Me. That’s who.
Leo has no clue the kind of commitment raising a child requires. He already puts in eighty-hour workweeks, and babies need at least that much caretaking. There’s not enough time left to sleep in a week with a baby, let alone jet-setting around the world launching new legal ventures. I’ve already raised one child as a full-time working mom with a career-obsessed partner, but I was young and at least that one was living under my roof. At forty-three, I’m definitely not up for that kind of parenting repeat. Work aside, though, there are other issues weighing equally on my mind.
“Listen, Leo, there’s a lot to discuss, but I’m really tired right now. I think springing this news on you is enough for one call.” I’m eager to get off this video chat before I say something Leo may not want to hear.
“Oh, okay, right, you’re going to need extra rest. No skimping on sleep right now, Nina. Just one last question, and then I’ll let you go,” Leo says, lowering his voice. My breath hitches in my chest, and I feel his emotions despite the miles between us. The hopeful look on his face, the pleading gaze in his eyes, and lips set in a strong line hint that he may ask the one question I fear having to answer.
“We are going to do this . . . right?”
Yep. I was right.
TEN
FROM: Nina Morgan Clarke
DATE: October 29
SUBJECT: Halloween at RoyalHawkins School
Dear RoyalHawkins Parents,
I’m looking forward to seeing those who can attend the RoyalHawkins Halloween parade on the grassy field tomorrow at 2:00 p.m. While we cherish creativity and self-expression at RoyalHawkins, I must ask that before you send your child to school in their Halloween costume, you please review the following guidelines:
- If you have a younger student, make sure they are able to get their costume off in time to go to the bathroom, independently.
- If you have an older student, make sure their costume will not terrify a younger student.
- Costumes cannot interfere with the classroom or PE.
- No full-face coverings.
- No items resembling guns or weapons.
- No costumes that promote stereotypes based on race, religion, color, national origin, age, gender, disability, sexual orientation, or gender identity.
Yours in Community,
Nina Morgan Clarke
Head of School
The RoyalHawkins School
Nina 6:18 PM
Sol, check your email and get a load of the PC BS I just sent out to RoyalHawkins parents.
Halloween blows in the era of cancel culture. I miss last century when there were more than a dozen acceptable costumes to choose from. Can’t America have a hall pass one day a year from trying to be our better selves? Isn’t the point of Halloween to get dressed up, live out a fantasy, be something you cannot be the other 364 days a year, and then gorge yourself on candy until you’re ill? That’s living the Halloween dream.
Marisol 6:20 PM
You forgot to mention that all treats coming to school for classroom parties need to be gluten, sugar, dairy, nut, soy, and taste free. Nothing says par-tay like some squeezy applesauce.
Nina 6:21 PM
I’m leaving the food intolerance mine field to the room parents.
I’m excited to wear my Cleopatra costume on my first official holiday as head of school. Though it adheres to the RoyalHawkins standard dress code by just a few threads, I love this formal gown. I had gold cuff hair rings added to my braids this afternoon, and I look like African royalty. Exaggerated eyeliner and boldly colored lids will highlight my dress, an off-the-rack emerald-green fitted Prada ball gown I found on a trip to the designer outlets near Palm Springs. Marisol convinced me to buy it. She swore at some point in my life there would be the perfect occasion for it. That occasion is now. Is this costume too power-wielding, over-the-top attention grabbing for a head of school? Maybe. Is there too much skin showing up top? Probably. Can I get away with it for one day in an entire school year of dressing proper verging on pious? I guess I’m going to find out. The bigger question at hand is if I can fit into said dress. The beginning of a bulge is pushing my waistline, reminding me decision time is soon.
I put the dress on to test the fit before it goes to school with me tomorrow. Though I can get it zipped up over my midsection, the dress is relocating excess flesh into my rack. I hike the neckline up with a forceful one-handed tug and push my boobs down with the other. Physics is working against me. The more I shove the girls down, the more they pop back up in a repeating game of peek-a-boob.
“Are you trying to draw people’s eyes away from your belly by putting your bosom on display?” Dad asks as casually as he might wonder when I would be stopping by the dry cleaner to pick up his Sunday suit. Hiking up the dress’s skirt, I pass by my father in the living room where he’s reading the newspaper. I don’t want to trip from shock of his mentioning my belly.
“After you slip out of that sausage case of a dress, I expect we should talk about whatever you got going on that you think I don’t know about.” Dad comes over to me and carefully helps unzip the back of my dress. Ah relief, I can breathe. “Nothing gets past me when it comes to my children, Nina. You think I don’t see something’s been weighing heavy on you? I’ve been an expert at reading you for forty-three years; and that was after nine months of staring at your mother’s belly. Are you pregnant?”
“I don’t know how this happened Dad, I really don’t,” I crumble. Adult or child, I still fall apart at the thought of disappointing my father. Worrying over his reaction, I’ve shed tears all over town the past few weeks. Heading through the Wells Fargo drive-up ATM, I whimpered entering my PIN, Xandra’s birth date. Last Tuesday at the YMCA, I could feel heat rising and tears pooling in my eyes as I met with the executive director about discounted memberships for RoyalHawkins employees. It turned out she has twin newborns. Don’t even get me started on picking out melons at Pavilions market. The cantaloupes were next to the bananas. I know, juvenile, but I can’t control my mind or my mood, and everything seems to set me off these days.
“I know we didn’t get it all right raisin’ you, but I know for sure Celia and I taught you the facts of life. And here you are at your age, pregnant, no husband.” Dad squeezes his eyes shut and holds up my robe left on the back of the couch from this morning. I step out of my dress and slip my arms through the sleeves. My pre-Halloween catwalk is over. I don’t respond to Dad’s recitation of my predicament. My age. Pregnant. Not married. I’m all too familiar with the details.
“Nina, I need to know that you have respect for yourself and for that nice man you were seeing over the summer. You stepping out on Leo, or is this his baby?”
“Dad! Of course, it’s Leo’s. Do you seriously think I’m sleeping around on him?”
Fitzroy throws up his arms.
“Well, I don’t know, Nina, the way I hear you and Chaco Taco talk about who’s sleeping with who, who’s trading boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. I don’t know where your generation’s sense of commitment and Christian values have gone. Thank goodness your mother is not here to hear how you two gossip.”
I can’t fault my dad for that judgy comment. Last time Marisol was over at the house, we were cackling like two old hens about who was getting sexy behind their spouses’ backs. Sometimes people really don’t want to see what’s right in front of them, but Marisol and I always see it. It’s a hobby we share, and a gift. I thought Dad was engrossed in his crossword puzzle that night, but turns out his ears were tuned to the kitchen.