Page 13 of Impossible

“I’m not taking no for an answer this time. Come on, give lonely old me some company for once.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” she says with a hand on her hip.

“Good, it’s settled. I’ll pop open a bottle of red with dinner. But first,” I walk over to Harper and take her out of her seat. “I need to say hello to this little one.”

Riley smiles as she watches me kiss Harper. “She was so good today. She played on her belly for a while and almost rolled to her back. We took a walk in the park and went down the slide together.”

“Did you have a fun day with Riley?” I ask Harper. She smiles at me, a look that is sure to make me melt every time.

“You keep playing with Harper, I’ll set the table.”

Riley starts to get everything out on the table while I took a seat and talk to Harper who keeps looking at me like she is hanging on my every word. When Riley joins me with the food, Harper is still in a good enough mood to put in the bouncy seat with her pacifier. I plate our food and pour the wine, enjoying the aromas that are drifting all around us.

“Thank you again for doing this,” I tell Riley. “It looks and smells amazing.”

“It’s really my pleasure.”

I realize as we eat a few bites in silence, that I know little about Riley. It seems odd since she has been in my life for so long.

“Tell me something about yourself. I feel like I don’t know much about you,” I say to her.

She looks at me a bit confused at my sudden interest. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Like teaching, what made you get into that? And why kindergarten?”

She smiles over a bite of chicken. “Well,” she finishes chewing before taking a sip of wine. “Growing up, I always loved reading. It was like my one safe place where I didn’t have to worry about who I was supposed to be. It brought me so much as a kid, that I knew I wanted to pass that on to other kids when I got older. I chose kindergarten because I wanted to help spark kids' passion for reading as soon as they were introduced to it. I always try to make sure reading is fun for them, so they don’t grow up and view it as a chore rather than an opportunity.”

“Your students are lucky to have a teacher like you. Someone so invested in making them enjoy learning,” I tell her. “I’m curious, what did you mean when you said reading was a safe place for you?”

She smiles. “Oh, you caught onto that. Should have known you would Mr. Detective.” She looks up and seems to be contemplating her next words. “I guess it was always my parent’s expectations of me. They were both career driven. They were always telling me that I needed to study so I could get into a good school and make something of myself. It was a lot of pressure as a kid, and it made me very self-conscious. I thought they were telling me I wasn’t good enough. Reading offered me an escape from all of that pressure.”

“What do your parents do for a living?” I ask her.

“My mom is a lawyer for a large firm in the city and my dad is the CEO for a large manufacturing company.”

“Were they around a lot when you were growing up?”

“Oh, sure. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they were great parents. I know they loved me and my sister. They just had these expectations for us at such young ages.”

“What did they think about you being a teacher?”

“That was not a fun conversation. I think my mom wanted me to follow in her footsteps and become a lawyer as well. Honestly, I would have made a lousy lawyer. I’m too much of a pushover for that. Eventually, when they realized I wasn’t changing my mind, they accepted it.”

“What does your sister do?” I know I have met her sister once or twice but it’s a fuzzy memory.

“Stacey lives in DC. She is a congressional campaign manager. My parents love it because it puts her in front of a lot of high powered individuals.”

“If you ask me, you’re doing more for society by preparing our kids for their future,” I tell her.

She looks up at me with a look of appreciation. “Thank you, I love what I do.”

We look at each other for a minute, me seeing her differently like it’s for the first time, before she breaks the eye contact and takes a sip of wine.

“What about you? How have you been doing lately? I mean really, how are you?”

Has anyone asked me that? Not just your standard ‘how are you doing?’. Butreallywanting to know the truth, the depth to that answer.

“I miss her.” I try to fight back the tears threatening to fall. “Every night I go to bed thinking about what she’s missing out on. I look over at her side of the bed and ache at the empty space. It’s this never ending nightmare that I pray I’m going to wake up from, but I never do. Sometimes, I look around at all of her things, and I just want them gone. It feels like I’m living in this shrine of Becca, with everything of hers surrounding me. I don’t want to forget her, but I don’t want these constant reminders of what was stolen from me. Then, I feel bad for wanting to get rid of her things. I feel like I’m betraying her. It’s a constant battle in my head.”

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