Newbie (19 page)

I sit across from Mina and Scarlet in the restaurant. “Your new partner is a man? Is he cute?” Scarlet asks.

“Yes, but I’m not interested.”

Mina stares at me. Her eyebrows lift and her mouth tips up on one side. “Single?”

“Yes. Well most likely. Don’t look at me like that. We’re both professionals, all business.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a man who was all business,” Mina quips and looks toward Scarlet who is smiling and shaking her head to show me she would say the same. “Be careful.”

“Mina, I don’t have to be careful. I just have to be a real estate agent, period.” The conversation lags. I vaguely remember this—being outside in the middle of the day, on a weekday, having lunch with friends or colleagues. Everyone is dressed in business suits and talking about deals for whatever business they’re in. I really miss this life, the freedom to set my own hours and have time to be with friends.

It’s Friday morning and it’s snowing hard. Ha! I’m driving to work this morning and not walking.
Thanks again, Dad.

November 10, 2007

Newbie Blog:

I’ll Call Her Jan

About a month ago, I noticed that one of my students rarely interacted with other students outside of class time. I’ve made it a point since then to arrange for her to be with other students to see if she can pick up a friendship. Another girl in our class seems to be around Jan more and invites her to join in group work or games. Jan’s face and whole being can almost not contain the happiness she feels at being noticed. Truth is, Jan worries me. If a six-year-old can be shut down and depressed, then maybe Jan is. Her eyes are so vacant and sad, rarely fixing on people’s faces for very long.

Jan is just one of my students. I have twenty-four who have squeezed into my life and heart. Being a teacher lasts more than seven hours a day. I can’t shut off wondering who struggles with friends? Who needs more attention? Who needs what next? It’s like my students are shadows behind my conscious thoughts. Teaching demands my mind, my heart, and my soul.

S
unday dinner at my mother’s is a frequent occurrence, but today’s a special occasion, celebrating my birthday a few days early. We spend a little time catching up, talking about her work and mine, her friends and mine. I slide in a question—I hope tactfully. “Are you dating Bill?” Please say no.

“No.” She shakes her head thoughtfully.

Yes. I really don’t know how to handle seeing my mom with a man who’s not my dad.

“No. He’s a nice person though. My friends think I should. They say it’s been long enough, but I’m not interested in dating. I still feel very married, but I’m lonely, a lot.”

Oh, I didn’t realize. Of course she is.

“And I want to be around friends.” She puts her arm around my shoulder and tips her head to touch mine. “Big change for me, you know.”

I nod, not knowing what to say next. Kind of a big change for me too. It’s not like I could ask her not to date because it could weird me out to see her with someone who’s not my dad—so could she just stay lonely? Nope. I’m going to have to be okay with it.

“How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“Yes, sort of.” We go out, but I’m not sure we have a relationship. But his kisses—mmm.

Mom nudges my shoulder when I haven’t gone on. “And?”

I get a nervous feeling in my stomach. If I tell his name, it sounds like we’re dating. Which we’re not—we just go on dates. Mom will ask me about him every time we talk. She’ll imagine clandestine meetings, romantic dinners, and hushed conversations about our future together. Soon she’ll be asking when we’re getting married. Do I want to go there? “His name is Liam.”

“How did you meet?” she asks impatiently, her hand tapping my leg.

Can I count drooling over him at the real estate office when we didn’t meet, or when he was a not-so-random stranger holding the door for me at my interview? No. But then, the bee incident and again drooling over him in the hallway, going to the library, don’t count either. Seriously, it’s like the universe kept putting us
almost
together. Not going there with Mom today. “We both work at the school.”

“Do I have to keep asking questions or are you just going to tell me?” She pulls a pillow onto her lap and settles deeper into the corner of the couch.

I do want to know Liam better. I want to see “I don’t know what to say. It’s not like we’ve decided anything.” There, that’s a nice neutral answer. End of discussion. My brain is firm, but my heart wants to spill more. I tamp it down. “We go out sometimes.”

“Don’t give me that, I can see it in your face. You’ve decided.”

All my resolve vanishes. “Yeah, I wish it were more. Sometimes I wonder if this is it. You know,
it
, like he’s the one. But my life is kind of a mess right now. Maybe I should get that right first,” I say, looking away from her. Mom always knows when I’m lying. Like now. Getting my life right feels like a lie. It’s a disaster.

“Always go with your heart. If it says to plan a life with Liam, do it. If your father and I had consulted our balance sheet before we married or had you, it’s likely neither would have happened. Life works out if you make decisions from your heart.”

We sit together, silently. My heart tells me Liam is the one I could spend my whole life with, but could he feel the same way about me? Tears fill the rims of my eyes. Probably not.

“Are you ready for your present?” Mom asks, thankfully changing the subject.

She retrieves a box wrapped in gold foil paper and tied around with white satin ribbon. She always wraps my presents to give a hint of what’s inside. This time I have no clue. “Something for a special occasion?”

I reach into the box and pull out beautiful, strappy high heels.

“How did you get these? These are from his fall collection!” I run my finger up the pyramid-tiled heel and across the Jimmy Choo label, then clutch the shoes to my chest. In a second, I kick my shoes away and pull off my socks. Some people think wearing high heels feels uncomfortable, but to me, it’s liberating. This is who I am, and when I put these on, everyone sees the real me.

I wear them the rest of the evening. My pink nails peek out the toes of my new shoes, resting on the ottoman between me and the TV screen. Not so long ago, Mom would never have spent hundreds of dollars on shoes. Her life changed in so many ways. When Dad died, she lost her best friend, but she always says Dad is still taking care of us. There was a large insurance settlement. He was certainly an agent who believed in the product he sold, and his belief continues to protect and assure Mom’s independence.
Thanks, Dad. Thanks for taking care of us. Thanks for taking care of Mom.

“T
hese were delivered for you this morning.” Mrs. Johnson leans in to smell a rose as she lifts the little envelope from the holder and hands it to me.

There is a large vase of flowers—yellow freesia, lime-green button mums, bright pink mini roses, purple caspia, and lemon leaf. This is not a grocery store bouquet—there isn’t a brown edge on any of it. It’s the kind of bouquet that says he thinks I’m unique, vibrant, intoxicating.

“They sealed the envelope, so I can’t tell you who they’re from.” She looks hopeful, like I’m going to open it here and announce to her (and vicariously everyone who comes into the office, whom she will tell immediately) that Liam and I are seeing each other.

I pick up the flowers. “It’s my birthday today, and my mom always remembers it in thoughtful ways,” I say as I turn out the door. Walking down the hall to my class, I feel a little twinge of guilt, but justify that it’s not really a lie. She does remember in unique ways—just not in
this
way. Maybe Mom was right after all—I should go for it. Maybe Liam’s my one. Happiness sparkles with each step I take, watching the flowers bob and shiver.

For these, I clean off my desk (pile everything on the counter behind the desk) and set them in the middle, alone, like a trophy. Then I sit in my chair and open the card, hoping his message clears up the relationship dilemma I’m wondering about. The scent of freesia and roses blooms in the air. “Sophie, Hope your birthday is as beautiful as you are. See you Saturday. Kevin.” Who’s Kevin? I double-check the envelope. Sophie Kanakaredes…right, they’re for me. I set the card on the desk and move the flowers to the sink to fill the vase.

Liam steps in. “Happy birthday. Is five thirty still okay tonight?”

My heartbeat flutters and my blood pressure spikes. Why do I feel like I’ve just been caught cheating? I try not to glance at the card on the table, and I wonder if I could set the vase on top of the card without Liam noticing.

“Yes. That’s great.” Move slowly. Don’t draw his attention to what you’re doing. Try not to look that way.

Just before I set the vase down, Liam snaps the card out of the way then tucks it in with the flowers. I think he looked. He probably looked.
I
would have looked. If he asks, I don’t know what I’ll say. It sounds like I’m trying to hide something if I say I don’t know who they’re from when the name is right on the card. I set the flowers on my desk, my bizarrely clean desk. Clearly they’re on display. What would I say? I thought they were from you. That sounds snarky, equivalent to “Why didn’t you send me flowers?” Instead I got flowers from an anonymous…inspiration dawns on me. Kevin is my new real estate partner. Oh, how sweet. How did he know it was my birthday?

I don’t think I told Liam I’m doing real estate again, or have a partner, or that the partner is a very good-looking single man who obviously makes thoughtful gestures—could be a little tricky. If the card had said something innocuous like “Have a great day” or “Happy B-day,” it would have been easier to explain, but the compliment attached to the birthday wish sounds more personal than a recent business contact. When my attention returns to the conversation, or non-conversation, in this case, I realize Liam isn’t saying anything either. We’re both just staring at the flowers, then he says, “Well, see you then.”

At the end of the day, Mrs. Milton comes in to have a birthday party for me with my students. She passes out little tubs of ice cream with little wooden spoons. She asks the students to draw a picture for me and write me a note. Liam surprises me by bringing Ruby over for the party. He wishes me a happy birthday again, but he can’t stay. He has to get back to some unspecified duties. While he’s making excuses, his eyes dart toward the flowers a couple of times.

The students talk happily and work on the pictures. Often a student gets up to show Ruby what they have made. Mrs. Milton staples the pages together to make a book for me. It’s amazing how much my students have learned in just a few months. I reread through a few of my favorites and am reminded that it’s the thought that counts. My children put love on their papers as their gifts to me.

“Happy Birthday teecher. Can I come to your prtee?” It has a picture of her carrying a present.

The second one is mostly a picture of me standing by a student with arrows pointing to our heads labeled “me” and “you”. We are smiling and standing on grass with little pink and purple flowers popping out of the ground. The sky is filled with a smiling sun with long rays spraying out from its sides and there are two rainbows, one on each side of the sun, connecting it to the clouds.