Page 35 of Husband of the Year
A loud Jill Kim sigh fills the room, followed by, “Baruch Hashem.” Even in my spiral, a small laugh escapes my lips. “You scared the shit out of me. Why’d you go and do that?” She slaps my back, hard, but immediately resumes rubbing. “He’s going home for a visit—that’s what this is all about?”
“No, not a visit. His younger brother is in rehab. Or detox. I think the detox is in the rehab center? Olan explained this to me.” My fingers pinch at my forehead. “Sometimes the detox is in a hospital. Sometimes it’s in rehab. It depends on the facility. I think Liam is in the rehab. In detox.” I take my phone out. “Let me text him and ask.”
“Marvin.” Jill puts her hand on mine, stopping me. “Take a deep breath.”
She dips her chin and gives me her patented teacher stare—now supercharged with mommy powers—reminding me I need to ramp up my teacher-look game.
I do as I’m told, taking in a long drawn breath through my nose, and pushing it out through my mouth like my therapist showed me.
“Olan’s in Chicago with his brother?” Jill asks, her voice slow and calm.
I check my watch. “He’s on a plane, but yes. I guess it’s worse than before, and his parents are overwhelmed so he went to help.”
“Before?”
Olan didn’t give me a play-by-play, but he told me a little. I alsoknow the anonymous part of AA is super important, but the door is closed and I have to talk to someone. And Jill is part of our inner circle. Olan is aware of the extent of our conversations and has given me permission to share everything with her.
“It’s not the first time. In rehab. Detox. All of it. I know he’s struggled for…” I’ve only known Olan for two years, but I know it’s been longer than that. A lot longer. “A long time. Maybe since they were kids? I’m not really sure.”
“Oh, I, um,” Jill stammers. “I didn’t realize.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t really talk about him much—Liam. That’s his brother. Or his family. You know how he is.”
“Quiet. Pensive. Hunky?”
“All of the above.”
“How long will he be there?” Jill moves close enough that she’s almost on my chair, which is a feat as my ass takes up much more surface area than a five-year-old’s.
“That’s the thing. He doesn’t know. He bought a one-way ticket.” My throat tightens and I do my best to swallow past it.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Jill’s eyes double in size and she wraps her arm around me, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For validating the severity of the situation by giving so many fucks.”
“Mr. Block!” Andrew slams into my thighs, squeezing me like a three-and-a-half-foot-tall boa constrictor. I move my hand to his back, doing my best to stay upright.
“Andrew, I’m happy to see you, too.”
He doesn’t reply, but simply glances up, his giant blue eyes peering at me, as a huge grin overtakes his face and he darts into the classroom.
Audrey walks down the hallway, and when she notices me, she lowers her gaze. She’s holding something in her palm, but she clearly doesn’t want me to see it.
“Good morning, Audrey.”
Without making eye contact, she extends her hand, opens her palm, and a single soft lilac crocus stares up at me. It’s tiny and smooshed, and seen better days, but right now, it’s Audrey’s gift to me, and my job as her teacher is to act like she’s just handed over the Hope Diamond.
“For me?”
Audrey nods and I carefully take the plucked bloom from her. Even in early March, crocuses will pop up on the walkways leading to the school entrance, and this poor one, catching Audrey’s gaze, was extracted from its home in the soil just for me.
“I love it. I’ll put it right near my laptop and then take it home with me.”
Take it home with meis teacher code for throw it away after you’ve left and won’t have a clue what’s happened to it. But in their minds, my house is decorated with their drawings, doodles, love notes, random toy pieces, trading cards, and yes, dead flowers.
