Page 94 of Teacher of the Year

“Thank you,” I say, and I lean over and do my best to scoop her up in my arms, squeezing her a little tighter and longer because she needs to know just how much I appreciate her.

Once Jill leaves, feeling brave and resolute, I text Olan. I know Isabella doesn’t leave until tomorrow, and with how I behaved, I probably should give him some space. But we need to talk. I need to talk.

Marvin: Can we talk Monday after school?

I set my phone down, scoop up Gonzo, and await his reply.

* * *

Sunday morning, Olan still hasn’t replied. It’s not like him to ignore texts from me, and I’m taking this as a sign I’ve blown it. I mean, I knew I blew it, but this confirms the magnitude of my blowing it. The Prince of Blowing It needs a crown.

I know staying in bed all day and checking my phone every two minutes won’t help, so – much to Gonzo’s chagrin – I pry myself out of bed to take a walk. With the ocean breeze and warm May sunshine on my face, the smell of the pine trees dotting the trail as I maneuver through the rocky path, my body revels in the release, and my mind begins to uncoil from the last few days.

This early on a Sunday, there aren’t many people out, only the occasional runner, and looking ahead on the trail, not seeing anyone, adds to the peacefulness. The path turns sharply and the dirt under me leads out of the woods and into full view of the bay. This part of the trail always takes my breath away. It literally brings you from undercover out into views of the open water, flecked with moored sailboats. The sight never fails to bring a lightness to my chest.

I head to the water, stretching my arms out wide, taking in the gift of living here. In the distance, a woman jogs toward me. As she approaches, the blur in front of her comes into focus. She pushes one of those strollers with three wheels, low to the ground, made for running. As we get closer to each other, I pause, turn and get a peek at the baby. Snuggled into a blanket, there’s a visor to protect them from the sun, and their adorable face stares up at their mom with the sweetest look of complete, unconditional love.

The mother gives me a kind smile as she whizzes past. Spotting a large rock near the water that’s perfect for roosting, I sit down and pull out my phone.

“Marvin, what a nice surprise.”

“Hey, Mom, how are you?”

Calling my mother unsolicited feels like some sort of personal growth in and of itself. It’s not part of our schtick. She calls, I ignore, and return the call eventually. I called her uninitiated right before the Peaks trip. Maybe it’s becoming a habit?

“I’m good, just came in from kibbitzing with Joanne over coffee. Her daughter is having another baby, which will be grandchild number three.”

Now, there’s a chance my mother simply wants to impart this information to me and isn’t being passive-aggressive. That chance is extremely slim, but today, I give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Well, that’s a simkah! Please tell her mazel tov from me.”

That wasn’t so hard.

“I will. She’s overjoyed.” Her voice gets quiet. “But, between you and me, her son-in-law is a complete putz.” And there you have it. “Rebekah, the daughter, does everything. All the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. She works full-time as a dental hygienist, and, well, you know, that’s a hard job, Marvin. Cleaning people’s teeth. Who wants to do that? The husband needs to help too.”

“He does.”

“This is why you gays have it figured out. Two husbands, easy to split the work.”

I laugh at her comment and take a deep breath, preparing to change subjects.

“So, Mom, I want to ask you something.”

My heartbeat quickens. Difficult conversations with Sarah are never simple. I have to find a path toward honesty without upsetting her too much.

“Of course, honey. What is it?”

“Remember I told you I was seeing someone?”

“Yes, of course, I remember, the engineer, right? With the daughter. How are things with him? What’s his name again?”

Now I never told her his name, and I love that what she remembers first about Olan is his job.

“His name’s Olan.”

“Olan? What kind of name is that? That doesn’t sound Jewish.”

“That’s because he’s not Jewish.” A sailboat breezes by and I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

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