But it appeared he did, because after eyeing them suspiciously and taking the world’s tiniest bite of the closest one, he began popping the rest into his mouth in quick succession.
When he finished everything on his plate and peered longingly at the contents of her own, she transferred a few more blinis to him. By that time, she’d finished her first mug of coffee and started her second, and was feeling human-adjacent once more.
“Any interesting news?” She slung her bare feet into his lap, and he gave them a squeeze. “Or were you checking your e-mail?”
He laid his cell on the table. “Work e-mail, actually. Keisha says we’ll finally get initial class rosters for next year’s preps in another week or two. Apparently there was some sort of computer malfunction.”
In other words, she’d find out soon just how extreme her drop in AP enrollment really was. Keisha might even tell them which preps they’d be teaching.
Rose expected bad news in both cases.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.” His fingertips gently rubbed her arches. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I have to say, though.”
Please let this not be about prom. Please let this not be about prom.
He’d let the subject slide for a couple weeks now, but her grace period couldn’t last forever. At some point, he’d want an answer, and she still wasn’t sure which one she could give.
He leveled serious blue eyes on her. “I think you should sic Annette and Alfred on Dale.”
Whew.
“If they worked their rich-person magic on the school board, he’d be lucky to keep his job.” The prospect of an unemployed Dale appeared to cheer Martin. “Even if he managed to stay employed, he’d lose any power he had over you. You know that.”
She inclined her head. “I do.”
Lines scored across his forehead once more, his momentary levity gone. “So I don’t understand why you aren’t fighting him with every weapon you have. He’s a sexist, arrogant ass who’s punishing you for your success and your refusal to make yourself smaller than you are, not for anything problematic you’ve done. If you enlisted your former in-laws, it wouldn’t be because you were trying to avoid some sort of punishment you actually deserved.”
“Martin…” She nudged his flat belly with her toe. “I refuse to meet with him one-on-one. I walk out whenever he says anything obnoxious. I threatened to cut off his balls and serve them as our school lunch special if he kept hugging me every time we met. He has plenty of reasons to discipline me, even if he’s an ass.”
He let go of her feet and threw his hands in the air. “But the reason for those infractions is because heisan ass!”
She caught one of his hands. Held it. “On that, we agree.”
There was something especially seductive about a man who defended you to yourself. Who was determined to see your least-professional behavior as justified at worst, an actual virtue at best.
He lowered her feet to the floor so he could move closer and take her face in his hands. “Rose, you should be teaching those Honors World History kids. For their sake, but also for yours.”
The pain darkening his eyes was for her, and she had no idea how to handle it.
“They do just as well with you,” she told him with complete sincerity.
“Maybe for this year.” He cradled her face so carefully, like an artifact almost too precious to touch. “But by not getting you in tenth grade, they don’t know what an amazing teacher you are. They don’t know they can trust you. They don’t know they should follow you to AP U.S. History.” He paused, giving his next words extra weight. “Which means in eleventh grade, they’re missing out on an opportunity to do more. Be more.”
He was echoing her own words. Her own past. Her own triumph and her own grief.
Sharing herself meant being seen, being understood, even when she’d rather not be. Even when she’d rather pretend icy indifference and nurse her pain privately.
It hurt.
“Sweetheart…” He brushed the wetness from her cheeks so tenderly, she couldn’t even feel embarrassed about crying. “You need those kids. You love those kids.”
When Vonnie—or Chase, or Ariana, or any of them—walked across the graduation dais in a little over a year, she’d do the same thing she did every spring. Smile. Congratulate them. Praise them to their loved ones. Then she’d go home, throat aching with unshed tears, and hope her kids never forgot they were loved and capable of greatness, even after she could no longer remind them every weekday.
In a small way, she imagined it was the same pain Martin was experiencing when it came to Bea. A necessary loss didn’t hurt any less for its necessity.
“For that matter, Annette and Alfred loveyou. Let them help you.” He kissed her closed eyelids. “It would make them happy. It would make you happy. It would make your future students happy. Depending on what happened to Dale, it might even make your fellow social studies teachers happy.”
He wasn’t wrong, but…
