Page 16 of Don't Call Me Sweetheart

Josh rolled his eyes like the jackass he was. Once, early in our relationship, I had helpfully pointed out that therapists shouldn’t roll their eyes at their patients, and Josh had matter-of-factly countered, but then how would they know they’re being stupid?

Somehow, though, the relationship had endured—in fact, it was the longest relationship I had ever had. Probably due, in part, to my own reluctance to share my story with stranger after stranger. But also, it just worked.

“Max,” Josh said with unveiled exasperation, “remind me why you’re in Hart’s Ridge. I want you to hear the words out loud.”

“Because I was offered a principal position with a good salary,” I said.

“No.”

I sighed. I knew the reason. I had agonized over the reason, as much as I would allow myself to agonize over anything. Which was to say I gave myself one week to make up my mind. Would I continue my mission of improving the lives of underserved children? Or would I try, just this once, to heal myself first?

“I accepted the position at Piedmont because an online ancestry kit told me fifty percent of my DNA is tied to the Hart family of Hart’s Ridge. I wondered if I could find real family here, and if I could do that, maybe I could also make a family here.” I stared at the keyboard, contemplated “accidentally” hanging up, decided against it. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”

“When you say it out loud, it sounds like you figured out something you want, you’re scared you won’t get it, and you would rather not try because it sucks to try, fail, and get hurt.”

This was why we worked. Because without Josh, I never would have had the courage to make the move from teacher to vice principal, and from vice principal to principal. I never would have said out loud, I think I can help kids, because it was stupid to think I was good enough to help anyone, much less kids in the same situation I had once been in.

Because Josh taught me the truth: that fear liked to disguise itself, to protect itself. Fear was a liar, a remnant from ye olden days when it was necessary to keep humans alive. The lizard brain days, Josh called it.

I wanted a family. I wanted people who were tied to me by blood, who wanted me around. Maybe I couldn’t have that; whether a grandparent or cousin or aunt existed here in Hart’s Ridge, and whether they were happy I found them, that wasn’t in my control. But I could try.

And if I couldn’t have that, I still wanted a family. I wanted a wife and children. Someone to care for and who cared for me. And that? That was, if not completely within my control, then at least more so. The biggest thing holding me back there was myself.

“You want connection,” Josh said. “And that’s hard for you to do because from a very young age, connection was exactly what you feared. You feared it would hold you back, tie you to a life you were trying so hard to escape. I get that. But you’re not that kid anymore. A friendship with Kate isn’t going to keep you from graduating or going to college or following a job, or any of the other reasons you’ve told yourself. You’re already halfway to friendship, whether you realize it or not. She opened up to you. She was vulnerable. All you have to do is return the favor. See where it goes from there.”

I nodded. Right. Open up. Be vulnerable. I suddenly understood what Kate meant by guidance counselor advice. It was easier said than done.

“Consider this your homework assignment, Max. And I know you’ll do it because you can’t stand to get a bad grade.” Josh grinned. “Make a friend in Hart’s Ridge. A real friend, not a friendly acquaintance you get beers with and delete from your phone when you change jobs. I suggest you start with Kate.”

Right. Make a friend. Start with Kate. Guidance counselor advice, the whole of it. Because I knew how to listen. I knew how to advise. I knew how to help. One could argue that those three things were the essence of friendship, but I knew better. I might listen to, advise, and help the students and teachers at Piedmont, but I wasn’t their friend. I was their principal and their boss. They probably talked shit about me behind my back too.

Which meant that something more was required for true friendship.

Damned if I knew what that was.

Chapter 7

Kate

After a busy week, I was looking forward to spending some quality time with Jessica. Maybe order a pizza and watch a spooky movie in our pajamas. Halloween was still two months away, but it was never too early to start celebrating. Hocus Pocus was a favorite with both of us.

So I was mildly crushed when Jessica told me she had plans to spend the night at a friend’s house.

My disappointment must have shown on my face because Jessica furrowed her brow in concern. “Are you going to be okay by yourself tonight?”

“Of course I’m going to be okay,” I said, offended. “And maybe I won’t be by myself, did you ever think of that? I have friends, you know.”

Jessica smirked. “Sure, Mom.”

Despite my protests, half an hour later, I was by myself. The house always felt unnaturally empty without Jessica. There was no music playing, no shrieks of laughter and loud threats of murder as Jessica played online video games with her friends.

I sighed. The early years of childhood had been hard. Potty training! Sleepless nights filled with snot and vomit! Figuring out how to make enough money to pay the bills and still be able to pick Jessica up from school on time! It had been exhausting.

But so rewarding.

Now, things were easier. Sweet Things would never make me rich, but it made us comfortable enough. Fourteen-year-olds didn’t require the round-the-clock care and attention that young children did. I should relish this moment, of having more free time. I had earned it. Jessica was a happy, well-adjusted teenager doing what teens did: preferring the company of their friends to their mom. That was totally normal.

It still stung, a little. That was the bittersweet part of parenting. I had built my life around Jessica, and now that Jessica was stretching her wings and beginning to build a life of her own, I was at something of a loss. What was I supposed to do with myself now?

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