Page 36 of Husband of the Year
Monday mornings are typically filled with extra smiles, hugs, grabs to hold my hand, and all the typical affection found in a kindergarten classroom. Sometimes, a tinge of claustrophobia creeps in with the constant barrage of tiny hands, but this morning, as Olan flies to Chicago, I’m grateful for the distraction.
During Morning Meeting, I’m sandwiched between Eddie and Riley. Eddie’s a leaner. He’s tiny, even for a kindergartner, and he plasters his hobbit-like body up to mine, grounding me with all of his thirty-five pounds.
Riley likes to pet my shoes. Today I’m sporting green sneakers withfaux suede, and her fingers brush over them like she’s discovered the world’s softest kitten.
Doing my best to focus, I go through the motions of our meeting, and when we share about our weekends, Brian, with a serious look on his face, says, “Petunia ran away.”
Gasps and oh nos fill the carpet area and I do my best to hide the confused and slightly amused look on my face. Petunia is Brian’s pet turtle.
“Oh,” I say with a straight face. “Where did she go?”
“We don’t know.” Understandably distraught, Brian’s doing his best to hold back the tears and I’m suddenly reminded that my presence, right here, right now, is imperative to my student’s trust and sense of belonging. This isn’t about a pet turtle’s perilous escape, but about honoring Brian’s feelings.
“Where did she run to?” Danny asks.
“We don’t know.” Brian looks around the circle, perhaps for help, or hoping Petunia crawls out from behind a classmate.
“Don’t you keep her in a cage?” Riley asks, sitting up and momentarily pausing giving my shoe a spa treatment.
“In an aquarium. It’s a fish tank. But not filled with water. Well, a little water, but mostly not. There’s a heat lamp and rocks. And there’s one main rock she loves to sleep on with the light heating her shell.”
“Sounds nice,” Aaron says.
“Yeah, why would she want to run away from that?” Michael asks.
“How do I know?” Brian shrugs. The tears seem to have retreated for the time being. “I’m not a turtle.”
Giggles erupt from the circle, and I take them as my cue.
“Well, Brian,” I say. “I’m sorry Petunia’s missing, but I’m sure you’ll find her soon. You asked your parents to help?”
Brian nods and then says, “And Hugo.”
Hugo is Brian’s dog, and I have a hunch he might know somethingabout Petunia’s disappearance. But I’ll leave that detective work to Brian’s parents—they’ve got more experience in getting the truth out of a dog than I do.
“Well then, you have everyone on the case. Keep us posted,” I say, and nod to Austin to take his turn.
There’s a lot I love about teaching kindergarten, but right near the top of the list is the way it demands my attention. Especially when my mind would rather spiral. Instead of moping about Olan leaving (there will be plenty of time for that later), my students require me to be fully present in the moment. And even though I try to hide my sadness and uneasiness, sensing something is off, they shower me with extra love. Not bad for a job most people think isn’t much more than making glitter-covered macaroni necklaces (for the record, we craft those and they’re fucking fabulous).
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Even without Olan here to tether me to solid ground, the week somehow churns on. Between my days teaching and evenings with Illona, my heart barely has time to wallow in sorrow. Olan’s texts are brief. The phone calls even more so. Typically, around Illona’s bedtime, he calls to say good night, tells us he loves us, and then rushes off. I know he’s back home for his brother. His family. I swallow my sadness and pat myself on the back for being a mature, understanding partner. Go me!
On Friday, with the looming weekend, loneliness creeps in like an unwelcome houseguest, refusing to leave.
“Any big plans for the weekend?” Jill asks.
She’s finishing her salad, and the box of leftover donuts from the morning awaits. Because life is all about balance.
“No. Nothing.” I shrug.
“Is Illona with you?”
“No, Isabella is picking her up after school. Just me and the Gonzmeister.”
Jill pulls her lips in, opens her mouth, and then quickly shuts it.
“What?” I ask. “I know that face.”
