Page 16 of Teacher of the Year

The server approaches. She’s young, perhaps a college student, with a crisp white shirt and long purple apron. She’s pulled her hair back into a tight, high ponytail and has a patient face. Can she tell we’re on a first date?

“Hello, welcome. I’m Val. Can I get you any drinks?”

Vincent nods at me to order.

“Thanks, I’d love a ginger ale, please.”

She looks at Vincent.

“Sure, let’s see, I’ll have a glass of the Merlot. That okay?” He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“Sure.” I smile.

“I’ll grab those and come back for your food order in a minute,” Val says and turns to leave.

“Oh, excuse me,” Vincent says to her.

“Would you mind bringing some extra napkins?”

“Oh, sure thing.” She looks confused. We literally haven’t ordered anything to eat yet. We each have a cloth napkin wrapping our table service. Vincent places his on his lap, and well, why more napkins?

“Tell me about yourself. You’re a teacher, right?”

Here we go. Whenever I report I teach kindergarten, reactions usually vacillate somewhere between, “that’s so cute” and “I could never do that.” For the record, yes the children are extremely precious, but teaching kindergarten is anything but cute. It’s challenging and exhausting. There are days I wonder why I keep coming back. But I also find it extremely rewarding, and the idea of inspiring other teachers with the Teacher of the Year program excites me. My stomach pinches, remembering how much Dr. Knorse and the entire school community need this.

“Yeah, I teach kindergarten.” I brace for his reply.

“Oh wow, that must be rewarding.”

Not cute? I’m almost disappointed.

“Yeah, it is,” I start. Val returns to our table with our drinks and two extra napkins. She places our drinks on the table and hands the napkins to Vincent. He stacks them neatly near the edge of the table. What order requires three napkins? I glance at the menu, not to figure out what I want because I will always order the bibimbap burrito forever and ever amen, but to try and discern what might require such a plethora of napkins.

“What about you? What do you do?” Safe conversation ahead.

“I work for a statistical software company,” he says, and my mind races to find a connection.

“I took a statistics class in college. It was education stats, but, well, it was incredibly hard. It was actually the one class I struggled with.”

“You probably could’ve used our software to help,” he says, his lips curling up slightly. I give him a little chuckle for his effort. He’s cute.

“So, how did you land in kindergarten?”

“When I did my student teaching in college, I was placed in a kindergarten class. At first, I was petrified. They were so tiny! But I had a phenomenal mentor teacher who showed me how much fun they can be. When I graduated, it was my first job offer, and well, nine years later, this is a little embarrassing, but I’ve been nominated for the county’s Teacher of the Year, so I must be doing something right.”

“Oh, Marvin, wow, that’s amazing! Congratulations, you must be incredibly proud.”

“Yeah, it was a surprise. The nomination came from a parent, which means a lot to me. I’ll find out about the county results at the end of the month, so just a few more weeks.”

“That’s amazing. I bet your students adore you.” He smiles in a flirty way, and well, Vincent M. is ticking some boxes for me. I’ve avoided dating for so long, and since “pathetic hermit” is not a title I aspire to, at some point I need to dip my toe back into the germ-filled dating pool.

Val comes back to take our order. I order the bibimbap burrito because, if nothing else, I’m reliable, and Vincent orders a bulgogi taco salad… and more napkins. I start to worry about the number of napkins he’s hoarding. Val makes a face like she’s having the same fear and goes to put our order in and presumably jokes with the rest of the staff about the guy stockpiling every napkin in the restaurant.

The temptation to ask him about the extra napkins festers, and I spy my first clue. At the conclusion of each sip of his wine, Vincent takes the napkin from the top of his fresh pile, wipes his face with it, folds it neatly, and discards it to a new stack he’s started on the opposite side of the table. He takes another sip a few moments later and uses a fresh napkin to wipe his mouth and discards the napkin to the “used” pile. He’s very organized, I’ll give him that.

“Well, yes, I like to think they enjoy having me as their teacher.”

“And what about your family?” he asks. My job discussed, it was either going to be family or past relationships, and honestly, I’m not sure which I’d prefer.

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