The Better Half(30)
“And I love courageous lions,” I say, walking my small friend to her classroom door. I’ve been spending so much time in the beginning of my headship focusing on the upper grades that I’ve missed the honesty and unconditional love from my youngest students. This little bundle of faux fur reminds me of the countless times Xandra and I have watched The Wiz. Before I was deemed embarrassing, we even dressed up as Dorothy and Toto one Halloween. Xandra made me be Toto, but I still loved it.
“You can have some of my courage. I have a lot and I don’t mind sharing,” my king of her kingdom offers and opens the door.
“Thank you, I could use some right about now.” I smile and give her hand one last squeeze. Heading off to my office, I’m once again reminded that I prefer the uncomplicated company of kids.
“I think you’re a bit overdressed to meet with the florist, but hey, I appreciate the effort,” Roan says, giving me the once-over as he enters my office.
“Wait, what?” I have no idea what Roan’s talking about. I’m in a bit of a fog having skipped my usual three cups of coffee this morning; going to the bathroom while wearing a full-length taffeta gown is a bit of a trial.
“Lunch. Then you and I are headed straight to my florist to do a fast first pass of designing a color palette and creating a floral strategy for my wedding before Mimi realizes we’re gone.”
“Ohhhhh. I thought you were joking while stress eating over shades of fuchsia last week. We’re really going to do this seven months before the big day?”
“Well then, joke’s on you, Nina. We made plans a while back to shop flowers during lunch today. Don’t worry, I read online somewhere that crabby moods and an aging brain both affect your memory, so ya know, that’s like two strikes for you. But here I am, your personal reminder. On my way in, Mimi told me you have a meeting with Winn in ten in that power get-up you got going on, but then we’re sneaking out to go daisy picking.” Roan begins to skip circles around my dress in his Bruce Wayne power suit. “And as long as we are on the topic of my wedding . . .”
“Which we actually weren’t,” I correct Roan. He gives me a pouty face before launching back in.
“Tate and I, okay mostly me, want to get married in the RoyalHawkins foyer,” Roan announces. I raise my eyebrows, curious that Roan is considering going so mainstream formal.
“I mean, the black-and-white ballroom dance floor has been in place for, like, a hundred years, and I figure given my stellar service to this school, the appreciative head may offer me a deep, deep discount.” Roan gives me a wink and double thumbs-up. Wow. Marisol and I really thought Roan would become bored with monogamy, but turns out he’s full-on fiancé fierce.
“This is more than I can handle on a day where I have to rule out liquids. Listen, Roan, please, please, please can we rain check on the florist? If you reschedule for a Saturday, I promise mani-pedis after, on me.”
“Fine. But only if it’s a paraffin job and you throw in the ten-minute extra shoulder massage. Then I’ll reschedule.”
“You got it, Princess Di.” I extend my hand to shake and seal our new floral arrangement.
“I suppose if you’re channeling Cleopatra, you’ve got to OWN being Cleopatra. Go ahead and take care of royal business, your highness.” Roan bows and walks out of my office.
I’m at my standing desk like a good modern-day manager, but my feet are killing me in these gladiator sandals. A flat footbed with no arch is brutal on a woman over forty pushing a little pregnancy weight. I pore over Google, assessing the militant mom opinions versus medical research on drinking caffeine while pregnant. Truthfully, the coffee stance is the least of my worries when contemplating if I want to bring a baby into this world as a single parent who is now older, wiser, and tired as hell just thinking about chasing after a toddler. I am certain, however, that I cannot go another day without murky hot java coursing through my veins. I’ll give up something else to balance out the need for coffee. Maybe sushi? Yikes! That one’s tough to give up too. I pause. My spinning wheels over minor pregnancy concerns feels like a woman leaning toward having a baby. Damn if that mighty lion from this morning didn’t do a number on me.
The meeting with Winn was a good distractor from the around-the-clock ticker tape running through my brain reminding me I’m unexpectedly expecting another child. We touched on a topic I have not given a great deal of thought to when it comes to the past, present, or future of the RoyalHawkins School: the athletic program. Parents rarely seem to inquire about the sports programs or how many of our students are awarded athletic scholarships to college each year, let alone if there has ever been a RoyalHawkins graduate who has gone on to become a professional athlete.
During the Admissions Open House Q and A, most parents play a game of academic hot potato seeing who can ask the most affected, wannabe-intellectual questions. The rule of the game is to show off how closely they follow trending child development advice. My favorite from this year was the father who quoted an article about the merits of having a cadre of on-site therapists and affinity groups for children when they feel troubled or when someone looks at them sideways. Instead of answering the parent, I looked right to Roan. He gave me a barely perceptible nod and put a check mark on his clipboard. That hand-wringing, worrywart of a dad is now red-flagged for eternity.