Page 14 of Husband of the Year
“We’ll figure it out,” she says. “Whatever you want to call me—I’ll be there. And if you want a banger bachelor’s party… complete with strippers, I’m your woman. Maybe a cowboy. Oh, a hockey player—those are very in right now. I bet Nick knows someone.”
“Best woman!” I shout.
Jill nods slowly, her lips pulled in. “Hmmm. I am the best. I am a woman. A definite possibility.”
Leaving Jill to contemplate her wedding-role moniker, I join Illona in my classroom. Knowing I’d be coming back after not only break, but being away for a few days, I planned ahead, the entire week’s activities copied, collated, and clipped neatly on the kidney table I use as both a place for small groups and my desk.
“So organized,” Illona says, looking up from her writing. The girl loves school, but writing is her favorite. She typically writes stories about fairies, unicorns, and kittens—sometimes all of them—and then peppers the margins with cute doodles. Lately, she’s been less keen to share her work. Another sign she’s getting older.
“I’m trying,” I reply. And I am. At least in small doses.
Ironically, winning Teacher of the Year was a wake-up call to reevaluate my work–life balance. What I quickly realized was the work portion of the pie was taking up a lot more than the life portion. I suppose having Olan be a part of the home category hasn’t hurt. No, definitely hasn’t hurt.
My reign as Maine’s Teacher of the Year was fun, but also morework than I realized. Besides my regular teaching duties, I traveled across the state visiting with teachers and students and advocating for education. I walked in parades in tiny towns I’d never heard of and attended a function at the State House with the governor. The highlight of the year was a trip to D.C. to meet with the other state nominees and attend a ceremony where the national winner was announced. Sadly, there was no sash. Or crown. Or year’s supply of Anastasia of Beverly Hills Cosmetics.
As Olan told me, I had a one in fifty chance. Contrary to expectations, the trip became even more enjoyable when I didn’t advance to the final round. Olan and I spent time sightseeing, and the official events were more social than competitive. Plus, we got to spend a few days away in a hotel where, yes, the best sex takes place.
Being named Maine’s Teacher of the Year was an incredible honor, but the real joy comes from the daily interactions with my students.
The clock above the door does its ritualistic three loud clicks and a soft buzzer sounds, alerting staff that children are en route.
“Okay, Miss. Time for you to head up.”
Illona folds up her journal, tucks it under her arm, and walks over to tug at my cardigan.
She points at her cheek, tapping.
“Yes, ma’am.” I kneel in front of her and kiss her face. She turns and I kiss the other cheek. “That one is from your father.”
“Thank you,” she says.
“Have a wonderful day.” I give her a quick squeeze and when I pull back, she kisses me, right on the lips, and even in the hubbub I can hear approaching down the hallway, my chest swells at the love we’ve cultivated in a relatively short time.
“You too.” Illona tosses her backpack over her shoulder and heads for the hallway. “Don’t forget who’s in charge.”
“The kids!” I yell after her.
“Exactly,” she shouts back, and she’s off to Mrs. Day’s second-grade class upstairs.
Our school isn’t huge and there are days we see each other passing lines in the hallway or when I’m grabbing copies while my class is at a special and Illona’s on her way somewhere. But more often than not, our paths don’t cross until I return from taking my pickups to the cafeteria and she’s patiently waiting for us to head home together.
Come to think of it, having Illona with me has helped with the old work–life balance as well. Sure, she’s happy to sit and write while I do my planning and prepping before or after school, but I do my best to get most of my work done when my class is at specials and lunch so we can get home. Of course, it means Jill and I don’t get as much time to kibbitz together at school, but she’s typically itching to leave as soon as possible to pick Maria up from daycare. We make up for it with evening texts and weekend visits. Our strawberry donut dates remain a cherished tradition, thanks to the amazing dads who eagerly embrace one-on-one time with their daughters.
“Mr. Block!” Alex crashes into me, wrapping his tiny arms around my waist, and the pressure from his squeeze reminds me to breathe. Deeply. In the world of kindergarten, hugs are big, and emotions are even bigger.
“Good morning, Alex.”
I extend my hand, and he reaches out with his tiny fingers, grasping mine with a gentle, trusting hold. Together, we head into the classroom to begin our day together.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sitting crisscross applesauce on the rug, surrounded by my class—their sweet faces staring at me, waiting for me to begin our morning meeting routine—I take a breath and center myself. Vacation is over. They’ve missed me and while I was thrilled to be off with Olan having fantastic hotel and beach sex, I’m genuinely glad to be back with them.
“Friends, I hope you all had a wonderful break. You’re all so much… bigger. Taller.”
It’s amazing how much they appear to grow in only ten days. I scan the room, silently saying their names in my head. Of course, I haven’t forgotten them, but also, when the classroom-placement gods (also known as our principal, Dr. Knorse) give you eight children with names that start withA, after any time apart, you need a refresher.
“Let’s go around the circle and share one fun thing we did while on break. It might sound like this: One fun thing I did on break was… I’ll go first. One fun thing I did on break was…” Images of Olan and me flash in my head. His legs wrapped around my waist in the hotel bed as I slammed into him. My tongue lapping at his balls on the beach towel as the waves crash onto the shore. Riding his perfect cock on the ottomanin the hotel room that seemed to be placed there for that exact purpose. “… swimming in the ocean.”
