Chapter 6 #3
“Secondly, you will never speak to or about another woman like that. I never want to see another woman even remotely uncomfortable in your presence or we’re going to have bigger issues than missing teeth.
” I see his tongue move in his mouth like he’s licking his top teeth, testing to see what it would be like if they were actually gone.
“Thirdly, you will apologize to Ms. Jake, go to the school and kindly approach a secretary about moving your kid, and never come in contact with Ms. Jake again. Have I made myself abundantly clear?”
The coward backs away and holds both of his hands up in surrender, rightfully so. “Yeah man, just calm down. It’s not even that serious.” Not even that serious? He practically had her crying over it and insulted her credibility as a teacher. It’s entirely that serious and that personal.
I take one step closer and lean down ever so slightly so he doesn’t miss a single letter. “Go.” He turns around and scurries back to his car. No groceries in hand. He must have decided he didn’t need to buy anything.
I turn back to face Evangeline and she’s a statue.
Every pulse in my body tells me to grab her, wrap her up, and soothe all the hurt this man just caused.
I don’t know how long they were out here before I intervened, or anything else he might’ve said to her, but what he said in my presence was enough to insult her.
I want to follow him and show him what it really feels like to be bullied, but I know Evangeline needs support more than revenge.
I should’ve just thrown my jars of marinara at him.
My feet stay firmly planted on the opposite end of the shopping cart from her because I know my self-control would crumble if I got any closer to her.
“Ms. Jake, are you okay?” She’s clearly not, but I don’t know what else to say.
She shakes her head, coming back to the present. Her eyes look glassy and that makes my eyes see red. Keep it together.
“Yeah…yeah, I’m good. It was nothing.” I force myself to stay right where I am.
“Evangeline, do people always talk to you like that?” I can’t stomach the idea of someone talking to anyone like that, but especially her.
I know I can be rude, but he crossed so many lines.
Her eyes zip to mine and I notice I’ve just used her first name instead of her teacher title.
But she’s not ‘Ms. Jake’ right now, no, she’s Evangeline, and the distinction just became very clear.
At this moment, I’m feeling protective over the woman, who she really is.
Not my daughter’s teacher. Just her. And that settles an emotion deep inside that I refuse to acknowledge right now.
“Oh, umm.” She looks around the lot like she’s realizing where she is, and that there could be other witnesses to this disaster.
But right now it’s just us, a parking lot of scattered cars, and some birds looking for random scraps of food.
“No, I mean, sometimes. Every so often I’ll get some passionate parents. ”
“Passionate?” The question comes off slightly harsher than I intend, but she just seriously downplayed how this man was talking to her.
Passionate parents would be the ones who communicate, and volunteer, and bring the teacher gifts during Teacher Appreciation Week, not whatever boneless display of toxic masculinity that was.
“That,” I motion with the hand not holding my bag of sauce, in the direction he left, “was not a passionate parent. Evangeline, please don’t make excuses for someone like him. No one should ever be talking to you that way.”
She looks firmer, stronger all of a sudden.
“And why do you care, Mr. Von? It should be none of your concern how people talk to me or treat me.” Similarly to when I walked out of the grocery store and my feet got me here of their own volition, I move around the cart just the same.
There’s still a good distance between us, but I can’t stand the space from one end of the cart to the other. It’s a chasm.
“Well, it is my concern.”
She actually scoffs at me. “That’s such a non-answer.” And then rolls her eyes. She moves to turn her cart so she can head into the store, but I grab it before she can get any further. I look her dead in the eyes because she’s not going to misunderstand or question what I’m about to say.
“You want an answer, Evangeline?” The heat from the eye contact we make could melt the snow off of the mountain peaks surrounding us.
“It’s my concern because you intrigue me.
Since Open House, and maybe even before that, you’ve intrigued me.
” We’re both looking at each other now like we can’t believe what I just said. I can’t believe what I just said.
She shoves her cart a little harder, attempting to break it out of my grasp. It’s a cute and unfruitful effort. “Well stop being intrigued. I’m your daughter’s teacher, so it doesn’t matter how intrigued you are.” She draws out the word ‘intrigued’ sarcastically.
“You won’t be her teacher forever.” It’s a promise, not a threat, and we both know it.
She finally yanks her cart from my grasp. I let her. And she marches off without a word. I make my way to my SUV and leave that tiny parking lot with a grin on my face and no regrets