“Does Leo know you’re having his child?” Dad asks me.
“Yes, he knows I’m pregnant.” That’s the most I can say to my father about my indecision. Any hint that I’m considering terminating the pregnancy would be cause for Fitzroy to throw me in the car, drive me to church, and beg the pastor for a baptism redo.
“You about done playing dress-up? Because I’m going to make us some tea. I look forward to hearing how Leo received the news that he’s going to be a father. I’m missing my dominoes game tonight so I can hear all about it.” When Fitzroy steps foot in a kitchen you know shit is about to get real.
FROM: Courtney Dunn
DATE: October 31
SUBJECT: Halloween at RoyalHawkins
TO: Nina Morgan Clarke
Good Morning Nina,
I can’t wait for you to see my Megan Rapinoe and Giannis Antetokounmpo—minus the blackface of course, we read your all-school email. The Dunn family are professional athletes in the making! I know what you’re thinking, Benjamin is taking a risk being a Milwaukee Buck in Lakers territory, but my great-grandfather landed in Wisconsin from Ecuador, and Benjamin is proud of his family lineage.
Looking forward to seeing you at school drop-off in a few, I will be out front championing the annual fund. Would love a moment of your time to talk board of trustees seats.
Trick or treat,
Courtney
Having dropped my bag in my office and finished my last bite of breakfast sandwich, I make a quick turnaround to head out to the front of the building for my favorite school drop-off of the year. RoyalHawkins is passionate about Halloween, and as head of festivities, I take my job seriously. Today is not about learning. No way. It’s about pageantry, trading turkey sandwiches for TWIX bars, and a long-standing tradition I started my first year as a science teacher: candy house building competitions. Education enthusiasts would try to kill all the fun and link the competition to curriculum by calling it design thinking, but I call it straight-up, old-school, kid-on-kid combat. Why should competitive gingerbread house decorating at Christmas get all the food fanfare?
I’m trying to decide whether I should explain to Courtney that as an immigrant, one does not land in a landlocked state. You pretty much arrive there by any other mode of transportation than boat. And, technically, Benjamin is no more Ecuadorian than I am Egyptian since he’s her stepson and I’m just wearing a costume. My thoughts fall away once I catch a glimpse of Courtney nagging people for their loot on the RoyalHawkins front steps in a full-on pirate costume.
“Argh . . . hand over your treasure for the Annual Fund! It’s a pirate’s life for me! Gold or bust!”
Courtney’s getup is complete with an eye patch and a hook hand. Her costume is notably in defiance of rule six from my emailed six-point Halloween protocol—no costumes promoting stereotypes or disabilities. I bet that hook hand cost her a fortune, it looks like it’s made out of pure silver. Am I going to say anything to her? Nope. That white, flouncy, ruffle blouse she’s wearing is off the hook. Pun intended.
Courtney limps over to me, I suppose feigning a peg leg. “Hi, Nina. You could take that Cleopatra costume right from the school steps to the LA Philharmonic gala. Brava! You doing the best you on Halloween, I love it!” I press down the front of my dress and take a second to consider a proper response to her cryptic compliment. Instead, I let the comment roll off my back. I know there’s not one other woman in this school who can pull off a Macedonian temptress quite like I can.
“Speaking of having a ball, last night Geoff and I had dinner with Winn and his wife, Gemma. We discussed all the ways I could contribute as a board member. Did Winn email you this morning?” I only shake my head no, knowing from experience that Courtney has a closing line to deliver. “What Winn and I could do together would light this school on fire!” Courtney says, pointing her sword toward the front foyer.
“Well, I would prefer to avoid a fire at all costs, you know how sensitive Californians are to the mention of hot flames, but your support for the school is noted as always, Courtney. I appreciate your dedication to RoyalHawkins.” I click my Heqa staff two times on the concrete sidewalk and stroll past Courtney to join a sea of Frodos, Harry Potters, disco queens, and mini–Wonder Women heading into school.
“When my mommy saw your costume, she said it was a good thing my daddy didn’t do drop-off this morning,” an adorably small lion says, slipping her hand in mine so I can walk her into school. I tighten my lips to keep from letting out a gut-busting laugh. I don’t think the seams in my bodice can handle the pressure. “But I told her daddy loves princesses just like I do.” And that’s exactly what Mommy is worried about, I comment to myself. I have to remember to tell Marisol this morning’s gem.
“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.