When I finally return to the kitchen, Melissa’s taking the first tray of cookies from the oven.
“They look delicious,” I tell her, and they do: golden and glossy and perfect. “I should get going. You probably need to get Liam to bed.”
Melissa nods. “They just need a couple minutes to cool, then I’ll throw them in a Tupperware for you. You should probably take the lid off when you get home and let them cool a little more, so they don’t get soggy.”
“Sure. I’ll go say goodbye to Liam and Claire.” There’s no way I’m going to make the mistake of sitting next to Melissa again. Instead, I head to the family room, where her kids are engrossed in an Australian cartoon about a family of dogs. I sit and watch with them—it’s actually pretty funny—until Melissa shows up with a Tupperware full of peanut butter cookies.
Liam and Claire insist on giving me goodbye hugs, but I’m careful not to touch Melissa when I say goodbye to her. She looks a little hurt, and I can’t blame her—after all, we were in the middle of a pretty deep conversation when I decided to rush out the door.
But Melissa just got divorced, and I just operated on her daughter. Only an ass would take advantage of a woman in this situation.
FIFTEEN
MELISSA
After Luke left last night, I put the kids to bed and spent two hours preparing for my first day as a math teacher. Now my first day has come and I’m standing in front of a class of twelfth graders, covered in flop sweat and cursing my decision to wear a white blouse. I always sweat like a pig when I’m nervous, and if I don’t have pit stains already, I’m sure I will soon.
“Good morning, I’m Ms. Lawrence,” I try, but my voice is too quiet. A few of the girls raise their heads and look at me, but most of them keep staring at their phones or talking to their friends.
“Put away your phones, please. I’m about to start the class.” That was louder, but too shrill.
“You forgot your tie,” a girl calls from the back row.
“What?” I ask in confusion. Ironically, the room is silent now, and every eye has turned toward the girl in the back, who’s staring at me like she owns the room. She’s a pretty girl, with glossy dark hair and clear skin, but it’s her confident smirk that tells me she’s the leader of the popular crowd.
“Your tie,” she drawls. “If you’re going to copy our uniform, you’ll need to buy a tie.”
I glance down and realize that my white blouse and navy skirt are remarkably similar to the Brookline Academy uniform. Minus, of course, the tie.
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say politely. “What’s your name?”
“Vanessa Abernathy.”
“Well, Vanessa, you’ve done a great job of getting everyone’s attention, so let’s get started.” I turn to the whiteboard, resolutely ignoring the laughter from the back of the room. If the students see I’m rattled, I might as well quit now. High school kids are like predators: able to smell fear and ready to pounce on it.
I write out the first problem and talk the students through how to solve it, and slowly, it gets easier. A few kids are still staring at their phones, but most of them seem to be paying attention.
The class is almost over when I hear a ringtone from the back of the room. I turn from the board in time to see Vanessa answer her phone.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says, staring at me with an expression that dares me to challenge her. “Uh huh. Nope, still in math class, my spare period doesn’t start for ten minutes.” Another pause. “No, it’s a new teacher. She doesn’t care if we talk on the phone.”
“Vanessa,” I say, in a voice that tries to be stern but comes off as pleading.
“Really?” she continues, as though I haven’t spoken. “Thank you, Daddy. Okay. I’ll see you after school. Love you, Daddy.”
Vanessa sets down her phone and meets my eye with a smirk. In a masterful display of disobedience, she’s just shown me that she’s close to her father, and he’s familiarenough with her schedule to know when she has her spare period (even if his timing is off by ten minutes). Her father will never believe his little princess is a troublemaker, so any effort I make to discipline her will blow back and bite me in the ass.
So I turn back to the whiteboard and move on with the lesson, hoping no one can tell I’m trembling.
Things go a little better in the second class, eleventh grade vector algebra, but I still feel beaten as I pull out of the Brookline parking lot.
My afternoon isn’t much better. Liam’s in a fussy mood after preschool, and just as he’s launching a full-scale tantrum, my mother drops by unexpectedly.
“What’s wrong, my love?” Mom croons at Liam, who’s worked himself into a sweaty, snotty mess.
“It’s not fair!” Liam yells. “Not fair!”
“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”
