Page 15 of Sunsets & Slow Dances

It took me a while, but after piecing the information all together like a medical jigsaw puzzle, I concluded that she’d developed COPD, which didn’t surprise me since she smoked two packs a day her entire adult life and had suffered two mini-strokes.

Suddenly everything made sense. When I’d arrived, I’d seen her using a cane, but she told me that she’d sprained her ankle at work. I commented on the fact she’d lost weight; she told me shewent on a juice cleanse. I noted that her speech seemed slurred, and she explained it by saying she was out partying and hadn’t slept and told me to mind my own business. I saw prescription bottles in her purse, and she snatched it back from me and said she got a doctor to write her scripts for oxy.

She’d lied to me about abusing drugs, partying, and work, all to cover up the fact that she was sick.

I sat at my mom’s kitchen table and knew what I had to do. She was going to need care, at least part-time. I couldn’t afford it. And my grandfather, who could barely care for himself, much less another person, was not going to be able to do it. I was not going to be able to move to Arizona. I would have to move back to Firefly after graduation, or even sooner, and care for her.

Callum was two years into his MMA career, which was just starting to take off. He had just gone pro, and I knew that, especially with what he’d learned about his dad and the affair, he couldn’t live in Firefly. So instead of us getting back together like we always did, I made absolutely sure we stayed broken up for good.

Tears filled my eyes as someone knocked on the classroom door, which shook against my back. I jumped, startled, then quickly sniffed back my emotion and stood up straight. I took a deep breath and opened it to find Principal Lewis standing in the hallway. He stepped inside the room.

“Hey, just wanted to stop by and let you know that you will be getting a new student today.” Principal Lewis glanced down at his iPad. “His name is Matthew Knight.”

My stomach plummeted to the ground as the rug beneath my feet just got yanked out from under me.

Principal Lewis was new to Firefly Island. He’d only been in town for the past five years, so he had no idea about my history with Callum or the baggage that would come with me teaching his son. Just because we broke up didn’t mean I’d ever stoppedloving him. It was the opposite, in fact. In my case, absence made the heart grow much, much, much fonder.

That had not been the case for him. He, on the other hand, was engaged to an Instagram model, with whom he had a child—a child who, apparently, I was going to be teaching. The nausea that rolled through me was worse than New Year’s morning.

“Are you okay?” Principal Lewis reached out and steadied me as I swayed on my feet.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

That was precisely what I was about to see. This time, instead of seeing my Ghost of Exes Past, I would be seeing the Ghost of the What-Could-Have-Been Future. I knew that Callum had a child and that he was in a serious relationship, but I’d never seen evidence of his family. Out of sheer self-preservation, I’d blocked both him and his fiancée on all social media. I’d also avoided clicking on any sites or headlines that might mention or, God forbid, show a photo of the happy trio.

It was difficult considering Callum’s successful career as a world champion MMA fighter and his partner being a well-known beauty influencer/model with millions of followers over several different social media sites. Outlets from TMZ to Sports Center to E! to Access Hollywood reported on the couple.

I felt like Hugh Grant inNotting Hillwhen he tells Julia Roberts that there are just too many pictures of her, too many films, and then she tells him that she’s just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. Which, granted, is one of the best scenes in movie history, still it doesn’t make my situation any less daunting.

Besides avoiding media coverage, I’d also managed to sidestep conversations about him with his mom, Buzz, friends, classmates, and meddling townsfolk who loved to slip his name in under the guise of ‘not knowing if I heard’ or ‘in case I missedit.’ What all those people didn’t understand was that I didn’t want to be told anything or have any knowledge of his life. If I wanted the information, I could easily obtain it by typing his name in a search bar.

But I hadn’t. No matter how tempted I was to virtually sneak a peek to find out how he was doing, or listen to his voice in an interview, or watch one of his fights, I always stopped myself. For over a decade, our relationship had been hermetically sealed. It was frozen in time. Perfect. Preserved. I was afraid if I watched anything, saw anything, listened to anything, the seal would be broken. It would be spoiled. Damaged. Ruined.

Even though I knew my way of thinking was delusional, it worked for me. It was why I’d been able to compartmentalize our love and not allow the heartbreak to destroy me. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with the breakup, but Callum and I didn’t have the healthiest relationship, so I’d say it tracked.

Looking back now, it was clear that during our relationship I was in my Taylor SwiftAnti-Heroera. As a thirty-two-year-old, I could hold my hands up and say,“It was me, hi, I was the problem, it was me.” I thrived off the drama of breaking up just to get back together again. I loved the fighting and then the making up of it all. I mistook the toxic roller coaster of emotions for passion and desire.

Not to play the woe-is-me card, but, in fairness, I never saw any examples of healthy relationships. My mom dated men who treated her like dirt, but because she was attractive, she used her looks to get what she wanted. She had mental health issues that were undiagnosed until the last few years of her life, when I was in charge of taking her to doctor’s appointments. I often wonder if her bipolar 1 had been treated earlier, how different my life, and hers, would have been.

I grew up craving attention and affection, two things that my mother was incapable of offering me. I grew up aroundinstability and drama. I thought I wanted a safe place, a safe partner, but the truth was I couldn’t accept Callum’s love for me. Every time he got too close, it scared me, so I pushed him away. I wanted to be the one to leave. I wanted to be the one to hurt him before he hurt me. I wanted to be in control of the situation.

Right after my mom died, six years ago, I went to a few therapy sessions. I went in with the intention of working through the issues I’d had with my mom but ended up mostly talking about Callum. Dr. Porter’s theory was that because my childhood had been so chaotic with my mom’s mental health issues and the constant revolving door of inappropriate men that came through our lives, breaking up with Callum was my way of trying to assert control. It was done out of self-preservation. I was trying to protect myself, not hurt him.

Whatever my reasons were, Callum didn’t know them at the time. He just accepted and loved me, damaged and broken, flaws and all. And I repaid that love by breaking his heart. Sure, the final time I broke his heart had been for his own good, but, again, he didn’t know that.

Now, I was going to be teaching his son in my class. I would have a daily reminder of what I’d always thought we’d share together. There would be a living, breathing representation of the future that I wanted.

The second bell rang, indicating that kids were going to be flooding the hallways. I took a deep breath and stepped outside and waited for my kids. I could feel my legs shaking beneath me. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make it through the entire day, much less the next five minutes.

Every morning, I greeted each one of my kids before they came into the classroom at the door. There were six brightly colored circular laminated signs on the wall, each representing a different greeting. Before the students entered the room, they selected the one they wanted by slapping it with their hand.Their options were a handshake, high five, dance, fist bump, wave, or hug.

I never knew the importance of hugs, just that I never had them at home because my mom wasn’t affectionate. Nora, Callum’s mom, was the first adult to hug me, and I remember it made a difference. It made me feel safe. It wasn't until I went to college and studied psychology that I learned the benefits of hugs. They reduce stress, improve sleep, strengthen immune systems, boost self-esteem, and release oxytocin.

Once I found that out, I decided when I became a teacher, I would always make sure my students had access to at least one hug a day. So that’s why I did the at-door greetings. It also guaranteed none of my students would ever go through an entire day feeling ignored. At least one person wouldseethem, and their face would be happy when they did. That was another nugget of information I learned in my psychology classes. Kids develop self-esteem from parents, peers, or authority figures reacting positively when they see them, such as their faces lighting up. Something my mom’s face never did. She always looked irritated when I walked in the room. Like I’d ruined her life, which maybe I had.

I stood in the hall waiting for the double doors to open. My head was ringing, and I felt like it was floating away. This was just another day. This was my job. I was a teacher. I just had to do my job.

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