation, he’d transferred to Southern and she’d started looking for a job. Still, she couldn’t pin it entirely on that.
Lately he’d seemed almost annoyed with her, like she was an obligation. Their relationship had yet to stumble into the L zone, if ever, but his attitude toward her still stung. She was a catch, damn him. She was far from full of herself, but she knew she was a trifecta for fine: hot, smart, and funny. Last summer, when things were still new, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. There was no blaming her illness or their schedules. They were drifting apart.
She tried again, eyes casually on the road as he headed toward his and Matt’s place. “So my problem child got green all week,” she said proudly. All of the classroom management classes in the world couldn’t have prepared her for Isaiah, yet she’d still figured out how to handle him. She took Lucas’s silence for encouragement to continue. “You know what I did? He loves the dramatic play center. So I made a deal with him. If he earns green, he can do that center first.”
“Great,” Lucas said sarcastically.
She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to argue. Not right before her own birthday party. “Are you okay?” she asked gently.
He ea
sed the car into the narrow driveway that he and Matt shared with several other tenants. Amarie had yet to brave it in her own car. “Oh, I’m great,” he snapped. “Just listening to my girlfriend complain about a baby after spending all day in the field working with kids who will never be able to throw tantrums, never mind play.” He swung into his parking space and shut off the engine.
“I wasn’t complaining,” she said, “and I’m sorry you had a rough day.” Before she could tell him that it wasn’t okay for him to take it out on her, though, he threw open his door and got out. He stomped all the way up the stairs without waiting for her, the wood creaking under his temper.
Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply. She didn’t want to put words in his mouth, but it seemed like he was insinuating that she wasn’t a real teacher. His job wasn’t any harder than hers, though, she reminded herself as she got out of the car. After all, pre-school teachers were the first line of intervention when it came to helping kids with learning and developmental disorders.
Hopefully after a couple of drinks he’d relax. She certainly wasn’t going to let him ruin her evening. If anything, it’d be her damned ankle that rained on her party. She moved gingerly toward the stairs, not anticipating climbing them. From the bottom, she could see a few people on the porch, a collective cloud of smoke hanging above them. A flash of teal hair told her that Charlotte was there. Her pulse sped up.
It always did when Char was around.
By the time Amarie got to the third floor, everyone else had gone inside. Charlotte leaned on the railing, staring up at the stars in the clear night sky. One slim hand dangled in midair, fingers curled around a red plastic cup.
“It’s amazing, the view up here,” she said.
Though Amarie wanted nothing more than to go inside and sit down, she joined Charlotte on the other side of the tiny porch and looked up. “It is,” she agreed.
“What’s got Coolhand Luke’s panties up in a knot?” Charlotte asked.
Amarie snorted in amusement, then paused, wondering if Char had heard the scene in the parking lot. Either Charlotte had noticed his dismissive attitude toward her, or she’d just picked the nickname because it sounded funny.
Any Other Love Page 3
