Page 23 of Husband of the Year
“I’ll go first. This weekend, I’m having dinner with friends. Amy?” I nod toward her to begin.
“I’m Amanda.”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”
This is what happens when you have eight A names. After the first week of school, I thought about asking them to continue wearing their nametags but didn’t want them to feel like they were burdened with the dreaded Scarlet Letter. I make a sincere effort to get them right.
“Amanda. This weekend…”
“This weekend, I’m going to play ponies with my cousin.”
“Real ponies?” Michael asks. He’s tugging on his hat, attempting to wrangle his thick curls inside.
“Toy ponies. I got a pink one for Christmas,” Amanda says. “But sometimes we just pretend we’re ponies. That’s the most fun.”
“Way more fun,” Riley says. “You should try unicorns.”
“Or one of you could be a pony and the other a unicorn,” Alex adds.
Usually, when a conversation goes off the tracks, it’s my job to right the train, but in this instance, at dismissal, during a share, their desire to converse, participate, have one last grasp of time together before the weekend, I try not to interrupt and only intervene with a gentle nudge if things spiral out of control.
“I love that,” I say. “You can play with toys, but sometimes your imagination is even more fun. And if you have more than one idea, you can combine them. Ponies and unicorns. What could be more fun?”
The kids nod as I summarize their conversation, and Jean, the sweet school secretary, booms over the intercom, announcing the start of our dismissal process.
Adults come and go, picking up children for buses, and at some point, Illona enters the classroom. On days when I have a staff or parent meeting, she sits and waits for me, and then we start our journey home together.
“Your mom will be here in a few,” I say.
It’s an Isabella weekend and Illona skips over for a quick hug.
“She texted me a few minutes ago. She’s just parking.”
“Okay.” Illona sits at a table and takes out her journal and a purple pen.
“Danny, Austin, let’s go.” I put my hands out, and they each take one, and we head down to the cafeteria.
I walk about halfway into the giant space, tables set up with notebooks and lists, and the boys run over to their adults. Just over two years ago, Olan was standing in the sea of parents, looking like a snack in his baseball hat and doing his best to fly under the radar. If you’d told me I’d be marrying him back then, I would have laughed in your face. Thekind of laugh where a tiny bit of snot flies out. Yes, I fell for him the minute I saw him in the conference room for Illona’s transfer meeting, but I was sure it would be nothing more than a silly crush.
“Mr. Block.” Dr. Knorse smiles and offers a wave.
“Dr. Knorse.” I return her gestures.
As I smile, I can’t help but remember when I was so sure she’d fire me if she found out I was shtupping a parent. To my surprise, she’d been understanding and kind. The fact that Olan and I are now getting married doesn’t hurt. This wasn’t some torrid affair. There’s going to be a wedding.
“Have a good weekend, Marvin.” She pulls her lips in and gives a terse nod.
“You too.”
She’s distracted by a confused parent. The woman appears lost. It’s probably her first time picking up, and Tori guides her through the process of finding her child’s name, showing her ID, and signing. Dr. Knorse loves running a tight ship, but there’s a softness underneath her armor. I mean, it’s deep down—Mariana Trench deep, but it’s there. You just have to send an exploratory deep-sea submarine to find it.
When I arrive back in my classroom, Isabella stands near Illona, waiting.
“Hey, sorry, just taking the pickups down.”
“No worries. We’re fine.” Isabella’s long, puffy coat, much more practical than her typical wardrobe, still looks trendy on her. Isabella Stone could make a garbage bag fashionable.
“How are you?” I ask, kissing her on the cheek.
