Chapter 12
TWELVE
MELISSA
That night I dream of Luke. He’s next to me in bed, wearing the green scrubs he wears to work, and whispering in my ear. He smells delicious, musky and masculine, and I roll over to try to get closer.
And that’s when I wake up and realize he’s not there, and I’m struck by a bitter wave of disappointment.
My memory flashes back to our phone call last night, and I wonder if I dreamed that, too. Did I really tell Luke that Troy cheated on me? Confide that I sometimes wondered if I should have stayed in my marriage for the sake of the kids?
And the second half of the conversation is even harder to believe. I was flirting with Luke, accusing him of skipping through the book to find a sex scene. My cheeks flush with embarrassment until I remember that Luke was teasing me back. Flirting back.
Strange behavior from a man who didn’t even want to meet me for coffee.
Then Liam bursts into my room like the Energizer Bunny, wearing nothing but Toy Story underpants, and I drag my mind away from Luke.
The morning passes in a blur; I get the kids ready for school, then throw on my red sweater and navy skirt for the interview at Brookline Academy. I swipe on some red lipstick, worry it’s too much, and blot almost all of it off.
As I study myself in the mirror, I wonder what Carole Chan will think of me, then decide there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have any other suitable outfits, so she can hire me like this or not at all.
After I drop Claire and Liam off at their respective schools, I drive to Brookline Academy. The school sits right on the lake, a gorgeous old stone building surrounded by playing fields. Classes must have started, because there aren’t any students milling around outside.
My palms are sweaty as I walk up to the main entrance. The office is just off the main foyer, and an ancient secretary waves me right through into the principal’s office.
Ms. Chan stands from behind a beautiful mahogany desk, greets me with a firm handshake, and tells me to call her Carole. She looks every inch the private school principal; she’s in her mid-fifties, with gray hair cut in a sleek bob and reading glasses perched on her forehead.
Her eyes flicker to the cardboard tube that’s awkwardly sticking out of my purse.
“My university diploma,” I explain. “I didn’t have time to order an official transcript, and I thought you might want proof that I have a degree.”
Carole nods. “We can start with that, if you like.”
I pop the plastic cap off the end of the tube, extract the diploma, and pass it across the desk.
Carole spreads it out and studies it carefully. Since it’s spent the past nine years rolled in the tube it was mailed in, it’s reluctant to lie flat.
As she looks at the diploma, I let my gaze roam around the office.
The decor is mostly muted blues and grays, as one would expect at an old private school, but one wall features a display of student art.
My eye is caught by a painting of a red-haired girl standing in a meadow of flowers, with a mischievous expression in her eye.
Below it, there’s a poster of Mark Twain, with a quote: “I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.”
“Honors Computer Science, With High Distinction,” Carole murmurs. “Impressive. You should frame it.”
“Thank you,” I reply, as I roll up the diploma and replace it in its tube. She’s right; I should frame it, if for no other reason than to keep it from getting lost. Until I found it yesterday, in a box of odds and ends, I wasn’t even sure it had survived the move from Toronto.
“So you never worked in computer science?” Carole asks.
“Not really,” I admit. “I had a summer job with a startup after third year university, but I had my first child a few weeks after I wrote my final exams. I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for the past nine years. And as I explained on the phone, I don’t have a teaching degree.”
She nods thoughtfully. “A teaching degree is preferred, of course, but since we’re a private school it’s not technically required.
One of our math teachers had to take medical leave with very little notice, and so far we haven’t found a replacement.
We’ve always struggled to recruit women who can teach math and science at the senior level. ”
Hardly a surprise, I guess. Men outnumbered women by more than five to one in my computer science program, and I guess not much has changed in the past decade.
“Who’s teaching the classes now?” I ask.
“I am,” Carole says wryly. “I was a math teacher before I became a principal, but it’s not a long-term solution. I have far too much admin work.” She pauses. “I looked up the course requirements for your computer science degree. You took first and second year math courses with the math majors?”
“Yes.” Over ten years ago.
“And Helen Carlton mentioned you have tutoring experience?”
“Yes, I worked part time as a high school math tutor while I was in university.”
“So you should be able to teach grade eleven vector algebra and grade twelve calculus, and they’re both morning classes. It should work with the time you’re available. Can you start next week?”
“You’re offering me the job?” I blurt out.
She raises an eyebrow. “You look surprised.”
“I thought you’d have more questions,” I admit. I’d expected that when Carole met me, she’d realize I wasn’t suitable.
She shrugs. “Helen Carlton speaks highly of you, and I trust her judgment.”
“That’s nice to hear.” I feel a blush creeping over my cheeks.
“And as you’ve probably guessed, we’re desperate,” Carole adds briskly. “I’ll email you a contract to review and some forms to fill out for HR. It’s a temporary position for this academic year, since we’re hoping the other teacher will return next fall.”
“That’s fine.” Considering I didn’t expect to get a job at all, I can’t argue with a temporary contract.
Carole nods. “I’ll send you the curriculum and a summary of what we’ve covered so far. We have extra copies of the textbooks, you can ask my secretary on your way out. Can you start Monday morning?”
“This coming Monday?” I ask numbly. Today’s Friday, and since I haven’t thought about math in nine years, I’ll need a lot more time to prepare.
Then I remember Claire’s follow-up appointment with Luke. “I have to take my daughter to a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday morning. Maybe I could start next Wednesday?”
Carole agrees, and just like that, I have a job. I’ll have to spend every spare minute between now and Wednesday studying math.
My first adult job. I float back out to my car, but my happiness fades a little when I realize I have no one to celebrate with. I could call my mom, but given the way she reacted to the news of my interview, I doubt she’d be as excited as I am.
I’m tempted to text Luke, and I have to remind myself that we’re not actually friends. He’s been kind to me because my daughter’s been sick, but I shouldn’t read too much into it.
So I text Sophie Kaminsky and invite her to come over for a drink tonight after I put the kids to bed.
As soon as I send the message, I start to second-guess myself: maybe Sophie was just being polite when I ran into her in the hospital.
Even if she was serious about being friends, she’s probably too busy for a last-minute drinks invite.
But I drive to the grocery store anyway, and buy some wine and fancy cheese. As I’m checking out, my phone pings with a reply:
Sophie: Would love that! Where and when?
“Good news?” the cashier asks, and I realize I’m grinning like a loon.
“The best,” I tell her. “A friend’s coming over to help me eat this cheese.”
As usual, getting the kids to bed takes longer than I think it should, and I don’t have time to tidy the house before Sophie knocks on my door.
“Sorry about the mess,” I apologize, scooping one of Liam’s toys off the floor as I lead her to the kitchen.
“It’s fine,” Sophie replies. “My condo usually looks worse, and I don’t even have kids. Is your husband out?”
Right. She thinks Troy and I are still together.
“I’m divorced, actually,” I say casually. “My ex-husband still lives in Toronto. He was just here because my Claire had appendicitis.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sophie says quickly. “I didn’t realize.”
“It’s all right, you couldn’t have known. I didn’t exactly make an effort to stay in touch.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “I didn’t either.”
“White wine okay?” I ask, pulling a bottle from the fridge. “Or I have coffee, tea, diet Coke, apple juice . . .”
“White wine’s great,” she interrupts with a grin. “How’s your daughter doing? After the appendicitis?
“She’s good, thanks.” I hand Sophie a glass of wine and pour one for myself. “Pretty much back to normal now. Luke Carlton did her surgery, actually.”
Sophie almost chokes on a sip of wine. “No way. That must have been awkward.”
She has no idea.
“Not really,” I lie.
“That’s good.” Sophie’s gaze is skeptical, and I’m pretty sure she knows I’m lying.
“I probably shouldn’t ask,” she says hesitantly, playing with the stem of her wineglass. “But I always wondered what happened. With you and Luke.”
Since ten years have passed, I guess there’s no harm in telling the truth. “Long distance was hard,” I explain, “and then Luke chose to stay in Somerset for med school, rather than coming to Toronto. I still had another year of undergrad there, and I was planning a Master’s.”
Sophie’s eyes widen.
“He said it was because he’d have more opportunities in a smaller program,” I continue. “But he’d always wanted Toronto before, so I knew he was trying to end things.”
“But Luke didn’t—” Sophie says, then trails off.
“Luke didn’t what?”
She hesitates. “Luke didn’t seem like the type to care where he went to med school.”