Page 78 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

“’Preciate it. I’ll send you her info.”

“And you’re sure you wanna mix money and relationships?” he says.

I shrug. “She needs something better.”

And that’s the truth. But it’s a little deeper than that.

Maybe I wanna be her hero.

Maybe I wanna call her up and tell her,hey, baby, I got you a teaching job, and then hear the joy in her voice when she realizes she can finally live her dream.

Because what the fuck am I here for if I can’t make her life better?

Why be in a relationship with me if she can’t count on me to be useful?

I know from unfortunate experience that women don’t keep you around long if you can’t come through for them.

My throat goes dry as the memories creep in. Arnelle’s tear-stained face. The way she looked at me after, like I was supposed to fix everything. Like I was supposed to be the kind of man who knew how.

And I wasn’t.

I failed her.

I shake my head, forcing that shit out of my mind. That was the past, but today is a new day.

And I get a do-over.

22

Raya

I don’t know what cleaning spray Monique uses to wipe down the tables, but whatever’s in those plastic bottles, it’s pungent. That, and the aroma of glue and juice mingle quite horribly and make my throat burn.

Not a great start to my day.

It’s too early for the real chaos to start, but I know it’s coming. I grab the attendance clipboard from the counter and scan the names. Most of the little crumb snatchers are already here, including Aniya. My lips press into a thin line.

It’s been a week or so since she tried to get me fired. I should hate her little ass, but I don’t. Not anymore. Not fully. But she better keep it cute with me. No telling what I might do otherwise.

“Miss Raya! Miss Raya!” A little boy tugs at the back of my shirt. “Look what I made!”

Oh. It’s Justin.

Justin’s not horrible, I guess.

He holds up a wad of construction paper covered in glue, googly eyes, and scraps of fuzz.

What the fuck is this supposed to be?

I school my features into an impressed, yet curious expression.

“Interesting,” I say. “Tell me about this, Justin.”

“It’s from my dream,” he announces. “There was a thing in my dream, so I made it.”

Did you dream you lived in a fucking landfill?

I flash him a smile. “Great job, buddy. Why don’t you set it on your desk so it can dry?”

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