“When your kid’s old enough, I’ll teach it to play hoops,” Jared offers, shooting an imaginary basket toward the end of the hallway. I wince. Oof, another kick. “Or you know, history,” Jared quickly amends, thinking my wince was directed at his talk of basketball.
“Nina, you’re looking well,” Courtney offers in a nervous twitter, walking up to me as Pablo and Jared have moved on to discuss what Pablo refers to as “real fútbol.” Why is pregnancy an invitation to anyone and everyone to comment on your fitness for public viewing? I’m about to repay Courtney the shallow compliment but stop short. She does not look well at all, particularly for a woman with unlimited means for personal upkeep. Courtney’s hair is revealing more gray than blonde at the roots. Bloodshot eyes hide below puffy, purplish lids, and despite the venti coffee she’s toting, Courtney’s grayish skin hints at an exhausted woman. Even her shirt is misbuttoned, the expensive collar sagging left.
I gently grab Courtney by the elbow and steer her away from the stream of board members sauntering into the conference room. I’m pretty sure no life coach wants to be viewed as unhinged. “Are you okay?” I ask quietly, tucking my head close to her ear.
“Of course, I am,” Courtney insists, shaking her head like she’s waking herself up out of a haze. “A poor night’s sleep is all. Where will you and Winn be sitting for tonight’s meeting?” Courtney inquires, smoothing her bangs to the side of her forehead.
“Same as always, in front of the SMART Board.”
“Wonderful. I’ll seat myself directly across from you two,” Courtney says, removing my concerned hand from her elbow and joining the side of Anders Nilsson heading into the meeting. I’m left standing alone, utterly confused, wondering, Am I walking into a firing squad?
Seated, I close my eyes, putting my hand over my racing heart. One, two, three full breaths. I open my eyes. I look to my left and Winn gives me a tight grin, but none of the charming chatter he’s famous for.
“Nice to see you, Winn,” I say, my head of school tone spot-on.
Ignoring my acknowledgment, Winn cocks his head to his left. “Nice to see Jared take an interest in the future of the school, don’t you think?”
Hmm, is it nice? Curious for sure. And a little concerning since he happens to be here at Winn’s invitation on the one meeting a year when we talk about admissions. But nice, no.
Winn here early and dressed to intimidate, Jared joining the meeting, and Courtney eyeing the three of us from across the table like a hawk hunting prey, is unnerving. Something’s up. Or more accurately, something’s teed up to take me by surprise, I can feel it.
Marisol’s the keynote speaker at a spa directors conference in Phoenix, otherwise I’d text her for backup support. Instead, I’m going to have to muster every ounce of conviction necessary all on my own. God, I think I need to pee again.
“What’s nice is seeing Jared refocused on his classroom given the end of basketball season. That’s definitely nice,” I respond self-assuredly, holding Winn’s gaze. I will not be the first to look away.
I run my hands over my belly, willing this baby not to give me a solid corner kick to the lower abdomen during my recitation. I clear my throat, stand, and stare out over a conference room full of people who look eager to get going on the agenda and then get on with their dinner plans. I drop into my lowest vocal register to deliver Dr. Angelou’s words.
“We delight in the beauty
of the butterfly . . .”
“Nina, we have a packed agenda, and I for one want to get to the meat of the evening. How about we just get a move on,” Winn interrupts me.
I press my palms together to keep myself from slapping him silly. As a Black, first-generation female, I’ve gone through a lot to get myself here, Winn Hawkins. I’ve worked twice as hard as most to prove, at every juncture of my journey, I have at least half a reason to be in a room filled with the likes of people like you. You WILL NOT dismiss my moment. I can’t say out loud what I’m thinking, so instead I start again from the top.
“We delight in the beauty
of the butterfly, but rarely
admit the changes it has
gone through to achieve
that beauty.”
Without looking, I know Winn’s leg’s rapidly jiggling, the energy radiating off him tense.
As I finish the quote, I turn to Winn with a smile dripping with sincerity that reads, no one, not even you, interrupts me, and then I introduce our guest presenter for the evening, Director of Admissions Roan Dawson.
Tonight, Roan will be offering a PowerPoint deck analyzing admissions numbers over the past five years and growth projection for the next three. This dog and pony show is shared with the board of trustees every April. Roan’s been agitating over his presentation ensemble for weeks. He’s hoping a glam slam will deflect from his fear of public speaking.
I move to sit back down and wince as a jolt of pain hits my pelvis. I clench down hard on my teeth. Roan’s eyes register that something more than a baby with a distaste for pulled pork is going on and opens his mouth to speak. I ever so perceptibly shake my head no. With concern, Roan makes his way to the front of the room, and I’m given ten to fifteen minutes to contemplate how I’m going to make it through the rest of this meeting.
Roan’s first slide goes up on the SMART Board. “I’m happy to report we’re continuing our three-year upward trend of about two percent increase in completed application submissions year over year.” As Roan continues on with statistics I’ve already committed to memory, I slide my phone off the table into my lap. With Marisol out of town and Fitzroy without a car, I text my next in case of emergency as coolly as I can, not wanting to sound any alarm bells quite yet.
Nina 6:48 PM
Hey Leo, I’m tied up at a board meeting and Marisol’s OOT. A little desperate here, any chance you can pick Xandra up at the airport for me? Her flight lands at 8:00 p.m.
Leo 6:48 PM
Sure. You okay?
“Of the five hundred and two total applicants this year, Nina and I are excited to share with you that thirty-six percent identify as persons of color, up from thirty-two percent last year,” Roan continues, glancing over at me every third second. I lie and give him an okay with my left hand, my right cradling my belly. Winn sits tall in his chair. I know he’s thinking his recruits are certainly part of these improved numbers.
My breath grows shallow. Why didn’t I revisit the birthing classes with Leo when he asked? Maybe I don’t actually remember how this goes after all these years.
Nina 6:50 PM
All good, just miscalculated timing of things tonight. Text me when you have my girl.
No need to send Leo into any type of new dad frenzy until I know my first baby’s taken care of. I put my phone back onto the table and pour myself some more water. Roan is killing it at his presentation, and I thank the Lord that all eyes are on his slides.
Winn raises his hand, index finger up, but doesn’t wait to be called on. “Roan, let’s move to the details of next year’s acceptances. I’m assuming Dontrelle and Marcus Burns are members of the incoming freshman class?”
Jared snaps his attention to Roan, interested in the meeting for the first time since I called it to order.