“That’s encouraging, isn’t it, girls?” I say, squeezing Xandra tight to my side.
“Sorry, so rude of me, let me introduce you to my family. This is my wife, Rashmi, and our son, Shan. This is Rashmi’s third time seeing Wonderful Town, but she keeps showing up.” Dave puts his pale arm around his brown-skinned wife’s waist. I smile.
“Should we all sit down together?” Rashmi offers.
Xandra’s flair for the dramatic finally kicks in. “Thank you for the offer, but my mom’s really been wanting quality time with me. She hasn’t seen me since Christmas.” I squeeze Xandra’s arms tighter. I sure do want some quality one-on-one time. To the outside world my side-arm squeeze reads profound pride, but between me and my daughter it reads you better be seeing what I’m seeing.
“All right then, have a nice evening,” Dave says, followed by a warm smile from Rashmi. Shan’s been waiting patiently to be released from this grown-up prison so he can have his noodles with butter.
I turn slowly, placing my face inches away from Xandra’s. “THAT’S Pemberley’s resident racist?” And before Xandra or Dash can defend themselves, Graham and I are chuckling again, at their expense. “Now I know what ears you were using when you heard what you heard, the kind that assumes the worst in White people.”
“Fine, but look who’s talking,” Xandra snaps back just loud enough for me to hear. Wait, what did I do? “Maybe my ears heard wrong, but my eyes are working just fine, and I’ve been watching you assume the exact same thing of Leo. Give the guy a break already.”
TWENTY-SIX
Nina, you’re here late,” Pablo says to me, cranking his head far left to look over his shoulder.
“Sure am. I have a long to-do list to get through before I go on maternity leave in three weeks.” And work keeps my mind off my analysis paralysis of how I’m going to win Leo back, but I know that’s more detail than Pablo’s fishing for.
“Aye, family is such a blessing,” Pablo gushes, searching to see if my left hand has a ring on it yet. “Are you going to see Mr. Hawkins?”
“Not tonight, Pablo. Our final board meeting before I’m gone is next week,” I say, by way of explanation. Pablo looks at me funny. “I’m heading to the gym right now to see if the new audio system is finally installed correctly and working for tomorrow’s all-school meeting. An afternoon’s task has become a monthlong ordeal. Sometimes the simplest things become the biggest headaches.”
“Sí, sí,” Pablo agrees. “But Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Jones are in the gym playing basketball with a couple of students. I didn’t see them come in, but I could hear them when I was in the locker room cleaning up. I went out through the hallway. I didn’t want to interrupt their game.”
I play with my watch, hoping to catch the time without seeming rude. 7:40 p.m. There’s nothing appropriate about a board member and teacher alone, at night, playing ball with a couple of students. I pray the students’ parents are there as referees. I have no time for a scandal.
“Let me get the door for you, Nina.” Pablo hurries out in front of me to open the left side of the gym doors. While Pablo throws it open, I’m quick to grab the door from the inside to shut it quietly. I’m accosted by DMX’s “X Gon’ Give It to Ya” pumping through the gym. Apparently, the new audio system is working just fine. My typical self would start singing along, first we gonna rock, then we gonna roll, unencumbered by anyone who might see or hear me, but tonight I don’t want my presence noticed right away.
I’m slightly relieved I don’t recognize the two boys playing ball with Winn and Jared. By second grade I know every child by name, so I know these teens aren’t Royal-Hawkins students. They must be younger brothers or nephews of Jared. While I often refer to Royal-Hawkins as the “second home” of faculty and staff and encourage their families to be part of our collective community, comfortable on campus, late-night basketball might be pushing the family atmosphere I preach too far. Winn should know he’s risking our insurance deductible.
Ever since Roan and I went to the middle school basketball game and I complimented Jared’s coaching, our relationship, which was cool at best after his lukewarm performance review, has slowly warmed back up. Introducing myself to his family will keep our positive momentum going, so I watch from the boundary lines waiting for a break in play. A quick hello, a little polite conversation, and then I’ll be on to the next task on my list.
The two boys running circles around Winn look nothing like Jared. They, in fact, look exactly like each other. I clear my throat loudly, twice. Jared startles seeing me and looks right to Winn for direction. The two young men don’t notice play has stopped and take advantage of an easy dunk.
“Nina, good to see you,” Winn bellows, jogging over to me slowly, presumably giving himself time to think of what to say.
“What are the four of you doing here?” I inquire, struggling to keep my anger at bay.
“Boys, come on over and meet your new head of school,” Winn shouts, ignoring my question. He waves at the two boys whose extreme height is waiting for their weight to catch up. This is exactly as bad as I thought it was.
“Dontrelle and Marcus Burns, meet Ms. Clarke, head of Royal-Hawkins. The school my family built,” Winn offers by way of introduction, sending a clear message of who, truly, is in charge here.
“Hey, Ms. Clarke, nice to meet you,” the twins say almost in perfect unison, shoulders stooped trying to make their towering frames smaller in my presence. They timidly put their hands out for me to shake. I grab the first one I see and say, “Nice to meet you, too,” but I don’t address either of them by name because I’m not sure who’s who. These boys are identical right down to the peach fuzz sprouting above their crooked smiles.
“Winn and Jared, why don’t you get these boys packed up and headed home, it’s close to eight.” Dontrelle and Marcus look to Winn for a signal to stay or to go.
Ignoring my request, Winn barrels forward. “The boys have applied for high school next year. Just today I sent Roan a personal letter in support of the Burns family. They will be a wonderful addition to the incoming class.”
“Jared. The boys.” My tone purposely takes on one of a fed-up mother. I know he won’t doubt I mean business.
“Winn, you good?” Jared asks, like he’s wondering if Winn needs protection from a pissed-off Black woman. He might.
“Sure, sure. I’ll catch up with you three in the parking garage.”
“And I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Jared,” I promise, letting him know tonight my attention may be on Winn, but tomorrow it will be on him.
“Later, Nina.” Jared nods. “Guys, grab your gear.” Jared points to the boys’ bags, reminding the fourteen-year-olds to keep track of their stuff.
“Dontrelle and Marcus, it was lovely to meet you. Please, tell your mother I said hello, and give that gorgeous baby Anton a squeeze.”
Winn’s head snaps to look at me, his body tensing. That’s right, Winn. You may think my mind is elsewhere with a baby on the way, but my mind and my eyes are also on this baby, Royal-Hawkins. I knew it would take time and it would take patience, but I couldn’t have orchestrated a better moment to mic drop that I know all about what Winn and Jared have been cooking up, and it smells foul.