Page 125 of Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay
Barty trots over and licks my hand before play-biting it.
“What about you? Why are you avoiding Thanksgiving in Del Mar?”
“I was given marching orders, but I’ll make my way up there eventually.”
Barty bounds over and jumps up on Mrs. Miller’s lap and circles around once before snuggling in for pets and loves.
“Why you? Why not Adam when he came to pick Sarah up? Or your sister Portia on her way in from the airport? Juliet, I understand, pregnant and with a toddler, but either one of your parents could have made a phone call.”
“It’s sorta my role. I’m the disposable one in the family. I’m prickly and stunted and sedentary. Snappish and shrewish. Easy to miss.”
“You are none of those things, Beatrice.”
“No, but last summer after I realized I was tired of my assigned role, I up and quit law, left my dad’s firm. Moved out. Became a professional pet sitter. I’ve kept my distance. Or tried to. I even blocked my dad on my phone.” I’m glad he isn’t blocked anymore. “Things are fine now. My parents are genuinely supportive and see how I needed some time and space.”
“I quit teaching once upon a time. Sarah and Brent, my oldest, don’t know this. Sarah wasn’t even born. In fact, I think I was pregnant with her at the time.”
“Do you enjoy teaching?”
“I love it. But I was in a terrible position. Long commute. Kindergartners aren’t the same as fifth graders, and I had my hands full with my own kindergartner, Brent, at home, so I was already overwhelmed. No support from the admin. I quit. Said I was taking maternity leave early.”
“Is this the part of the story where you tell me that you missed teaching?” Because I do not miss law at all.
“No, this is the part where I tell you I’m a darn good teacher. Not everyone can do my job. I’ve been trained, yes, but I come by the skill set naturally. And my community needs my expertise. It doesn’t make my job easier. It doesn’t make my job more enjoyable. Those are the gifts that come with time and experience.”
“I was never a darn good lawyer.”
“Two years out of law school and how old?”
“Twenty-six.”
“That’s too young and too dumb to be darn good at anything.”
“I couldn’t keep doing it. I was running on less than empty, spite, and Russian literature.”
Mrs. Miller hands me the bowl of caramels from the coffee table. “Some might say spite and Russian literature are synonymous, but go on.”
I laugh and take a caramel. “I had nothing. No friends. No future, even. No one was taking any of my work seriously. They were all chalking up my modest success to my dad. I was… I was so alone.”
“And so unhappy.”
“Yes!”
“Has any of that changed since you moved out?”
“No… Yes? I don’t know.”
A timer beeps, and Mrs. Miller rises and hands me Barty. “We’re more than our professions, Bea. We’re more than our ovaries. We’re more than our wants and needs. We’re more than our hopes and dreams. We’re human. We have rights that extend beyond comfort and purpose.”
Barty is batting at one of my earrings.
“Community, companionship, love, health, happiness—none of those projects can be accomplished in a mad dash through higher ed and two years at a law firm. They’re the work of a lifetime. Don’t give up now.”
Mrs. Miller brushes the tops of her rolls with melted butter. “I never went back to teaching kindergarten. I never went back to that school. I never worked for that principal again. And here I am, still a teacher. Twenty-five years strong.”
“I don’t know how to make all the things I want in my life fit. I don’t know what’s most important or where to start. Everything feels broken. And I know sacrificing my happiness didn’t work when I tried it last time.”
“But chasing happiness hasn’t exactly led to fulfillment or joy.”
