I shrug. “I guess. He kind of brushed me off in front of Max’s dad.”
She hums. “Seems like it was the right thing to do from where I was standing. Max’s dad is an asshole. I remember him getting in another teacher’s face a few years ago. Oliver probably just wanted to separate you two. Especially since you’re all,” she waves her hand towards my body, “you.”
I give her the middle finger. “That’s what Oliver said,” I grumble. “It set my teeth on edge, though. It reminded me of something my ex used to do. Like, ‘Ha! I apologize for Georgia, with heropinions. Georgia, could you be a dear and go fetch us a drink?’”
She nods sympathetically. “I had an ex like that once.” She pauses, thinking. “But from where I was standing, it looked like you handled it well. You stood up for your kids and their families, but you kept it professional.”
“Thanks,” I say reluctantly. “I told Oliver I’d fix my attitude. I really do need to keep this job.”
“We all need you here, too,” she says, gesturing to herself, and Emmanuel and Mia, both of whom have somehow procured sunglasses and are still dancing in the corner.
Her phone dings, and she pulls it out to inspect it. “Shit,” she says. “It’s my son. He had a dinner emergency. I gotta go save him.” She stands and gathers her things. “I wish I could talk to you longer, but we’ll do this again.” She kisses the air twice.
I nod. “Love ya, bitch.”
She grins. “Love ya, too.”
Tamika starts the mass exodus out of the bar. Emmanuel leaves after putting Mia’s corpse into an Uber. The rest of the grade teams trickle out. Someone gave me their full beer on their way out, and since it would be fiscally irresponsible of me to turn it down, I decide to stay and chat with my new best friend Tim, the owner of this fine establishment.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” he tells me, in what has to be the thickest Brooklyn accent I’ve ever heard in my life. “You just start at PS 2?”
“Yup, about a month ago. How’d you know? Do you know all the teachers? Can I have water?” I ask him.
He laughs, turning momentarily to grab a glass and pour me one. “I’ve been serving PS 2 teachers at this bar for the last thirty-five years. I’ve seen you all. At your best. And at your worst.” He wipes his bar down. “I overheard Tamika telling you they needed you, though. Seems like a good sign for someone new.”
What a kind man. “Yeah,” I try not to slur. “I really need this job. Like, more than anything. I can’t afford to look for a new job again, especially this far into the school year.”
“That doesn’t sound too difficult. You’re off to a good start, at least.”
“I’m making it difficult. My boss drives me insane. He was a jerk. Then I was a jerk. Now we’re both not jerks,” I ramble.
“I know Oliver. He’s not a bad guy. Just keep him happy,”
There is a sharp pain behind my eye. “I need to keep that smug, sexy little fucker happy!” I wail. “Honestly, at this point, I’ll do whatever it takes! I’ll do whatever he asks!”
Tim clears his throat. Loudly.
“I’ll go topless for our coaching meetings! I’ll call him ‘sir’! I’ll let him spit in my mouth! I’ll?—”
Tim coughs even louder than thefirst time.
I frown at him, one eye squeezed shut. “Do I need to give you the Heimlich right now?”
“He’s fine. But this is exactly why teachers don’t want their administrators coming to happy hour,” a deep, male voice says behind me.
The bar has mostly cleared out now, with a few apparent neighborhood regulars remaining in small pockets. Oliver and I sit at the bar alone, Tim shooting smirks our way from down the bar, Oliver drinking an IPA, and me nursing water.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him, not hammered enough to not be mortified over our encounter moments ago.
“I always come here around this time to meet some friends. This is my dive. I live two blocks away. Teachers are usually gone by now. You’re the only one here late tonight.” I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he takes a sip of his beer. “Why are you still here?” he asks.
“I’m wasted.”
“I know.”
“So I can’t move just yet. I don’t think I can see my phone well enough to call an Uber,” I tell him, squinting at his handsome face, trying to distort it so that it looks less handsome. It doesn’t work. “Also, I feel bad that you heard… what you heard. I feel like I need to redeem myself. Apologize.”
“It was pretty inappropriate.”
