Page 8 of Pick-Up
“Oh no,” I say. “That was terrible.”
“It was,” she says, nodding.
Celeste is a rare sight at drop-off and pick-up. She’s the CEO of a very successful interior design firm. And she looks it. Always. Even in jeans and a puffer vest. She has olive skin and wide lips, shiny dark hair piled perfectly atop her head—her Middle Eastern birthright. Her adoring and adorable husband, Jamie, is a stay-at-home dad who shepherds their son, Henry, from place to place.
Her own mother stayed at home, and Celeste felt her mom never got enough credit. She vowed never to repeat that pattern. In fact, she turned it on its head.
“Where’s your sainted other half?” I look from side to side and behind her as if Jamie definitely could be hidden there. He could not. He’s got the build of a linebacker. He is a rare bird—and not just because, as he likes to say, he’s a Black man from Wyoming. He’s also got the patience of a preschool teacher, the tech skills of a creepy IT guy (sans heebie-jeebies) and the baking skills of Paul Hollywood. There is no better human on earth.
“Apparently, even deities need to visit the dentist now and then.”
“Very inconvenient.”
“Indeed,” she sighs. “I had to take the whole morning off! Got time for an impromptu walk?”
“I do,” I say. “Sadly, and happily, I have no pressing work to do.”
We take the first few steps on our stroll before I remember my mission. “Oh, wait! Shoot. I have to run in and handle something at the office. Can you wait? I’ll be super fast.”
“No problem.” She nods, leaning against a parked SUV and pulling out her phone. “I haven’t listened toThe Dailytoday. There is work to be done!”
Inside school, the mood is chill. First-period classes are in session. Officer White, the security guard at the desk, flashes me his always winning smile as he checks my ID and directs me to the main office. Once there, I wait for the administrators to look up, through mostly cat-eye glasses, from their desks.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, thank you. I was hoping to talk to Ms. Choi. My daughter was supposed to be signed up for drama after school on Fridays and somehow she got unenrolled.”
“Oh, right.” The woman nods, gesturing toward a closed door across the hall. “I remember. Ms. Choi is in with another parent currently, but if you have a seat, she should be out soon.”
I sit down. A box of doughnuts for the staff is open on the counter in front of me with a sign that reads, “Take one!” I know they’re not intended for me, but the Boston cream at the top is really calling my name. I’m debating whether I can get away with snagging it when Ms. Choi emerges, which is why, at first, I don’t notice her companion.
“Mom,” the office administrator says to me. “It looks like she’s out of her meeting.”
I pop to standing and turn the corner, just in time to hear that Ethan person saying, “Thank you so much, Ms. Choi.”
Twice in one week? Whoisthis man?
He is still tall and irritating and now freshly showered standing beside Ms. Choi, who smiles up at him from below heavy bangs.
“No problem,” she is saying. “Happy I could help.”
“Oh, I had one other question—”
“I’m so sorry,” I interrupt. “Hi. I’m just in a bit of a rush. If you don’t mind.” I look at him meaningfully.Remember Friday?I say with my eyes.When I let you go first and you took my hoodie?
“Do you mind, Ethan?” asks Ms. Choi.
Ethan. Why does he get a name?
To be fair, I’ve had limited interaction with her. But I know she is fair, efficient and from Seattle—because, when we chatted once at a first-grade picnic, we had a long conversation about coffee.
And I know her name.
“Of course not.” He shakes his head. “Go right ahead.”
Charmed.
“What’s up, Mom?” Ms. Choi says to me.
