Page 28 of Anywhere with You
“No,” I said, but I said it gently. “I don’t get to blame her cheating on her sexuality. We’re all real people. Real choices, real mistakes—”
“Real assholes. I know,” she said.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Real assholes, both of them.”
Cara nodded, but she still looked sad.
“You can have the trophy for Best Bi if you want it.” I handed her an imaginary trophy.
Eyes never leaving the road, she took it with an emotional gasp and held it to her chest. “I’d like to thank the cast of the 1990s movieThe Mummy…”
“Hilarious,” I deadpanned. “Okay, back to your education-and-whatever degree. Did you always want to teach?”
“I always…didn’t know what I wanted to do. I figured if Icouldteach, that would at least be a clear career path. Mostly my goal was to not have to move back in with my parents.”
I nodded, sure that she was watching me in her peripheral vision, even if she was focused on the road. “Same. So, do you like teaching?”
Cara shrugged. “It’s mostly fine. The testing requirements are ridiculous. The state uses a huge portion of our pathetically small budget to contract with this company to do these statewide standardized tests, and everyone agrees that it doesn’t improve learning, only stresses out the kids, and basically wastes everyone’s time.”
“I wonder how much the testing company contributes to the governor’s campaign.”
“Plenty. Are you into politics?”
I shook my head. “I vote, and I even donate and write letters whenthere’s an issue I’m passionate about. But I’m always torn between staying informed and staying mentally healthy, you know?”
“Definitely,” Cara said. “I never watch cable news, and I try to focus on local elections so I don’t feel so powerless. So yeah. I feel the same.”
“Back to teaching…again. What do you like about it?”
“I get to make a bunch of high schoolers dissect frogs. That’s always fun.”
“Watching people vomit is fun?” I asked, shuddering at my own memories.
“They rarely vomit,” she said, as though it was an absurd idea. “They mostly just complain. But there’s a few who understand that it’s a learning opportunity they haven’t had before. I mean, provided they aren’t filleting squirrels in their backyard.”
“Ugh, gross.”
“Yup.”
“Want a drink?” I asked, and she nodded. We’d finally maneuvered the cooler into a position where we could open it from the front seat.
I pulled out two sparkling waters, cold from the ice refill at the hotel that morning, and handed her one. Cara believes in refilling jugs and reducing waste, but she also loves her bubbles.
“So,” she went on, “those rare kids end up bent over the animal on their table, forgetting the formaldehyde stench, forgetting that their peers are watching, and exploring their world in a way a lot of them haven’t done since they were little kids and gathering up handfuls of roly-polys.”
I looked over at her, not wanting to miss the full import of what she was saying. I wanted to listen to her as well as she’d listened to me, and for the first time, I realized that our conversations weren’t just killing time. At least, they weren’t for me. I wanted to get to know Cara. I was enjoying getting to know her and realizing that she was someone worth knowing. Maybe I’d failed to notice that before, but I knew it now.
I also suspected that she didn’t have an abundance of friends, that like me, she worked a lot and that most of her friendships had been couple friendships, tenuous relationships that probably wouldn’t survive their divorce.
“That’s a good reason to teach,” I said, refocusing, “to give them that experience. Do you ever keep track of your old students?”
“Do I stalk them on social media, you mean?” she asked, glancing at me. “Totally. I found a few sad stories, but a few good ones. One Olympic athlete, a foster parent, a kid who invented some kind of special shoe? More than one in prison. Some of my favorite kids grew up and got science degrees of their own. It’s nice to feel like I might’ve inspired that a little.”
“You definitely did. Do you know why I ended up with an accounting major?”
“Hot professor?” she guessed.
I half turned in my seat to look at her. “How did you know?”
