by Chelle Sloan
“Some people aren’t meant to have kids. Annika and I are those people. Neither of us wants them, so we aren’t going to have them. End of story.”
Like she’s trying to call me out on a lie, Makenna chooses that moment to leave her father’s lap and climb onto mine. She snuggles into me like she has since she was a baby.
If I knew my child would be like Makenna, then maybe I wouldn’t be so against having kids of my own. But considering Annika would be the child’s mother, there’s a slim-to-none chance of that level of sweetness and perfection happening.
I knew what Annika was when I married her—a wanna-be socialite who was more interested in the “Doctor” part of me than anything else. More specifically, the paycheck that came with it. Mark tried to tell me when we were dating that she was a carbon-copy of my ex-wife, Michelle, and though I always waved off his comments, he was exactly right. They are clones of each other, right down to their near-anorexic bodies, manicured nails, and cold, calculating hearts.
Though I’ll never admit that to him.
Even if I had a normal relationship with my wife, she’s not the motherly type. I don’t think she held Cullen or Makenna when they were babies, and one time I even believe she called them “the things.” And considering at this point we are just married out of convenience, both of us too lazy to push for a divorce, kids are the furthest thing from our minds.
“You know I just want you to be happy, brother. You know that, right?”
I shake my head, snuggling Makenna into me a little more.
“I know. And I am. My version of happiness just isn’t the same as yours.”
“Are you really?”
“Happy?”
He nods. “Yeah. This practice. Annika. Your life in Virginia. Are you happy?”
I look around my office at my various degrees, photos of business associates, Mark, Charlie, and the kids, and me shaking hands with various movers and shakers of the medical industry. I’m at the top of my field with everything at my disposal.
“Yeah, brother. I am. This life is exactly what I want.”
Chapter Three
Paige
There is something about the first day of school that will never get old for me, no matter how long I teach.
There’s a certain buzz in the air. It’s a new year, filled with new possibilities and excitement. And when you teach kindergarten, that air is a little different. These seventeen new little friends of mine are getting to experience their first day of kindergarten. And there isn’t anything more magical than that.
“There she is. Our very own Disney Princess kindergarten teacher. Are you daydreaming about the perfect class who all bring you apples?” Cassie, my cynical, yet best friend, asks as she catches me staring at my empty classroom.
“I wasn’t dreaming about apples and quit calling me that,” I say with a huff, fixing a stack of papers on my desk for no reason.
“My bad and you know I won’t,” she teases, walking into my room. “So, what were you daydreaming about? It was probably a classroom full of angels who all haven’t had a bathroom accident in over a year, who will never randomly throw up, and know how to write in complete sentences on day one. One of these days, my dear, sweet Paige, you’re going to realize that the best day of the school year is the last day of the school year.”
“And one of these days I’m going to figure out why you are even a teacher.”
“Summer vacations. You know this.”
Though I joke with Cassie about her career choice, I seriously sometimes do wonder about it. I blame her cynicism on the fact that she teaches fourth grade, which in my opinion, is the worst grade. They are still children yet know way too much. And they have the mouths to go along with it.
In kindergarten, I get them when they are sweet and eager to learn. They haven’t been touched by the harshness of the world. At least, I hope they haven’t.
This is my sixth first day of school, and I’m just as excited about this one as the first.
“Want to play ‘Guess the Kid’ with me?” I ask, a smirk hitting my lips.
“Why else do you think I’m here?”
We laugh as she huddles over me at my desk to look over my class list, examining the names of my students. When you teach the older grades like Cassie, word of mouth spreads about who is the good kid, the bad kid, the teacher’s pet, the shy one and any other classroom dynamic you could imagine. But when you’re me? You are going into the year blind.
I met most of them last week during the school’s annual Meet the Teacher night, but I can never get a good read from those nights. One, not everyone could make it, and two, they were all on their best behavior since their parents were around.
So at the start of each year, Cassie and I try to “Guess the Kid.” I’m really, really good at this game.
“Annabelle Brainard.”
“Hmm…” Cassie says before snapping her fingers. “She’s probably Adam’s little sister. I had him last year. She’s going to be your super smart kid. Maybe a little weird, but insanely smart. She will never miss an assignment. If she does, she has to face the wrath of her mother.”
Ah yes, now I know why the name sounded familiar. Amalie Brainard is not only the head of the parent-teacher committee, she’s also the Queen of the Helicopters. That’s not an official group, mind you, rather a nickname we’ve given the super-involved mothers we pretend to like. In all honesty, we just want them to go away. I want to say they mean well. Heck, at least they are parents who want to be involved. But sometimes… yeah… they can be a lot.
And when I say a lot, I mean they never, ever stop.
We continue looking at the list and Cassie starts shooting off random names at me.
“Michaela Burrow?”
“Michaela… she will be my secret spy. She’ll be the one to tell me what’s really going on at recess.”
“Cullen Dixon?”
“He sounds like trouble. Don’t ask me how I know, I didn’t get to meet him last week. I just have a feeling he’s going to be the reason I drink this year.”
“Nicholas Thomas.”
“Class clown.”
“Penelope Williams.”
“The quiet one who is secretly planning on staging a coup. She and Cullen will be besties.”
We laugh as voices start carrying from the hall, and as I look at the clock, I realize it’s go time.
“Good luck,” Cassie says, walking to the door. “I’ll meet you after school. We’ll go for sangrias in celebration of surviving the first day.”
I wave her off as my eager students, along with their parents, start filing into my room, which is decorated with bright colors and motivational words, brought to life by the casts of various Disney movies. Some children are hesitant, shy about the unknown of the first day of school. Some have sprinted to each wall, trying to look at what I have displayed for them, leaving their emotional parents in the dust.
As the class gets settled and I take a look at the chairs, I see that all the desks are filled, save for one.
“Now you listen to me, Cullen James… you will not say bad words. You will not throw anything. You will not put any food items up your nose or in your ear. You will listen to your teacher, or I swear…”
The woman’s voice comes from outside my classroom door and it takes Herculean strength to suppress my laugh.
I think I nailed my assessment of Cullen Dixon on the nose.
A little boy who looks like he could take over the world with just his smile, and his very tired, yet beautiful mother come in the door. I don’t know this woman, but I feel like she needs something—and it has nothing to do with her sadness at dropping off her child on their first day of kindergarten.
A hug. Or wine. Maybe a lot of wine.
“Good morning. You must be Cullen,” I say, kneeling down to his eye level. “I’m Miss Blackstone. I’ll be your teacher this year.”
“Hello.” He flashes me a toothy grin that screams trouble.
I stand back up and extend my hand. “Hi. I’m Miss Blackstone.”
Cullen’s mom returns the gesture and smiles a tired smile. I know that smile. That smile means this kid has been keeping her running for likely his entire five years of life.
“Hi. I’m Charlie Dixon. This is Cullen. I know we’ve just met, and this is going to sound weird, but I already love you. I also know that you will be calling me at a minimum of ten times a month, so just tell me what you drink and I’ll make sure there is a case of it waiting at your doorstep on the same day each month. If you don’t drink, name your poison. I know people all over the world who can get you whatever you want. And I don’t judge. Just say what you want and it’s yours.”
I laugh and ask Cullen to hang up his bookbag and point him to his desk, which he goes to without a fight.
“How did you do that?” she asks.
“Do what?”
“He just… went. He didn’t argue. He didn’t cuss. He just… listened. He has never listened a day in his life without a ten-minute argument and some sort of bribery. And I’m fine if you bribe him. Chocolate usually works the best.”
I put my hand on her shoulder and whisper. “Some say I’m a kid whisperer. It’s my superpower. Now, I got him. Go home. Sleep for the rest of the day. I’ll see you at pick up.”
Before the last word leaves my lips, Charlie has me wrapped in a tight hug. Holy smokes, this woman is strong.
“I prayed for you,” she says in my ear. “I don’t pray. But I prayed for you. Now, when he swears, or tries to stage a rebellion, just let me know. And remember. I know people. Whatever you want…WHATEVER. YOU. WANT. It’s yours.”
I wave off Cullen’s mom and the rest of the parents as I turn to look at seventeen children laughing and talking to each other, their excitement pouring over. I also notice that Cullen has immediately gravitated toward Penelope.
Year six, day one… here I go.
Chapter Four
Paige
“One week down, thirty-five to go!”
I clink my margarita glass with my fellow teachers before we take healthy sips of our chosen cocktails. Normally if I were enjoying an after-work drink, I’d be nursing a glass of wine or maybe a light beer. Or the sangria I enjoyed with Cassie after our first day of school outing just a few days ago.
But after this week? I needed the hard stuff. The only thing that could cure this first-week-of-school headache was José Cuervo.
Lucky for me I didn’t have to beg, or come across as an alcoholic, to go get a drink with our usual teacher crew. It has been our tradition after the first week of school to celebrate with a few drinks. Needing the hard stuff, I suggested the local Mexican restaurant that serves decent tacos and tends to pour their margaritas strong. It also has a great patio, which is perfect for this late August day.
“What is in the water this year? I swear, when parents started holding back gluten from their kids, they must have exchanged it for speed.”
I laugh at Sarah, who teaches third grade. While I know she’s not serious, she does have a point. These kids never seem to quit. And the things that come out of their mouths have me shaking my head daily.
Take today. Never did I ever think I’d have to explain to a five-year-old why it’s inappropriate to twerk at recess.
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” says Patrick, a second-grade teacher who started the same year I did. “Did you ever think your bad attitude is the reason they are being little shits?”
“That is absolutely not the case,” Sarah says, before pointing her drink toward me. “I mean, look at Paige. She is the queen of positivity and hell, and I’m pretty sure animals talk to her. She was the freaking county teacher of the year last year, and I’ve never heard her say one single curse word. Yet, I do believe she was the one requesting tequila today.”
I don’t argue, even with the veiled Disney crack, because I don’t have a leg to stand on. I know each year is different and presents its own set of challenges, but I can already tell this year is going to test me in ways I didn’t think imaginable.
Along with trying to mold my students into being good people, teach them their alphabet and colors, while also passing on good habits, I have to explain why they can’t twerk in front of others.
Though this year has been a little easier because I had a perfect score when it came to “Guess the Kid.” Nicky Thomas is, without a doubt, the class clown. In the first week, he managed to sneak in a whoopie cushion (I didn’t even know they made those anymore), and he’s good for one borderline inappropriate joke a day. They’d be funny if I wasn’t his teacher.
And I was completely right about Cullen Dixon. That boy is going to double my weekly wine consumption. I’ve never had to talk with a parent about a child’s behavior in the first week, and Charlie wasn’t surprised at all when I called her. In fact, her reply was, “Wow, we made it until day three. I owe my husband twenty dollars.”
But, when a kid yells “shit” when he drops a crayon and “dammit” when he messes up his ABCs, I have to step in.
The next day, Cullen came into class with the saddest set of puppy dog eyes I had ever seen. He apologized for saying bad words and promised to never do it again. My heart melted at his sweet eyes and sad tone.
That lasted until lunch, when I heard him tell a few boys in class that his new toy was “badass.”
That boy will definitely be one to remember, yet I have a feeling that after the year is over, he is going to hold a special place in my heart. It’s weird how that works.
Oh, and he is planning on staging a rebellion with Penelope. I know this because Michaela totally ratted them out. See, perfect score.
“What does everyone have on tap for the weekend? Who has the hot dates that we can dissect on Monday?”
The question comes from Chad, the art teacher. He’s the only one in our group in a committed relationship—he and his partner Michael have been together for four years. We’d kick him out of the group for being coupled up if his stories of the gay scene in Virginia Beach weren’t so good.
Sarah speaks up first, filling us in about the guy she met on a dating app. Cassie then goes into a diatribe about the problem with online dating and dating apps—one we have all heard many times over.
I glance to my left and I catch Patrick looking my way. I know he wants to know if I have a date this weekend. I know he wants to ask me out. I can see it in his eyes. Bless his heart, he never has. Which is good, because then I have never had to turn him down.
Although, if I were to date, it would be someone exactly like Patrick. Good-looking without being distracting. Smart. Funny. Loves kids. Stable.
But I don’t date. At all. I’ve tried a few times, and it’s just not worth it. Plus, I don’t have the time, and frankly, I don’t have the energy. Especially when my time can be spent doing something much more meaningful. Things that will help people.
I didn’t date in high school. I knew I was leaving behind my small town in Alabama the second I graduated, and I didn’t want anything… or anyone… holding me back when I made my way to Virginia for college.
Once I got to Virginia Tech, I didn’t seek out dating, I just kind of ended up with Jason. Still, to this day I don’t know if he was my boyfriend. He was sweet, in my freshman English class, and I was immediately drawn to his vintage T-shirt collection. We began studying together and I went with him to a few parties. After one of those said parties, one where I had too much jungle juice, our normally light make-out session crossed the line.
I lost my virginity in a small twin bed in his dorm room.
We never studied together again.
“What about you, Blackstone?” Chad asks. “What do you have cookin’ this weekend?”
I finish my margarita, licking the last bit of salt from the rim as I mentally put together my weekend calendar.
“Well, tomorrow I’m volunteering at the drug counseling center. Then there is a blood drive on Sunday I signed up for.
Oh, I forgot that sometime this weekend I have to put together the agenda for the parent-teacher fundraising meeting next week. I think I have finally convinced the school to start a spring food drive, so I have to have all the details ready to present or else The Helicopters will try to take over.”
“What? You aren’t already starting to plan for the Christmas music program?”
“You’re right! I should start thinking about that. I bet if I—”
“Paige, I was joking,” Chad says, shaking his head at me. “My dear, sweet Paige. One of these weeks I’m going to ask you what you’re doing, and instead you’re going to reply with who you are doing.”
I flag down the waitress as I ignore Chad’s comment. So what if I prefer volunteering over dating? I might not have much in terms of romantic experience, yet I have to believe that giving back to the community will give me more fulfillment than a date with forced conversation, awkward flirting, and a fake promise to do it again sometime. I’ve heard the horror stories from my friends. Dating sounds absolutely awful.
Plus, I love giving back. Besides teaching, it’s my true passion. Volunteering started as a way to heal my broken soul and eventually became something in my life I didn’t know I needed.
I mean, honestly, it might not give me orgasms, but it leaves me feeling warm inside. That’s sort of the same thing, isn’t it?
And after the life I’ve led, I’ll take that all day, every day.
Chapter Five
Garrett
“Where are you going?”
Annika’s voice startles me as I’m reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. I had really hoped that when I came home to change before Cullen’s music program that I wouldn’t run into my wife.