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12
“Bye, Ms. Zola! Thanks for the sticker!”
“Bye, hon. Have a good weekend.”
I waved to my last student, a round little guy named Aiden, who had a sweet tendency to return to the classroom at least three times every day for things he forgot. Some days, like today, I was able to round up the items and leave them on my desk. If he got them all in one go, I gave him a sticker. Today’s featured Snoopy.
I waited for the door to my classroom to close completely so I could slump behind my desk like a deflating balloon. The first week back after vacation was always difficult, but this one had been harder than most. I felt like I’d been through a tornado, with a headache that was pounding like hailstones.
Maybe it was because the holidays hadn’t really been a vacation at all. Two weeks of checking my phone while pretending to my family that Sofia’s father hadn’t stormed back into my life like a rain cloud, threatened legal action, and been completely silent since—yeah, not so relaxing. I couldn’t even remember what I’d gotten for Christmas.
The only one who knew anything was Kate, who still texted at least five times daily, telling me to clue Matthew in.
“You’re being an idiot,” she had told me three days ago, when we were walking back to Nonna’s from New Year’s Mass. “Our brother is a lawyer. And right now, he’s an unemployed lawyer and part-time bartender, which means he has more time than ever to save your ass.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I don’t always want Mattie—or any of you—to save me?” I countered stubbornly, kicking aside an ice-covered rock. “Other people shouldn’t have to clean up my messes.”
“It’s not a mess, Frankie. It’s your life. And we’re not just people. We’re family.”
I huffed and focused on Sofia, who was skipping ahead with her cousins, Matthew a shadow just beyond them. “Well, I can’t tell him now. He’s leaving for Italy tomorrow.”
Matthew had informed the family at Christmas that he’d gotten a job as an interpreter for a few weeks in January. A bit more prodding at home revealed it was for her—one Nina de Vries, of whom I’d heard exactly nothing since the Christmas party almost a month earlier. None of my sisters made a secret of the fact that they thought she was nothing but trouble, but his face when he told us said otherwise.
“You haven’t been living with his glum mug since he got put on leave,” I added. “Maybe we don’t approve of her, but he’s been looking forward to this trip for a month. It’s the first time in months he hasn’t started drinking before noon. And he’s stopped chain-smoking too.”
Kate had just grumbled something about a blonde bimbo and too much wine but had the sense not to argue. We both knew Matthew needed a change of pace. Whatever was going to happen with Xavier would have to wait another few weeks.
A knock on the door of my classroom pulled me out of my thoughts.
“You look like you need a drink.”
Adam Klein, the art teacher, stood casually in my doorway, one thumb hooked onto a belt loop of his slightly too-skinny jeans, the other braced against the frame.
“Oh, hey,” I said, summoning a bit more energy to be civil, despite just wanting to take a quick nap before picking up Sofia. “Just a little tired, I suppose.”
“A few of us are going to Dave and Buster’s for happy hour…”
I scowled. Dave and Buster’s really didn’t seem like a great antidote for a headache.
“But,” he pivoted, “I happen to know a fantastic place that does killer margaritas a few blocks north. What do you say?”
“I mean, I need to—”
“I know you don’t pick up your kid until five on Fridays, Frankie,” Adam cut in with a toothy grin.
I frowned. “How did you know that?”
He shrugged. “Heard you tell Jenna at lunch a few days ago.”
I breathed a little easier. It was too easy living with my brother to get suspicious about every little thing.
“Right, yeah. I usually give myself an hour on Fridays.”
“Sounds good.”
Adam sauntered into the classroom, grabbed one of the extra chairs sitting next to my desk, then flipped it around so he could sit on it backward, exuding that easy confidence of a man who knew he was good-looking, at least in his immediate milieu.
Once again, I wondered if I should consider taking him up on one of his offers. I happened to know at least three teachers who had already made it their life’s goal to bang him before the year’s end. I always figured that when you’re surrounded by mostly other exhausted women and tiny children for the majority of the day, you’ll take just about anything. But maybe I was wrong.
