A sense of pride settles within me that I was a safe space for her. That we have a good student-teacher relationship. It makes me hopeful that I’m going to be good at being a mom, seeing as I was able to make Zoey feel better about her situation. While I was initially nervous to offer the space for her to talk about it, because I wasn’t sure if I could be helpful, it ended up working out better than I thought.
Class seems to fly by as I help one girl with her balance beam dismount, another with her vault routine. The entire time, I find myself in the zone, not thinking about anything other than helping my students.
I guess you could say I’ve become comfortable in my position here at ESA… I even enjoy it.
Hell, I look forward to it, if I’m being honest. I love watching my students progress and break through on a tough skill, and helping them create routines based on their skills.
And the students aren’t the worst. Sometimes they drive me crazy, especially the little ones. But I find that I let it go pretty easily.I don’t let it get to me and I’m able to leave workatwork when I leave for the day.
Once all the girls are gone, I head to my office and grab my purse as I’m meeting my brother on my lunch break today. He called me a few days ago, wanting to get together to see how I’m doing, so this is the best option, seeing as I want to avoid hanging out with him at Clara’s. He’s too inquisitive, and I know he’ll figure out that I’m not really staying there.
It takes me less than an hour with traffic to meet at the lunch spot my brother picked. Ian’s already waiting for me inside, sitting at a table for two near the front window. I push through the door, heading toward him.
As soon as he sees me approach the table, he stands and pulls me into a hug. “How are things?” he asks when we take our seats.
“Things are good, and you?”
“You know I’m always good. How’s my niece or nephew doing?” he asks, always checking in on us.
“The baby is good. I’m fourteen weeks now. And no, I’m not ready to tell you who the father is yet,” I tell him, already knowing what question is coming next.
He groans a frustrated sigh. “C’mon, Teagan. I don’t get what the difference is in telling me now or later?”
I swallow my water, wishing he’d just leave me alone about this. But my brother is stubborn, with a capital S.
“AndIdon’t get why it matters to you so much?” I fire back at him. I’ve only been here for two minutes and I’m already over this conversation. I thought he may not say anything, considering everything that happened with my apartment…but I should have known he’s not one to let things go.
“Because we’re the only family we have. We tell each other everything. Wouldn’t you want to know who the mother of my childwas if I was having a baby?” he points out, head tilted as he looks at me with a raised brow.
“Whatever,” I say flippantly, even though he’s irritatingly right. I’d be feeling the exact way if he didn’t tell me who was carrying my future niece or nephew. But I don’t want to deal with telling him about Quentin and the repercussions that would follow. “You’re still not finding out until I’m ready. Now unless you want me to leave before we even order, therefore starving your future niece or nephew, then drop it.”
He doesn’t say anything, his go-to reaction when he’s pissed off, but doesn’t want to piss me off further.
I guess it was our mother we both inherited our attitude from because we’re like two peas in a pod when it comes to that. It’s funny how someone can never be present in your life and still affect it so deeply.
“I’ll take a grilled cheese with tomato soup,” he tells our waiter, making me snicker.
He glares at me as I order a veggie sandwich with a garden salad.
“Still always ordering the grilled cheese, huh?” I taunt him once the waiter leaves with our orders. Ever since I can remember, Ian’s always loved grilled cheese, eating it whenever possible.
“Why try something else when I know what I like?”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re boring?”
“Yeah, you. At least once, daily,” he deadpans, making me laugh.
Ian may be straitlaced, grumpy, and too protective, but he’s been the only constant in my life other than our grandparents.
“How’s living at Clara’s? Are you going to look for a house soon?” He follows up, making my limbs tighten up. He knows me better than anyone, and I hate lying to him.
“It’s going. It’s not her primary home, so I’ve gotten comfortable there. I don’t need a place right now.” I try to play it off as much as I can.
“Teagan. You’re having a baby soon. You need your own place. I could help if you just let me.”
He’s been texting me, begging me to let him contact his realtor to get me a house. But each time I decline, because Quentin’s right. Moving into, decorating, setting up a nursery all while working and growing this baby, sounds like a lot of added stress that I don’t need. And the idea of having in-house help once the baby is here is something I didn’t know I’d want, so living with Quentin until after a few months post-birth seems like the best thing to do.
“I have time. I’m not due until January. Let me just get through the summer living there, and then we can talk, okay?”
