Page 68 of Ruby Mercy

“Ninety days?Was she hit by a bus or something? Why does she need to be gone that long?”

“I’m not really able to discuss a teacher’s private health information with—”

“No, no, of course not.” I wave her away. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

I got out of my car after the conversation with Harmony feeling ever-so-slightly buoyed. I can be my own hero. I can pick up and carry on and take care of Yuliana. I made a note in my phone to call the doctors back anddemandanswers. I’ll advocate for Yuli and myself. I’ll figure this out.

It’s been five minutes since then and things already seem out of control.

“I know this is frustrating for you.”

“To say the least. I brought Yuliana to the summer program to meet Ms. Albrecht and get her accustomed prior to the school year. I sat in the playroom with her for an hour every day, helping her adjust to the environment. I had to take time away from work. It cost me a lot of money, but I thought it would be worth it. And now, the year has barely started and her teacher is gone. I can’t afford to do that again with a new teacher.”

“No one is asking you to,” Mrs. Wilkens says. “That isn’t standard operating procedure for us, anyway. We made an exception for the summer.”

There were so many blank stares and awkward smiles when I showed up with Yuliana every day. I knew some people thought I was being ridiculous. Others judged Yuliana. I ignored all of it. I sat nearby, ready to help her through whatever cropped up. I whispered in her ear when she got overwhelmed. I talked her through tantrums. It took a month before she could look Ms. Albrecht in the eyes and speak to her.

I should have known then that things were too serious for me to handle on my own. I could have pushed school off a year and sought more help, but I didn’t want her to fall behind. I thought if I could get her in school that she’d learn to adapt. I shoved the burden off to deal with later.

Well, later is now. What the hell am I going to do?

“Okay, so what are my options?” I ask, giving Mrs. Wilkens the G-rated version of that question.

Mrs. Wilkens gives me a sympathetic smile that sends my heart plummeting through my rib cage and landing at my feet. “There aren’t many. We will do our best to help Yuliana work through this transition. But if she continues to struggle, we won’t have another choice but to remove her from the class.”

I wince like she just spit in my face. “That’s it? Just like that?”

“I’m sorry, Rayne. I really am. Other parents are paying for tuition, too. I can’t let their children have a worse experience because of one other child. It isn’t fair. And if Yuliana isn’t thriving here, it wouldn’t be fair for me to keep her.”

She’s reframing it as if she’s doing Yuliana a favor. I see straight through that line.

Still, Mrs. Wilkens isn’t the villain. No one is.

“I hope you can understand,” she adds.

“I understand,” I lie, rising onto shaky legs. “I’ll figure it out.”

* * *

The bad day hangs over Yuliana like dark clouds threatening rain. Even when we’re back home and in our normal routine, she is uneasy and unsettled.

She screams at dinner because I “broke” her banana by peeling it for her. At bathtime, she refuses to let me touch her with the soap, which ends with her unwashed and the bathroom covered in water. And at bedtime, she clings to me with both hands like she’s the only thing holding me to Earth, terrified I’ll float away.

It takes forty minutes to sing her to sleep so I can leave the room.

Parenting can’t be this hard for everyone. If it was, parents would be warning other people to never have children. There would be PSAs about the emotional, physical, mental burnout you’ll experience with kids.

Was it like this for my parents?

Not for the first time, I wish Mom was alive so I could ask her. No one else I know has kids. Natalia is still dating around and declares regularly she wasn’t built for motherhood. Harmony wants the newlywed period to stretch out as long as possible. I could ask Lana, but even with the divorce, Mitchell is paying for a nanny and private tutors. Her experience isn’t anything like mine and never has been.

There’s only one person I could maybe ask for advice.

It’s a sign of how desperate I am that I only consider the option for ten seconds before I whip out my phone and tap in his number.

He answers on the second ring, which only makes me feel worse. I should call more often.

“Hi, Dad,” I say softly.

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