“Robyn,” she said, cupping my cheeks, “You look so healthy. Your eyes, though, you’ve been feeling a little sad too, haven’t you?” She patted them with a degree of nostalgia and care I wasn’t expecting.“Oh, I’m so happy to see you I could just cry.”
“Please don’t.”I laughed, patting her forearm.“We’re about to order.”
We avoided all things Nate at first. Instead, we talked about our work—her as a high school principal for over two decades, me drowning in research protocols and bedside manner tips. Two ambitious women sharing exhaustion and purpose, and the undercurrent of loneliness that our careers brought us both.
“So what’s your go-to when kids get unruly?” I asked.
She snorted into her mimosa.“You mean every hour of my day? Depends on the child. But generally, I become a bigger, scarier version of myself. They take one look and realize they’re actually not as tough as they thought they were.”
I laughed when she added, “Once, during homecoming week, two seniors brought a doe into the hallway as a ‘schoolspirit initiative.’ You know, we’re the Bucks.” She made air quotes around the last word.“I delegated the lesson about does and bucks to the AP Biology teacher. Then I helped three custodians, the PE teacher, and a wildlife shelter volunteer with a wind blower get the damn thing out. I must say, I would have rather we kept the doe than the students.”
“So what happened to the students?”
“Well, one of them was the sheriff’s nephew. Sheriff Corrigan tried to send me flowers. Kid ended up in summer school, anyway. Wish I could’ve sent the uncle too.”
Nate’s mother was expressive, terrifyingly perceptive, and wise. We orbited through five conversations at once: staff shortages, my apartment, the last book I read, her underprepared replacement, and her plans to run for the district’s school board.
“And how’s your pierced friend?” she asks casually.“I’m not sure I’m in cougar territory… but perhaps he could help me find out if I’ve made the cut.”
I nearly choke on my mimosa.“He’s out of the scene for a while—”I cough.“Just had a kid. But I’ll pass along your interest for… when he’s sleeping again.”
She winked, then something in her shifted. She tapped one manicured finger lightly against the table, and I saw it: principal mode.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve been principal in our district for eighteen years now. I’m retiring at the end of June. There’ll be a proper send-off. Council, alumni, former staff. Everyone.”
Her eyes sharpened just slightly—calculated but still gentle.
“I’d love for you to be there.”
“Everyone will be there?” I asked.
She smiled, and the wrinkles deepened at the corners of her mouth, making her look really in her late fifties.“Yes. Including who you’re thinking of. She had tocome home, not as the prodigal daughter, mind you, since she was fired and all. The way she deserved with a big scarlet sign not to be trusted.”
“Mrs. Leigh?—”
“Sweetie,” she chided.
“Rebecca,” I corrected.“I get what you’re saying, but Tessa wasn’t the one in a relationship.”
She pauses.“She’s in charge of fundraising. Her mom found her something to do, see if she can crawl back into anyone’s good graces.”She takes a sip of her mimosa and meets my eyes.“And yeah, my son’s an idiot. So what? I still want you there.”
“I appreciate it. I do. But I don’t think it’s somewhere I belong.”
“You were in my family for over two years, and beyond that, you’ve become my friend. If I say you belong there, then you do.”
There was no way me being there was a good idea. It’d be her big day, and I wouldn’t risk taking attention away from her.
“It’s… I’m a no-drama kind of gal.”
“You can call it that,” she murmured.“Or you can call it burying your head in the sand.”
The words hung heavy in the air, waking up all those little feelings that kept trying to escape from where I’d shoved them.
“My son won’t shut up about you, Robyn. And I call it like I see it—with him, with you, with anyone.”
I stilled, then added, “I’m not sure it’s wise to wrap myself up in all of that again.”
Her voice softened, though the determination rang through her words.“Oh, I’m quite certain it is.”She sipped her mimosa again.“You don’t owe Nate a thing. But you owe yourself clarity. And you don’t seem as untangled as you pretend to be.”
