The Better Half(37)
For our last video call, I made smart use of my swelling bosom and squeezed the now C+ girls into a B cup push-up bra Xandra left behind to get an extra rise, literally, out of Leo. He looked right past the twin peaks and deep valley staring him in the face and wanted to know, in detail, what my doctor said at my first “official” appointment. He was still upset I chose not to include his mug on my phone during the visit. Before I could even decide whether or not to drag Leo down with the news that my doctor said I had a few weeks left to make my decision, Sloan’s hand appeared on Leo’s shoulder reminding him, as it always did, that he had to go.
Leo’s ready to spread the news to family and friends, and the minute he does he will no longer be my boo, he will become the father of my child. UGH. When Leo returns from whatever remote destination he’s currently trekking to, I’m either going to make his day by making him a dad or be grateful we’re an ocean apart. Our honeymoon dating period will abruptly come to an end as we move from lust to life. Not over distance; not over conflicting, busy professional schedules; not over race; but over sweaty campground sex, and there will be no more of that with a baby in tow.
As I close up my office for the day, Pablo’s waiting for me outside my door. He looks visibly uncomfortable, though I like his new haircut. “Nina, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure, come on in, Pablo. It must be serious if you’re not speaking to me in Spanish and then giving me a hard time when I answer in English,” I say to remind Pablo of our ongoing joke. “Todo bien con su familia?”
“Ay, sí Nina, todo bien en mi casa. Gracias,” Pablo says, giving me a big smile and subtle head nod. “You know I always arrive at Royal-Hawkins around six thirty in the morning, I like to make sure the school is perfect for the children and the coffee is hot for the teachers.” The way Pablo’s tongue enunciates children always gives me the warm fuzzies.
“Yep, Pablo, you’re here before my feet even hit the ground in the morning. Nice haircut, by the way.” Everyone likes to hear their turn at the barber went well.
“It was dark this morning when I arrived, and the fog was, was . . .” I can tell Pablo’s searching for the word.
“Dense?”
“Sí, dense, gracias. There was a nice car blocking the driveway into the underground parking garage. I heard the electronic gate go up, so I walked over to see who was coming to school earlier than me. Usually, I’m the first one here.”
“So, who was it?” I’ve gone from nonchalant to fretful in two seconds. I hope this story doesn’t end with stolen equipment and an evening spent on the phone with multiple insurance companies.
“I saw Mr. Jared, the new teacher.” Pablo raises his hand high above his head to indicate the tall guy. “He was getting into the car, and I noticed Mr. Hawkins was driving.”
“Are you sure it was Jared? He’s been out sick with a sub the past two days. When I checked in with Mimi this morning, she said he was out sick again, today.”
“I don’t know any other men who look like him who would be coming out of our garage,” Pablo says, looking down. I know this is his way of saying Jared is the only Black teacher on campus, so he’s absolutely sure it was him. I want to tell Pablo it’s okay to name skin color as a defining characteristic, but social norms in America have instructed him otherwise.
“Did it look like either Winn or Jared had been in the school at all?” I ask, racking my brain, imagining what they were doing at school in the predawn hours. We have a board meeting tonight, so maybe Jared was bringing something out to the car that Winn needed? Or maybe Jared was dropping off lesson plans for his sub, and Winn offered him a ride home? I’m grasping for an explanation, but nothing comes to mind to explain the two men driving off into the fog of sunrise together.
“No sé, Nina. I just hid back by the trees. I didn’t want Mr. Hawkins to think I was spying and disrespecting his school, but you know how much I care about this place.” That is the one thing that bugs me about Pablo. His reference, always, to Royal-Hawkins being Winn’s school. My days of trying to correct him are over. Instead, I remain grateful of Pablo’s deep care and swallow my annoyance in the name of cultural differences and soldier on to resolve this bizarre mystery.
“Well thank you, Pablo, this is helpful.” I’m just not sure what I’m going to do with this information other than chew on it for now. I already have my eye on Winn, and now the precarious foundation of trust and goodwill with Jared has been further shaken.
The chat I just had with Pablo is swirling in my head. It’s now 5:58 p.m. and no Winn. Our board meeting starts in two minutes and neither the email, phone call nor text I sent Winn during the course of the day has been returned. My meetings start on time, and we have a packed evening. I send Pablo to the front of the school on an optimistic mission that Winn will show up in the next few minutes and need to be let through the gate.
With Winn MIA, Vice Chairwoman Kym Lee steps in to call the meeting to order. To open tonight’s meeting, I share Henry Burton’s poem “Striving” and get us started on the meat of the agenda.
I’m excited for our CFO to share our balance sheet. I get an overwhelming sense of smugness whenever a quarter ends and the actual Royal-Hawkins budget is well under previously projected numbers. I demurely brush off the glory bestowed upon me by the finance committee while internally giving myself a high five. Coming in under budget is a head of school’s A+, and I’ve always been a grade grubber.