Chapter 27
Marvin: I’ll see you this afternoon.
Olan: I can’t wait. I’ll try my best to behave.
Marvin: You better. I’m breaking out the khakis and bow tie. FYI
Olan: You’re going to make this tough for me.
“You ready?” Kristi asks, thrusting her head into the doorway of my classroom.
“Ready or not! I kid. We’ve been practicing, and I think we’re prepared. Plus, the beauty of kindergarten lies in the cuteness of mistakes.”
“Very true. Well, I’ll be here. Remember to have fun and enjoy it.”
“Thanks,” I say and she’s off.
The tightening in my chest reminds me I’m meeting Isabella today. My brain tries hard not to think about possible worst-case scenarios. She wouldn’t barge in and announce, “Mr. Block is shtupping Illona’s father!” Right? I rub my hands on my pants and close my eyes. The silence in the room allows me to hear the faint ticking of the second hand on the classroom clock. Tick, tick, tick. Maren Morris’s rich country alto voice comes in, Zedd’s beats drop, and the wall of sound that is “The Middle” washes over me. This song epitomizes the term banger . Whoever thought to combine EDM music with a country singer’s sumptuous voice deserves a medal. Or a Grammy. I bounce my leg to the music in my head, and a rich warmth comes over me.
“Marvin. Marvin. Hello?” Jill interrupts the melody in my mind.
“Oh, hey, sorry.”
“What song?”
“The Middle.”
“Nice choice. Total banger.”
“Right?”
“And what are you distracting yourself from? Are you nervous about the celebration? Meeting the ex?”
“Definitely Isabella. Apparently, Olan told her about us. Lord knows what she thinks.”
“She will meet you in the best possible environment – your classroom. Marvin, you are literally up for fucking Teacher of the Year. She’s going to see you shine like the brilliant star you are. Her daughter adores you. She’s going to see how happy you make Olan. What more could she want?”
“That’s what worries me. What if she doesn’t love how happy her daughter and ex are because of me?”
“Well, that would be about her and not you. Please, just be your charming, cute self and enjoy the celebration.”
“Come here, please.”
Jill strolls over to me, and I swaddle her in my arms. She’s so small it’s easy to completely envelop her.
“Thank you for being you.”
“You’re welcome. And remember, you’re providing unlimited free babysitting.” Jill taps her tiny bump.
“Duh. Only a Jewish Guncle can teach the baby about noshes and Drag Race .”
* * *
Clearly pumped for the celebration, the class jumps and bounces as they return from lunch. We read a story, and I turn off the lights and guide them through some deep meditative breaths. Of course, this helps me as much as them. One thing I’ve learned as a teacher, expect the unexpected and roll with it. Whatever happens, the families will forgive us because if all else fails, the kids are ridiculously cute. At one thirty, the room phone rings. The children squeal in anticipation and glee. It’s beyond precious.
“Hold on, I can’t answer if I can’t hear.”
They all make “shush” noises, quiet down, and stare at me. Jean lets me know families have started arriving and asks if she can send them down.
“Okay, they’re coming,” I say in the calmest, quietest possible voice.
A few soft screams erupt, but for the most part, they manage to keep it together. My heart beats loudly for the minute or so until the families are going to stream in.
“Okay friends, remember, when you see your family, give a wave, but stay on the rug so they can sit at our tables. You’ll have time with them afterward with your storyboards.”
Relatives begin appearing, entering the classroom with a look of trepidation. People know enough to understand a kindergarten classroom might be a little intimidating, to say the least. But this is organized, well-planned, managed chaos they’ve been invited to witness.
Charlie spots his family. His mother, father, and two-year-old sister come in first. Popping up on his knees, he waves his arms so fast I wonder if he’ll begin to hover like a small helicopter. There’s something magical for children about their two worlds smashing together like this, and I take a deep satisfying breath, knowing I not only arranged it but get to witness the glory. More families trickle in with smiles and greetings as they wrangle their adult bodies into tiny seats at tiny tables, and I think, “Welcome to my world.”
I spot Olan and my face flushes, and Lord, I pray nobody notices. He’s wearing slate dress pants and a rich chestnut sweater. Cindy follows directly behind him. She waves and raises her eyebrows at me in a way that suggests solidarity and understanding. I’m grateful for the friendship she provides Olan and help she affords him with Illona. Behind Cindy, Isabella appears, and even though I’ve seen her in photos littered around Olan’s home, in person, she’s simply stunning.
She walks with the confidence that only comes with a certain level of beauty. Shoulders back, her hair flows past them a few inches in shades of brown and auburn, clearly masterfully curated in a salon. The small flaps of fabric on her white blouse move with each step toward the table, and she somehow makes simple jeans dressy, maybe by pairing them with heeled boots. We lock eyes, and she gives me a simple grin that conveys she knows. Everything. Gevalt!
Because I’m positioned with the students in hopes of keeping them corralled, we won’t officially meet now. I offer a small wave to their group. Olan waves back with a beaming smile, Cindy nods her head in response, and Isabella sits with an expression I’m unable to decipher. There’s no time to read into anything now. We have a celebration to get through.
“Welcome to our class and thank you for coming this afternoon,” I say. “We’ve been working hard on both our class and individual retellings of The Very Hungry Caterpillar . We’ll start with our whole group presentation, and then the children will join you at their tables to show you what they’ve been working on individually. We hope you enjoy yourselves. Let’s get started!”
Every child takes a turn, walking across the carpet which we’ve transformed into our stage, coming forward and reciting their line. They each wear a costume they’ve designed and created to match their part. The caterpillar in various states of fatness as he gorges along with each food item is represented by a different child before the final reveal of the beautiful butterfly.
Once we begin, phones come out, recording videos and snapping photos. I do my best to stand aside and only assist with prompts if needed. When it’s Martha’s turn to step forward and say her five words, she bursts into tears and runs toward me.
“Oh, sweetie, are you okay?”
Her face remains buried in my side, and she refuses to budge or speak.
“Listen, if you don’t want to do this, we can have someone else say your line. Sound good?”
She nods into my waist.
“Let me take your costume,” I say as I gently slip the yarn loop over her head.
“Jessica, can you do it?” I ask her because, as the slice of salami, Jessica’s next and I also know she’d love the opportunity to say two lines.
I hold out the large yellow posterboard with holes cut out to resemble the cheese. Jessica skips over, and I pop it over her head. Disaster averted.
With the final line said, the entire class looks at me like we practiced. I nod, and they all say, “The End!” and take a bow. Families clap, and I stand a little taller, knowing how splendid they were.
“Now your learner will head back to their seat and show you the storyboard they created and retell the story by themselves.”
We’ve been practicing this for weeks. As a class, in small groups, with partners, I coached in and helped those who needed it. Today, they get to show off all their hard work. I walk around from table to table, greeting families, listening in, and ensuring each child successfully retells the story. I make a point to visit two other tables before Illona’s. Olan may have told Isabella about us, but nobody else in the room knows, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.
An empty feeling in the pit of my stomach nags as I arrive at their table. To procrastinate a little longer, I check in with Teddy and his family first. Teddy needed extra support from me. We had to work in stages, going over the book in smaller chunks over and over and only moving on once he could remember the previous part. Today, he is absolutely shining. I simply stand back and listen. He finishes, lifts his chin up to me and shares a satisfied grin.
“Teddy, you are amazing. I don’t know what else to say. High five, friend.”
We smack palms, and I turn my attention to Illona, biting my bottom lip. This is it. Isabella and I are about to speak. Time to take a deep breath, show my dimples, and schmooze.
Illona has been waiting for me before starting her retelling, and thankfully this provides a reason to keep our chatting to a minimum.
“Welcome. I’m so glad you all could make it,” I say.
Isabella puts her hand out to greet me, and I take it. Her long, manicured fingers wrap around the palm of my hand, and it’s hard for me to ignore her pointy pale-pinkish nails. She could poke someone’s eye out with those. Or murder them.
“Mr. Block, it’s so lovely to finally meet you. Illona hasn’t stopped singing your praises. Olan too.”
Heat rushes to my face, and I’m quite aware of redness overtaking my cheeks.
“Call me Marvin, please. And thank you, she’s been the most wonderful addition to our classroom community. Illona, ready to show your family your storyboard and puppets?”
Nodding feverishly, Illona opens a large manilla envelope and takes out a rectangular piece of posterboard she’s painstakingly painted to show the story’s setting. A long thick branch sits in the center, with a leaf taking up most of the white space. There’s an amber sun on one side and a silver moon on the other. Reaching back into the envelope, she pulls out her puppets. Each version of the caterpillar, pieces of food, chrysalis, and butterfly have all been crafted from construction paper and affixed to popsicle sticks.
Picking up the tiny egg puppet, Illona begins to masterfully retell the entire story, dropping and scooping up each new puppet as needed. Her voice goes up and down as she performs to convey emotions, and she’s truly captivating. Isabella has placed her hand on Illona’s shoulder, and her eyes crinkle slightly as she listens. Deftly, I sneak a glance at Olan. His eyes meet mine for only a second, and we share a knowing smile. Isabella’s eyes dart up and catch us, but she only smiles and returns her attention to her daughter.
Illona finally says, “The End,” and everyone gives her a round of applause.
I purposefully saved one group so I wouldn’t be able to linger too long. Sometimes planning ahead pays off.
“Wonderful, Illona. Well, I have one more table to visit,” I say, turning to leave.
“We’ll see you this evening,” Olan says.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it,” I reply, fiddling with my bowtie.
“Me too,” Isabella adds.
Since he suggested it, I’ve been fighting this dinner, but on Sunday, taking an early hike together, Olan convinced me.
“Marvin, if we’re going to make this work,” Olan had said, motioning between us. “It will only benefit us if Isabella is on board.”
“Wait, what’s this,” I teased, mimicking his motioning between us.
He tilted his head. “You and me. I want this to work.”
I leaned over and kissed him, lingering longer than probably wise given we were literally on public display, but it was early, and nobody was around.
“Okay. But what if she hates me?”
“Impossible,” he replied, touching my nose with his finger.
“Are you making fun of my nose?”
“Me? I worship this nose.” He’d placed a kiss on the tip, punctuating his point, his lips soft and wet.
With the celebration over and everyone gone, I lie on the class rug, my body supported by the tile underneath, grateful for the experience but also thrilled it’s over. Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I thumb out a message to Olan.
Marvin: I think that went about as well as possible.
Olan: Absolutely.
Marvin: Did she say anything about me?
Olan: She said you seemed nice.
Marvin: Nice? Oy.
Olan: Relax, you don’t have to impress her.
Marvin: Actually I kind of feel like I do.
Olan: You don’t. Come over at six. Can’t wait to see you.
And so, I find myself standing at Olan’s door – slightly dizzy, but showered and changed from the day, flowers in hand – about to spend more time with Isabella. With her family. As it used to exist. Before Olan moved. Before me. Unlike this afternoon, there will be no escape or distractions as a safety net. My stomach churns, and I’ve got the shpilkes.