Page 100 of Teacher of the Year

“Seven.”

“I guess I need to think about it.”

“I won’t say anything to him. He doesn’t even know I’m here talking to you. It can be our little secret.” She winks at me, and I can see the love she truly has for Olan sparkle in her eyes.

“Illona, honey, let’s get going!” she shouts across the playground.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she replies. She lays her hand on my shoulder and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. Her lips are soft on my skin, and the smell of flowers and money swirls in my nose. She pulls away, and I lift my hand to touch where she kissed, fairly certain she left some of her lipstick there.

She jogs over to Illona, takes her hand, and moments later they’re gone. I swear, this afternoon could not have played out any more differently than what I’d expected. My head spins. What should my next move be?

* * *

“Marvin? What’s wrong?”

Calling my mother two Sundays in a row definitely warrants that reaction from her. It’s unheard of, preposterous, but desperate times and all.

“Hello to you too, Mom. I just wanted a chat.”

“Oh. Okay. How are you? Did you talk to, what’s his name again, Orion?”

I crack a small smile because how she managed to transform Olan into Orion, the God of Hunting, escapes me but also smacks of Sarah Block.

“Not yet.” I don’t correct her because imagining Olan as a Greek god brings me joy.

“Why not? What are you waiting for, a formal invitation?”

My chest expands with air, and I steady myself. “It’s not that simple, Mom.”

“Explain it to your mother then because I don’t understand.”

“Well, the short version – he thinks I’m too attached to my job and not ready to be with someone in recovery.” My voice cracks and I swallow hard.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Not really. I’m trying to be.”

“Marvy, it’s okay not to be okay.”

“I know. Thanks, Mom.”

“I’m going to look into seeing a therapist. I think I need help with… being okay.”

I brace myself. I’ve always worried my mother would consider her son in therapy as a ringing proclamation of her failure as a mother.

“Good. Why do you think I go to AA meetings? They’re like free therapy with free noshes. It’s like hitting the jackpot for Jews.” She lets out a loud cackle, and I grin because I honestly can’t remember the last time I heard her let go and laugh with such abandon.

“His one-year anniversary meeting is this week, and I’m thinking about going.”

“Good. You should definitely go. It will be good for you, and he’ll share.”

“I want to. Or I think I do, but the award ceremony falls on the same night. I’m not sure I can do both.”

“Oh. I know you’ve worked hard, and it means a lot to you. Can’t they let you know another time?”

I give a little laugh because, again, Sarah’s understanding of how the world works feels slightly askew.

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