Page 2 of 7+Us Makes Nine

But they also had four children that would pay the price if I did. Two of which I taught.

And I wasn’t sure I could do that to them.

“This NDA is so you don’t talk about your time at Lawrence Day. Regarding what you’ve done with the kids, or what has happened with the parents,” he said.

I took the piece of paper and the pen from him and signed on the dotted line.

“The next time you want to pin something like this on a woman, imagine if it were your daughter, sir,” I said as I handed him the piece of paper back. “Because I’m someone’s daughter, and the only thing you’ve done is perpetuate the idea of rape culture.”

Then I tossed my shit into my car, ducked in, and sped off.

I wasn’t going to cry. It wasn’t worth my time or energy. But I did need to get on the ball with finding another job. The last thing I was going to do was call my parents. I was twenty-seven years old. I didn’t need my father’s money to bail me out of this situation. I had a small savings account that would get me a couple of months. I was in good health, so there were no doctor’s trips in my future. My fridge and small deep freezer was stocked to the brim with all sorts o

f foods. I’d be okay until I could find another job.

I didn’t need my mother and father’s money to get me out of this situation.

I rode through town, eyeing all of the places that had ‘help wanted’ signs in the windows. I figured my best bet was to go online and start placing applications. I loved teaching. I loved guiding children. But the idea of stepping back into another school made me sick. Lawrence Day had been my home. That job saved me from the horrendous daycare situation I’d dumped myself into after college. And while I figured waitressing jobs would get me by, I didn’t want to give up on the idea that there were children somewhere that needed me.

That needed someone to help guide them and teach them and talk with them.

That was what I loved about Lawrence Day. The fluidity of the classroom. The lesson plans were loose, and the standardized testing was nonexistent. Children still took naps in school for an hour and a half all the way up through third grade and recess time was never encroached upon. Children there were healthier and happier and fuller with life.

I didn’t know where else I was going to get that type of atmosphere.

I walked into my townhouse and sighed. The neighbors to my left were fighting and the neighbors to my right were trying out their newest sex toy. Screams of anger and pleasure assaulted me from both sides. I rolled my eyes as I banged on my bedroom wall to get everyone to shut the hell up, then I stripped myself of my clothes and went to go take a shower.

All of my best ideas came to me while I was showering.

The bathroom filled with steam as the water poured along my skin. Calling my parents wasn’t an option. I hadn’t spoken with them since I graduated college, and even though I knew they’d help me it would come at a cost. I came from money. My great-grandfather built a tech company from the ground-up and passed it down to my grandfather. Then my father. I’d known nothing but affluence growing up. But I was the different one. The odd one out. The daughter my mother shoved away in a room instead of taking out in public for the paparazzi to behold. I didn’t like the tailored dresses and the lavish steak dinners and the sparkling dresses to attend opening nights at the opera and the symphony.

I didn’t like any of it.

I’d never eaten meat. The texture of it didn’t sit right with me. Most people were vegetarians by principle, but it had nothing to do with that for me. I didn’t like the slaughtering of animals. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But meat had this odd grainy texture I couldn't get past. So of course, all of the steak dinners were out of the question. I didn’t like dresses. Or heels. Or ruffles or lace. I preferred denim and large sweaters and socks in different colors.

None of which was appropriate for the opera.

The only thing I really got from my parents was their love of wine. But not the expensive kind. I drank any kind of wine that wasn’t dry and didn’t suck ass. That was about it, though. I distanced myself from my parents during my teenage years because they didn’t understand me. Always forced me to try and be someone I wasn’t. But when I hit college and they offered to pay for my tuition outright, I figured I had just been a selfish teenager.

Until the requirements hit.

I had to take certain classes they approved of and master a foreign language. Preferably Spanish, so it would help me in the business world. My father set off to groom me to take over the family business of technology, something that didn’t appeal to me at all. Hell, I still used a flip phone, for crying out loud. I hated technology. I used email only because I had to and the only time I ever turned on the television was to watch a movie.

And every time I complained about it, my father would say the same thing.

“Then get your own money and pay for your own college.”

So, I did. I took out student loans in my name, switched my major to Early Childhood Education, and left them behind. Their standards and their wishes and their path for my life. I went home on the holidays, where all they did was berate me for my choice in careers.

“You won’t make good money.”

“You’ll never pay back those student loans.”

“You won’t be able to afford living in San Francisco.”

“What am I going to do about the family business if you won’t take it over?”

My response?

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