“Right. So I’m excited, but this doesn’t bode well for our lunch dates.” I can almost imagine the pout her lips are making. “I’m probably going to be crazy busy all week. Because I’ll be interviewing at lunch time for the next three days, and then I’ll have to get all the other back to school shit done around that.”
I’m sad, but tickled that she cares. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Also, if it’s too much for you to be involved in the Back to School happy hour thing for families, then don’t worry about it. I’m happy to take that all on.”
She blows out what sounds like a sigh of relief, and I’m thrilled that I did at least one Good Thing today. “Thank you,” she says. “I might have to take you up on that. I’ll still go, though. And maybe by then I’ll be going as PS 2’s new principal. What day were you thinking?”
“We stopped by Tim’s yesterday on the way home from grocery shopping. We can use the bar on Friday. Last Friday of summer vacation. I just have to send out a message to families.”
“Sounds good. And sounds like it’s handled. You didn’t need me,” she says warmly.
“It feels like I need you,” I say, like a freak. “I miss you. Is that a weird thing to say?”
She laughs, that tinkling sound that fills me with warmth. “A little. But I miss you too.”
I start wiping down the kitchen counter, putting Lina on speaker, thinking. “I had an insane day today,” I tell her after a moment, and justbringing it upfeels like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. It feels like getting home, to a warm house with a fire in the fireplace and fondness in the air. I don’t know the last time I had the chance tounwind. To have a normal, adult conversation. A debrief about nothing, about the minutia and general shittiness and the highs and lows of a regular work day.
I hear a faucet turn on over the phone. “Dime,” she says, and I do.
* * *
The next morning at dawn, I am determined to crush this Dating Father thing the entire rest of the week, so I meal prep Frankie’s lunch for every single day, separating food and snacks into cute little bento boxes, one for each day. I even use the Totoro cookie cutter to press her sandwich into the adorable cat/owl/raccoon shape she loves. Separate the different types of berries. Write a little note with a positive affirmation appropriate for a five-year-old +I love youon a Post-It and tuck it under the sandwich.You rock!You are the best! I love you!
Then, I go on my phone and pull up the food delivery app. I schedule a series of food deliveries to PS 2, under the name Lina Sanchez, to arrive at eight sharp every single morning this week. I make sure to change up the cuisine—Dominican today, congee and dumplings tomorrow, smoothie and açaí bowl and granola and other healthy people shit on Thursday, as long as there is a shit ton of food and it is stable enough to keep through the whole day and sustain her through what I assume will be a grueling interview process.
I know I’ve won when Frankie won’t stop talking about her Totoro sandwich when I pick her up from camp.
Also, when Lina sends me a selfie with her mouth wide open and her tongue out, the creamy white Dominican oatmeal I sent dripping over the tip of her tongue and out the sides of her mouth in the most lewd and explicit way a breakfast food could ever be displayed.
I save it to the little secret album on my phone to be used tonight.
* * *
“I ate that interview today,” Lina tells me later. She’s on speakerphone next to the sink, while I clean up and load the dishwasher after putting Frankie down.
“I’m not sure what that means in this context,” I tell her honestly. “Ate like ‘ate shit’? Or ate like ‘ate for breakfast’?”
“Ate is a good thing. I murdered it.”
“Again, not sure about the implied connotation of ‘murder’ here?—”
“I did really well, Dom.”
I smile. “Of course you did. What was the day like?”
“Mostly questions about PS 2 specific things. Data, curriculum, budget. I think tomorrow and the next day will be broader leadership style questions. Actually, maybe you could help me out. Don’t you hire people to run your companies? Do you typically run the interviews?”
“I do, actually. Want me to tell you some questions I ask?”
“Give it to me,” she says, which brings a flash of memory, of long, tan legs wrapped around my waist, ankles pressing into my ass so hard it left bruises.
I clear my throat. “I have a whole list of questions saved on a document on my computer that I’ll send you, but I can try to think of ones that would be specific to principals now.” I think for a moment. “I like to ask about leadership style, the way you manage and motivate all different stakeholders and their growth and development. For you, that can be anyone from kitchen and custodial staff to speech therapists to teachers to students. Also, specific questions as it relates to finance and investments, so for your school, maybe I’d want to know your style of resource allocation and budgeting? Then there’s…” I think about how to make this question work in a public school setting. “In my line of work, it’s important to build a network of all different people and groups. Customers, investors, partners. So for you, maybe…”
“How I build strong relationships with the community. Parents, district officials, government entities, local businesses,” she chimes in for me.
“Exactly. Then I’d throw in a question about how you perform under pressure. Crisis management, challenges, making difficult decisions.”
“That’s my specialty.”
“I know. I remember Pirate Plunder.”
