The three of us—my new admin team and I—interview a new teacher to replace his teaching post in the classroom.
“What’s your teaching style? How comfortable are you collaborating on a team? What if that team is the best team in the entire school? What do you bring to the table? What’s your favorite Takis flavor?” Emmanuel fires at this teacher, who takes it all in stride. She reminds me a lot of Georgia. She’ll do great on the third grade team.
I soon find myself being able to leave school every day at a reasonable hour. I don’t go in on Sundays anymore.
I join a kickboxing class. By ‘join,’ I mean ‘attend once,’ because the one and only time I went, I couldn’t move for four days afterwards.
I attempt to knit, but get bored after the first row of a scarf.
I finishBridgerton.
I hang out with my mom.
“Can we do nothing for Thanksgiving?” I ask her, while we’re sitting on the couch and binge watching her new favorite K-Drama.
She raises an eyebrow at me. “You mean you don’t want to take on the task of cooking a full spread Thanksgiving dinner for ten people, with a ten-pound turkey and seventeen sides, even if it’s just the two of us, like you have every year for the past ten years?”
“That was old Lina,” I tell her. “This is New and Improved Lina.”
She squeezes my hand. “It’s just Lina to me. Let’s order Chinese.”
* * *
The week of Thanksgiving, Frankie only shows up one day after school. We catch each other up on our days. I fix the hair that’s fallen out of a French braid pigtail and tie her shoe. She’s made a new friend. He’s in her class and in her after-school program. She tells me all about him.
“Mateo’s into the MTA,” she says. “All the buses and the subway lines. If you give him a place, he can tell you exactly how to get there. Which subway lines to take and where to transfer and the name of the stop to get on and get off. He’s not that good at the buses yet, but he’s been practicing with Google Maps. Hey, Daddy!” she screams, choking on some spit and sounding more like the Frankie I love, when he walks through my door.
“Hey, beautiful.” He bends down to kiss her forehead, then she takes her things and sprints out the door.
“I see Mateo,” she says excitedly. “I have to tell him about the B38 bus.”
We both watch her go, smiling.
“She looks better,” Dom tells me, and I want to wrap his voice around me like a blanket. Float in it like a lake.
“She is better,” I agree. “Has she spoken to you yet about what’s been going on?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“She will.”
“It’s okay. She has you. Thanks for looking out for her all this time.”
I try to be brave. “You seem better, too,” I say, a bit sadly.
He blows out a breath, avoiding my eyes.
“I hope…” I start one last time.This is the last time, I promise myself.Be kind to yourself. “I’m happy for you. I want you to be happy. I want to see you and Frankie happy.” I pick at the corner of my notepad. “Even if that doesn’t include me. You two deserve all the fucking happiness in the world, and I want the best for you,” I say.Because I love you, I don’t say.
A scoff. But not from Dom.
“You lost all privileges to be here,” Emmanuel says from my door, leaning on the frame and glaring at Dom.
Dom winces, and I almost feel bad for him, because Emmanuel is about to tear him to shreds and shit on his corpse.
“You’re my AP,” I hiss at Emmanuel, trying to save Dom. “Not the bouncer for my office.”
“You hired an AP?” Dom asks me, surprised.
