ME: I just want it to get easier for her. It’s been a few weeks now and it’s hard not to worry.
Again, he seems to know just what to say.
GRANT: Give her time. She’s a great kid, and the other kids will figure that out.
I love his faith in April. It makes me smile even though I’m still worried.
ME: Thanks. I hope you’re right.
GRANT: Do you want to talk about it when you get home tonight?
His casual offer is so simple, but it still catches me off guard.
ME: You don’t have to do that.
GRANT: I know I don’t have to, but the offer still stands.
I stare at the message on my screen for a solid minute, unsure how I should answer. If it had come from anyone else, I’d just assume they were being polite.
But Grant doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean. I knew that much about him even before we lived together. He’s offering to let me talk and vent because he wants to be there for me and my daughter.
It’s a good feeling, but so unexpected that it’s almost overwhelming. Still, he deserves an honest answer.
ME: Thank you. I’d like that.
By the time my lunch break rolls around, I’m feeling nervous and anxious all over again. My stomach is clenched so tightly on the drive to April’s school that I’m seriously tempted to call or text Grant again, just for a last-minute boost of moral support.
But he’s busy and the objective part of my brain knows I’m overreacting. I’m not in trouble for anything, and neither is April—at least, not as far as I know.
This is just a meeting. A check-in. I should be looking forward to meeting with her teacher and discussing her progress.
Okay, maybe that’s a bit too optimistic. Still, I shouldn’t have to dread the meeting.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m across from Mrs. Samson, April’s teacher, in a classroom decorated with colorful alphabet posters and student artwork. The principal, Mrs. Delgado, has joined us.
Both women are probably in their late forties or early fifties, and both are so disarmingly kind that I immediately feel silly for worrying so much on the way over here.
“April is doing really well academically,” Mrs. Samson begins. She opens a folder and takes out a stack of April’s quizzes and tests, showing me perfect score after perfect score. “Her math skills are above grade level, and her reading comprehension is excellent. She is clearly a very bright young lady.”
“But?” I prompt, because there’s definitely a ‘but’ coming.
The two women exchange a look, then Mrs. Delgado continues with a kind smile. “April seems to be having some difficulty connecting with her classmates. She hasn’t been participating much in group activities, and she spends most of her lunch breaks reading alone.”
All the mom guilt I’ve been trying to ignore comes back full force until it feels like my shoulders are sagging under the weight.
“She’s always been a little shy around new people,” I say. “I’m still hoping she’ll warm up to her new classmates—and vice versa—once things are a little more settled at home.”
“That’s completely normal,” the principal says. “Moving to a new school is a big adjustment for any student, but we have some ideas that might help.”
Mrs. Samson nods. “We have a peer buddy program where we pair new students with kids who are well-established in the district. April could also join our after-school reading club.That might be a good way for her to meet kids who share her interests.”
“There’s also the option of having her work with our school counselor,” Mrs. Delgado adds. “Just to give her some strategies for making friends and building confidence in social situations.”
I’m taking notes and nodding along with their suggestions, but my heart is sinking with each passing minute. I’d hoped that quietly supporting April at home and taking her out for fun weekend activities would be enough to help her get through this rough patch. Clearly, I was wrong.
“The important thing is not to worry too much,” Mrs. Samson says. “April is adjusting. She’s just taking her time, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
We wrap up the meeting and I thank them both for their time, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m failing at my most important job of all—being a good, supportive mom.
