9
Monday
(Twenty-Three Days Left)
I was too nervous thinking about Book Buddies to fall asleep last night. But it was the good, excited kind of nervous, the kind of nervous that had me pacing back and forth until Jonathan stomped into my room and, forcefully but lovingly, tucked me into my bed.
I stayed up all night reading the new book I bought from the romance bookstore in Culver City.
“Do you have any workplace romances to recommend?” I had asked the girl at the front desk, and she led me to a section that was only workplace
romances.
Have I died and gone to heaven?
I couldn’t have organized the store better myself.
With a stack of fifteen books at my feet, I checked my bank statement.
The fifty-dollar bottle of Seduction put me in the red, so I spent some time adding fourteen of the books to my to-read shelf on Goodreads, and then asked the girl at the front desk if I could get a discount on the last one, After Hours, because of the small rip in the corner. She sold it to me for eight dollars, which was a huge steal.
By the time my alarm went off in the morning, I had already finished the entire book and gotten fully dressed, opting for a pair of jeans and a classic black fitted tee that hugs my curves but doesn’t show any unnecessary skin.
Since I got to work an hour ago, I’ve managed to sneak away to the bathroom twice to bathe myself in Seduction, determined to get my money’s worth.
Digging my fingernails into my palms in anticipation of Finn’s arrival, I watch as the kids move around the classroom with the newfound confidence that comes with a week of pre-K under their belts. Ellie is reading a book to Harry in the reading nook; Zoey and Aliyah are painting on a shared piece of paper draped over the easel; and Danny, Harry, and Charlie are building a castle in the block area. The kids have settled into our routine seamlessly, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s too good to be true. If something is bound to go wrong, I only hope it’s not when Finn and his class are here. Which should be in about thirty minutes.
Today’s plan is to have the fourth graders join in while the kids play in the classroom. Cheryl, Finn, and I will observe the combined classes to figure out who to pair together for future activities. There are only nine fourth graders to our eighteen preschoolers, so each fourth grader will partner with
two of our kids moving forward.
“Excited to see your boyfriend?”
Cheryl’s been teasing me all morning.
Last night, she texted me a blurry photo she took last week of me and Finn chatting by the monkey bars, along with the message Amirah thinks you should go for it! Winky face, winky face. Amirah is Cheryl’s sixteen-year-old daughter, who I’m sure has more experience in the field of flirting than I do.
You’re being crazy, Cheryl, I had playfully scolded her. Is that the only picture you took?
I sent the image of Finn and me to the group text, where we all proceeded to conduct a thorough analysis of his body language, and what it meant that his feet were pointing toward me. We agreed that the direction of his toes indicated that he was interested in me sexually, except for Jonathan, who was completely silent during the entire conversation.
Weird.
“He’s not my boyfriend yet,” I tell Cheryl. “I still have a lot of work to do.”
“Will you please ask him to get a drink?” She scoffs. “Any guy in his right mind would die to go out with you.”
“You have to say that because you’re my work mom. Finn is out of my league.”
Truthfully, the only reason I could see us working out is because it’s slim pickings here at work. In terms of single women, it’s really just between me, Jane, and Shannon, and even then, thanks to the influx of age-gap romances that have their own display table at Barnes & Noble, I can’t be sure which
one of us he would pick.
Cheryl sighs, and her demeanor shifts.
“You would be so much happier if you saw yourself how everyone else sees you.” She crosses her arms as she looks me up and down. “God, what I would give to be twenty-nine again.” She gets this far-off look in her eye, the one that always makes me feel like I’m taking my youth for granted.
“I don’t think being twenty-nine now is the same as what it used to be,” I tell her. “My friend Nora—” I’m about to dive into one of Nora’s many dating app horror stories when I’m interrupted by a tap on my arm.
“Teacher Phoebe?” I turn around to see Ava with a pillow from the reading nook tucked under her shirt. “I have a baby in my belly.”
Ava’s mom gave birth to a baby girl a few weeks ago, and told Cheryl and me that, in classic LA fashion, Ava was with her for the entirety of her home birth. She’s worried about how Ava’s processing the whole experience, so I make sure to react extra positively.
“Congratulations! A new baby! How exciting.”
“How many weeks are you?” Cheryl asks with a laugh.
Before Ava gets the chance to respond, Max runs over with a matching pillow shoved under his shirt. “I’m pregnant,” he announces. “It’s twins.”
“Twins!” I gasp.
“My babies are kicking,” he boasts. “Feel my tummy, Teacher Phoebe.”
I crouch down and put a hand on Max’s stuffed polo shirt. I gasp and he giggles at my shocked expression.
“Wow!” I say. “They are kicking up a storm! I wonder if they’ll like to play soccer, like you.” He beams, the thought seemingly delighting him.
“Do you know anything about the babies you’re having?” I ask.
Ava has one hand rubbing her pillow-stuffed shirt and the other supporting her lower back. “Mine is a girl. Her name is Lola.”
Max mirrors Ava’s movements, putting one hand on his stomach and the other on his back.
“Mine are both boys,” he says. “They’re both named Max.”
“Have you gone to the doctor yet?” I point to Charlie, who is over in the pretend play area with a stethoscope around his neck. “He’ll probably be able to tell you some important information about your babies.”
They waddle over to Charlie, both, of course, with one hand on their lower back. Charlie carefully places the stethoscope on Max’s stomach and then on Ava’s, and my chest tightens at the sincerity of the moment.
That is, until Ava throws herself on the floor and screams.
I rush over to her and crouch down to her level. “Ava, are you okay?
Does something hurt?”
She’s too hysterical to get an answer out.
I look up to Charlie and Max expectantly, hoping for some clarity, but they both seem to be as shocked as I am. The rest of the class has stopped their respective activities to pivot their attention to the scene unfolding on the floor.
“Ava, I’m going to help you up now.” I try to get her to her feet, but she’s dead weight. I settle for an upright sitting position, and she throws her head back and wails, a bubble of snot exploding from her nose. I’m usually unfazed by a meltdown, but at this moment, I’m completely panicked that Finn is going to walk in while I struggle to lift a hysterical child from the floor.
The sight of me wrestling with a four-year-old would be more than enough to shatter the image he has of me as the school’s best teacher.
Starting to sweat, I plead, “Tell me what’s wrong so we can try and fix it.
Let’s take a few deep breaths together.”
I start breathing in and out until she finally joins me. Cheryl brings over some tissues and Ava’s water bottle, and eventually Ava calms down enough to start talking. In between sniffles, she explains, “Charlie says I’m having a boy. Lola is a girl.”
Charlie jumps in before I’m able to respond. “I checked with my machine.” He holds up his stethoscope. “The baby is a boy.”
In response to that, Ava throws herself back on the floor with a sob.
I help her back up, once again, to a sitting position, and rack my brain for a solution to the problem at hand.
“Charlie.” I turn to face him. “Did you know that what you’re doing is called an ultrasound? That’s what it’s called when you use your machine to take a picture of Ava’s baby.”
“I knew that,” Max says. His pillow is dangerously close to falling out of the bottom of his shirt.
“Well, here’s the thing about ultrasounds.” I lower my voice so they get the impression I’m letting them in on a secret. They take the bait and lean closer to me. “They usually do a pretty good job of telling you if your baby is going to be a boy or a girl, but not always. Sometimes it can be really hard to read the ultrasound, and the doctor might make a mistake. I know a mom who thought she was having a girl from her ultrasound, but she actually ended up being surprised with a baby boy. So, Ava, you might not know what kind of baby you’re having until it comes out.”
She looks somewhat satisfied, but Charlie starts back up again. “But my machine is never wrong.”
I shrug. “Well, we’ll have to wait and see what happens.”
Ava goes back to rubbing her belly as if she didn’t just experience a moderate exorcism, while Charlie and Max get back to their doctor’s appointment. I back away slowly, terrified that one wrong move could destroy the order that was recently restored to the pretend play area. I exhale once I get to the other side of the room, relieved that the situation seems to be under control before Finn and his class arrive. But my wishful thinking is just that, because the very second that Finn knocks on the door with his fourth graders in tow, an earth-shattering scream welcomes them to pre-K.
—
“She was going into labor.” Cheryl debriefs me and Finn on the conversation she had with Ava in the hallway. “I told her she can pretend she’s having a baby all she wants, unless something she does might scare or upset one of her friends or teachers, so the screaming and pushing will have to wait until she gets home.”
I think of Ava’s mom’s concerns and wonder how she’ll handle all of this
on the home front. I don’t envy her.
I nod. “That sounds more than fair.”
While Cheryl and Ava went over appropriate versus inappropriate times to role-play giving birth, I welcomed Finn and his class to pre-K, and gave them a quick lay of the land. Most of the fourth graders were quick to join the pretend play area, where, much to Finn’s confusion, they are currently lying on the floor receiving ultrasounds from Charlie.
Behind them I see Harry, our youngest, swiftly remove his hands from his pants, pick up a block, and put it in his mouth.
Finn must have seen the same thing. “This hardly seems like a sterile enough place to give birth, anyway,” he says with a smirk, and I giggle.
He’s funny.
I follow Finn’s curious gaze as he watches the pregnant kids in the pretend play area.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to tell the kids they can’t be pregnant at all if it’s causing problems?” he asks.
Cheryl gives me a wink and walks over to the reading nook, pretending to be busy by arranging the books.
“That definitely would be easier,” I agree. “But kids learn and make sense of things through play, and Ava has a new baby at home, so she probably has a lot to process.”
Finn nods, and, while raising a toned arm to push back his hair, looks at me with an intensity that makes me squirm. “I wish you had been my teacher.”
I look down at my feet reflexively. Having been distracted by Finn’s charm, I’m surprised to see one of the kids, Danny, reaching up to tug on my pant leg.
“Teacher Phoebe?” he asks, looking up at me inquisitively.
I crouch down so we’re face-to-face, and Finn joins me. He leans in to show Danny that he’s listening. A natural instinct of a good teacher, I think.
The three of us form a huddle that’s so tight, Finn’s and my arms smoosh together. His skin is soft and warm. I keep very still.
Danny, with his bright eyes and missing front tooth, looks at both of us as he asks, “Ava said that her dad put a baby in her mom’s belly. How did he do that?”
I hear Finn suck in a breath next to me, and from the corner of my eye, I can see him biting down on his lip to stifle a laugh. I turn toward him and smile, grateful for his sense of humor. I’ve gotten so used to this question over the years that my answer is practically scripted. “That’s a good question, Danny,” I tell him. “That is something that your mom or dad will probably want to answer, so you can ask them when you see them.”
I’ll have to send the email out later today—the one that alerts parents that their kids have become curious about where babies come from, with some resources attached on how to best have that conversation with young children.
Danny looks at Finn expectantly, seemingly unsatisfied with my answer.
“What she said,” Finn tells him, and he gives my shoulder a gentle pat.
This doesn’t go unnoticed by Danny (or me), and he points his little finger at Finn and asks, “Are you going to put a baby inside Teacher Phoebe?”
Before I can stop it, my hand shoots up to cover my open mouth. I can’t look over at Finn, because if I make eye contact with him, I think I’ll roll over and die of embarrassment right here on the alphabet rug. I stare at Danny, who’s still waiting for an answer from Finn, while I kneel in stunned silence and wait for someone to say something.
“Umm,” Finn finally speaks. “Teacher Phoebe and I aren’t married,” he says.
Technically, this goes against what we teach about all families looking different, but now is not the time to be nitpicky. I look at Danny, smile, and nod.
Danny looks back and forth between us, poised to ask another question.
Children’s innate curiosity is something that I’ve always admired, but in this moment, it’s my least favorite thing about them.
“Do you want to get married to each other?” Danny asks.
Again, I find myself completely speechless, floundering like an idiot, and I want to kick myself for looking so clueless in front of Finn. After letting Danny’s question hang in the air for a beat too long, I finally will myself to look over at Finn, and am surprised to see that he looks completely unfazed.
His posture is relaxed, and he’s looking at Danny with a casual expression that suggests this is a normal, everyday conversation.
“Well, Teacher Phoebe and I just met,” he tells Danny. That’s not a no, I think to myself. “Usually, people get to know each other for a while longer
before they decide to get married.”
Brilliant.
I offer a weak “Yup” in agreement, and Danny finally, either satisfied or disinterested, turns around to go join his friends. When he’s out of earshot, I push myself up off the floor, wipe my hands on my jeans, and tell Finn, “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you kidding?” He shoots up from the floor with the ease of someone who definitely works out, and I try not to picture him at the gym. “They’re a riot,” he says through a smile.
“You were so good with Danny just now,” I tell him. “That was a tough one, and you handled it like a pro.”
He flashes me that toothy smile I’ve become obsessed with.
“That’s thanks to my new thought process, ‘What would Phoebe say?’ It works like a charm. I think my kids might actually respect me now,” he says proudly.
“That’s amazing!” I lift my hand to give him a high five, and he grips my hand tightly. I didn’t even know I had hairs on my knuckles until I feel them stand.
Cheryl approaches from behind me, a glimmer of pride in her eye.
“What are we woo-hooing about over here?” she asks.
Finn tells Cheryl about his “What would Phoebe say?” mindset, during which I have to avoid eye contact with her because I know our expressions would give us away in less than a second.
“This is cause for celebration,” she says, and now that Finn’s done his spiel, I turn to look at her. I don’t like the smirk that’s spread across her face.
She’s up to something.
“Phoebe, do you and your friends still do trivia at that bar on Mondays?
Jeffery’s, right?” she asks.
My stomach drops.
“Oh, I live right by there!” Finn chimes in. That means he lives right by me. “I’ve always wanted to check that spot out.” Both he and Cheryl are looking at me expectantly, waiting for an invitation that I’ve been coerced into extending.
I try to feign genuine excitement, when in reality the thought of Finn meeting everyone at Jeffery’s tonight has increased my heart rate to at least three times its normal speed.
“You should come tonight,” I tell him. “And bring friends!” I add. “We could use all the extra brainpower we can get,” I lie.
We win trivia every week without much of a challenge, but there’s no way I’m going to be responsible for entertaining a solo Finn tonight. That’s too close to a date. And I’m still working my way up to that.
“I’d love to,” he says. “I’ll bring my roommate. What time should I meet you?”
“Come around six,” I tell him, and I try to match his excitement, but all I’m thinking about is how soon I can get myself to the bathroom to practice my deep breathing and splash some cold water on my face.
“It’s a date!” he says.
No, I think to myself, keeping a smile plastered on my face as I wipe the
sweat from my palms onto my T-shirt.
It’s not.
