TO:Josephine Bordelon
Dear Josie,
I believe I will now be your assistant. Please let me know if you need anything. Nan only allowed me two bathroom breaks a day. Would it be possible to have one or two additional ones? I would love to go a whole year without a bladder infection.
Yours,
Elsa
FROM:Roan Dawson
DATE:March 8, 2019
SUBJECT:Interim Head of School
TO:Josephine Bordelon
Does this mean I get to be Director of Admissions?!?!?
Roan Dawson
ADMISSIONS ASSISTANT
FAIRCHILD COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
It was a two-Chardonnay flight. Or maybe four. I lost count.
•••
“Damn I love these shoes.” I say out loud to a quiet office. Who knew ecru could look so good on a pair of size-ten black feet.
I head out of the large bronze doors and down the stairs to the sidewalk to stand front and center for first day of school drop-off. While my summer was full of budgets and facilities issues and the annual audit—all boring head of school stuff I have no desire tocontinue once a new head of school is found—I love being in front of the school on the first day. Day one is particularly magical with fresh haircuts, summer sun freckles, giant hugs for favorite teachers, and effortlessly clean backpacks. The first day of school always says,Anything is possible. The past does not have to dictate the future. Everyone gets a fresh start.
Some of my favorite parents are the ones who, though living in the middle of a city, figure out a way to bike with their child to school. Perhaps it’s because I never got to (I can’t imagine Aunt Viv riding a bike), or maybe it’s because it makes the Bay Area, the epicenter of technology and investment, seem sweet and simple. A small bicycle brigade comes down the block and as they pull up to the sidewalk there’s a man I don’t recognize. He’s in scruffy khaki shorts with a bit of a rip starting on the thigh and an unkempt beard. He’s wearing a faded redFriendsT-shirt, circa 2000, and Converse shoes that, I can tell from here, must smell something awful.
I approach the vagrant-looking man—prepared to ask him where he needs to be, and can I help him be on his way—when I see a boy on the back of his bike. The boy taps the man on his shoulder and he turns around to unbuckle the child’s helmet. As it comes off, the boy beams and raises his arms to be lifted up. The man kisses an exposed chubby cheek and lifts the little boy off the bike. As I walk closer, I see a flash of tummy roll peeking out from under a well-worn Superman shirt. Harrison Lawton gives me a shy wave and then grabs for his dad’s hand proud, that his father will deliver him to his first day of kindergarten.
“Hello, I’m Christopher. Meredith has told me so many great things about you and about Fairchild. Harrison is raring to go—aren’t you, buddy? Been talking about kindergarten for weeks.”
So, this, finally, is the infamous Christopher Lawton. Certainly not what I expected, but the surprise is a pleasant one. For the first time since I met her almost a year ago, I give Meredith credit forhaving a big heart in the right place. Only a woman who can see past the exterior to love the interior could hop in bed night after night with this affable Linus lookalike.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Christopher. And, Harrison, you’re going to love Ms. Brooks, she’s the best kindergarten teacher in the whole world.” I shake Christopher’s hand and he picks up Harrison and throws him on his shoulders, a ride into kindergarten fit for a king. A happy tear drops on my nose. There is nowhere else a person can work where there is so much boundless, endless love. Working in schools... Best. Job. Ever.
With the children tucked happily in their new classrooms I head to Nan’s, I mean,myoffice to check a few things before my 10:00 a.m. meeting in the conference room. It’s never too early for chocolate pretzels so I bust open one of the five bags I have tucked away. A new stash for a new year.
I’ve never been a person to have pictures on my desk, but like I say, new year, new beginnings. To the left of my computer screen is a goofy picture of Etta and Ty from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. They look like they’re caught in a wind tunnel, but the expression on their faces is pure joy. I was hesitant to invite Ty to come with me to drop Etta off at Juilliard, afraid it was too much too soon for Etta and for me. Aunt Viv reminded me that nothin’ good comes from movin’ slow at my age and, more important, I needed someone to put together the IKEA furniture for Etta’s dorm room. I couldn’t disagree with her, the fantasy of Golden Boy and me riding off into the sunset or at least on a 747, pure bliss. And it helped to have a shoulder to cry on for the plane ride home. That man took every snotty tissue without hesitation.
After the Viva la Viv confession, it took Ty a few weeks to persuade me to go on a public date with him. I held him off until after admissions acceptance letters had gone out (call it a separation of church and state kind of thing) and then I folded. Once we dippedour toes in the waters of dinners out, it only took him a few meals to convince me that we have other things to talk about than Aunt Viv’s health and the possibility of her dying. He continues to assure me that time is years and years away. As summer progressed, so did my need to see him, to be near him, and certainly to have my hands all over him. But it was always with the caveat that getting Etta organized for and settled into Juilliard was my priority until the end of August. He happily let me set the dating pace, but maybe now that Etta’s launched, I can let my freak flag fly a little bit. Golden Boy might get an eyeful of me in a naughty nurse’s uniform. I look juicy as hell in white.
Oh goody, a text. Even heads of school procrastinate.
TY
Hope you’re wielding your power wisely over there, Head of School Bordelon. No going full dictator on me.
9:18 A.M.
JOSIE
