“Sarah. I couldn’t find her. She’d already gone home for the day.” I pulled out my phone. She hadn’t answered my text, either. I took another gulp of red wine, since the only beer in Chris’s refrigerator was an imperial stout aged in bourbon barrels or something and I had not, after all, gone to the grocery store. “It’s probably okay. I mean, she’s always had myback before. Besides, the school year’s almost over. Hiring my replacement is more hassle than it’s worth.”
Chris chewed deliberately. Swallowed. “You know, my residency’s over at the end of June.”
But for once, I couldn’t be distracted. I didn’t want to talk about his job right now. Tonight, I was the one with the interesting work story.
“The thing is, the principal is supposed to support me. Not interfere with the way I run my classroom.”
“He’s your supervisor,” Chris said in a reasonable tone. “It’s his job to advise you. To keep you from making mistakes.”
“I didn’t make a mistake!”
He gave me a pitying look.
“What?”
“You just got back from your father’s funeral.”
“Yes?”
“Sometimes grief expresses itself as anger,” he said.
As if I were a patient in his psych rotation. I suddenly wanted to stab something. Him. Which…maybe proved his point?
Chris nudged the pizza box toward me. “Here. You’ll feel better after you eat.”
Placating the cranky toddler with a cookie.I scolded myself for the thought. What kind of girlfriend got upset with her partner for trying to take care of her? I took a slice of pizza. “He wants me to apologize to the parents.”
“That makes sense. This boy—”
“His name is Colin.”
“He’s, what, sixteen? A minor. His parents have the rightto make decisions for him. When you’re treating a child, you always have to get the family on board.”
“His parents are part of the problem,” I said passionately. “Colin is trying to find himself. Sometimes books are the only safe place kids have to explore who they are and how they feel. To understand they’re not alone.” How would I have navigated my own life without Meg Murry and Anne Shirley, Jo March and Jane Eyre, to offer a road map and point the way?
“I know you’re trying to help. But what your students read for pleasure is hardly a matter of life or death.”
Had I noticed it before, that slightly condescending tone? Or was I too sensitive tonight? “Sometimes grief expresses itself as anger…” “Just because I’m not treating cancer doesn’t mean what I do isn’t important.”
Chris sighed. “I didn’t mean to belittle your work, honey. But don’t you think you’re being a little too idealistic? Maybe you need to—”
“Grow up?” I snapped.
“Adjust your expectations. You can’t save every student. Any more than I can save every patient.”
I put the pizza down, untasted. “You know, I could use some support from my boyfriend right now. I’ve had a bad day.”
“You haven’t asked about mine.”
Because that was our pattern. I always asked about his day.
“Okay,” I said, following our script. “How was your day, dear?”
“My Ewing sarcoma patient died.”
“Oh God.” My resentment melted. “The little boy? I’m so sorry.”
“We can’t control every outcome. You have to accept that.”
