Chapter 34
Claire
When I get to my parents, my dad is on the phone outside, pacing in the driveway.
“I’ll take a look at everything and be in touch.”
With my windows down I hear him end the conversation. He blows through his lips and drops his phone in his shirt pocket as I turn off the engine.
“Hey, Claire Bear.” He meets me at my door and kisses me on the top of my head.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Car’s looking like it could use a wash there, isn’t it?”
Scanning the car I see a few dirty patches and one spot on the corner of my windshield where a bird used my glass as an outhouse. Could it use a wash? Sure. Is it worth pointing out? Only to Dad.
“Maybe,” I say, closing the car door. “Who was that you were on the phone with?”
Dad cracks his neck to the right before answering. “A guy who is interested in buying the Maverick.” By his tone, you would think that the Maverick is the name of his first-born daughter rather than a car he intentionally listed for sale.
“Low dowry?”
“What?” he asks, confused.
“Never mind.” I link my arm through his and direct us toward the door. “So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know, Claire. He’s not from around here so most of the conversation and negotiation has been through calls or emails. It feels a little…” he searches for the word. “Disconnected. And I’m not sure I’m quite comfortable with that. I told him I’d look over his offer and get back to him.”
I stop on the front steps knowing he won’t speak freely if he thinks what he is about to say will worry Mom.
“Dad, do you think maybe you’re having a hard time finding someone you’re okay with buying the car because it’s your final tie to Grandpa?”
He considers this, chewing on his bottom lip.
“You know, Claire, maybe you’re right. Good or bad, your grandpa was my father and despite sometimes feeling less than, I loved him dearly.
As a parent, I understand now that you don’t get everything right.
Maybe part of me wants to hold onto what’s left of him, even if it’s something he got wrong. ”
I nod understanding that my own parents aren’t perfect, but knowing I’ll miss even their flaws and imperfections when they’re gone.
“You know,” Dad unhooks his arm from mine and puts it around my shoulder. Giving it a slight squeeze he continues, “You’re wise beyond your years, Claire Bear.”
“Oh, I know,” I say, giving him a teasing smile, then reaching for the door.
He whispers as he pushes past me, going in first. “Must have gotten that from your dad.”
“Oh, Claire, I saw Margie at Bag Bingo on Tuesday!” Just the name Margie makes me flinch. Mom doesn’t notice as she sips her sweet tea. “She said she saw you at Whisk!” A slow whirlpool of nerves begins forming in my stomach.
“Who were the blondies for, honey?” She looks at me with a closed-mouth smile, blinking slowly.
“Oh, just a friend.” I look at my plate to avoid drawing attention to my lying eyes.
“Hmm…” I can tell she’s contemplating whether or not she should push the issue and the whirlpool current quickens. Thankfully, she pivots. “She also told me that your picture is no longer on the Jefferson website. You should really contact HR about that.”
Damn you, Margie. I should have known all of this would get back to Mom.
If you thought gossip was bad in high school, you should meet the women of my mother’s church.
Honestly, I can’t believe it took a full twenty-four hours for her to spill the tea.
I play with the potatoes on my plate, buying time to think of what excuse I should use now.
I know at twenty-four I shouldn’t be this worried about telling my parents that I lost my job.
I just know how they’re going to react. Dad is going to get all factual — “What about bills?” “Have you found a new job?” “You know you can’t just let your degree go to waste.
” And Mom is going to get emotional and cliché — “Oh the poor kids!” “What will they do without you?” “When one door closes, another one opens.” “Just pray about it, Claire.”
I’m just not ready for the hysteria. And I’m especially not ready to tell them that I’m not really all that upset about it anyway.
I decide it’s now or never. The anxiety of telling them is bigger than the anxiety about the actual situation, and I just want it out in the open.
“I don’t think contacting HR is really going to change much,” I say, hoping they take the hint.
“Well now, Claire, that’s their job, honey. Clearly, someone’s made a mistake.”
“There was no mistake, Mom.”
Now Dad chimes in. “Well if they took you off the faculty page, honey, there clearly was.”
I’m really going to have to spell it out for them. Time to just spit it out.
“I’m not going back to Jefferson next year.”
Mom looks at Dad curiously. “I don’t understand.”
This is just painful at this point.
“They cut my position, Mom.”
They both look at me with confused expressions.
For. The love. Of God.
“They fired me! Let me go. There is no need for me. I’m done. Finished. Hasta la vista, Jefferson.” I only finish because I have successfully run the gamut of ways to tell them I am no longer employed.
By the look on my parents’ faces, you would have thought I told them I was moving to England, marrying into a British gang family, and planning to help smuggle stolen guns across the border.
“It’ll be okay, guys.”
“Well what about money?” says Dad.
“And the children?” says Mom.
“Have you been looking for a new job?”
“Yes, a new job! You know what they say — when one door closes just look for a window!”
“You spent a lot of time and money on your schooling, Claire Bear, it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”
“Well, we’ll just have to add this to our prayer list, now won’t we, Thomas?”
Okay, wow. I was spot on.
I wait to see if they’re done, my neck cramping from the tennis match that I just witnessed. When the silence tells me they actually want a response, I express everything I’m feeling.
“My principal wrote me a great recommendation. I have been keeping my eyes on the job postings, but honestly, I’m not sure I want to go back into the classroom.”
My dad goes to speak, but I continue before he gets the chance.
“Please, Dad, just let me finish. I know how much you guys invested in me becoming a teacher. I know because I invested a lot too. Maybe more in some ways. But over the last few years, I’ve realized that despite being good at it, I don’t love what I do.
My lesson plans lack enthusiasm, I’m not excited about going to work, and I’m feeling really burnt out when it comes to everything that goes with it.
The constant emails and conferences, parent complaints, and student pushback didn’t bother me so much when I felt really connected to what I was doing, but now, it’s just exhausting.
And I don’t know what my plan is. I’m hoping that I have that figured out by the end of summer, but right now, I feel really good about forging a new path for myself. Maybe not something that is completely out of the realm of education, but I’m pretty set on leaving the classroom behind.”
My parents look at each other, then back at me, but no one says a word.
“I know you’re probably disappointed in me. You’re probably worried about a million things, but all I can say is I’m sorry and I promise that despite what you may think, I have really thought this through.” I stab a green bean with my fork and use it to push the others like a snow plow.
It’s all out there. Well, besides what I would actually like to do, which is begin writing my novel. But all of the details that are set in stone have been said and despite getting a great jump start this morning, it is way too early to even mention that I really want to write a book.
I’m startled when my mom reaches across the table and grabs my hand. My green bean shovel halts consequently. I look up to find tears in her eyes. Great, this is way worse than I expected. Biting my lower lip I look down again.
“Claire Elizabeth Dawson,” this can’t be good, “If you think that we could ever be disappointed in you for following your heart.” She turns to Dad. “Well, then we failed you somewhere along the way.”
My eyes shoot to hers as she blinks away a tear.
Dad touches her arm but looks not quite in my direction.
I am shocked, no, astounded. I told them I was done teaching and the world didn’t stop.
No wars have started. Hell, even the dinner plates are still fully intact.
It never even crossed my fanatical mind that they wouldn’t be upset, let alone that they may even support me.
Where the nerves once swirled, now sits a massive brick of guilt. I was so quick to assume that my parents, Dad especially, would be critical of my choices, that I didn’t even stop to think that maybe they would understand.
“Thank you, guys,” is all I can manage underneath all of this emotion.
Mom clears our plates, quick to leave the room and “gather herself” as she would say, calling out, “I’ll get dessert” only once she’s in the kitchen.
I play with my napkin, unsure of what to say to Dad now that I’ve exhausted all of my energy on just telling them the truth.
“Thanks again, Dad,” I say.
“For what?” He looks at me almost expressionless.
“For understanding I guess. And supporting me.”
“Understanding, sure. You’re my daughter, Claire Bear.
Nothing would ever stop me from loving you.
” I smile proudly because I know he’s right.
My dad may find fault in the little things, but there has never been a question in my mind of whether or not he loves me anyway — a luxury I’m now seeing not everyone has.
An image of Jay hunched over the counter pops into my mind and my smile flattens. I’m not sure we’re at love just yet, but I plan on making it my mission to show him what it means to be cared for. To make sure he never feels that sting with me.
“I know, Dad.”
“But I never said I supported this.”
I rip the napkin I’m playing with in two. “What?”
“You’re throwing away everything you’ve worked for. And why? Because it’s not fun?”
I stop him. “It’s more than that.”
“Right. You aren’t thrilled to go to work every day. I hate to break it to you, Claire, but most people don’t jump out of bed to run to their jobs in the morning.”
“Dad, I’m twenty-four—”
He cuts me off. “Correct. You are twenty-four years old, Claire.” He stands, his chair skidding against the hardwood floor, then walks around the table to where I still sit, dumbfounded. “It’s time to grow up, kiddo.” Kissing me on the head, he leaves for the kitchen.
I hear the water running and dishes clanking as my parents clean up dinner, completely unaware that I sit behind the wall, the rug ripped right out from underneath me.
I’m frustrated and angry and I’m not even sure if it’s at him or at myself for not seeing this coming.
I know Dad, and just as he said, he’ll love me through this, but to openly not support me?
I can see it now. Not much will change except for maybe receiving emails with job listings for classroom teachers with subjects like Just Think About It or Something to Consider.
He won’t be openly mad or throw a fit, but he’ll sneak in reminders anytime work comes up or passively bring up the fact that I am unemployed.
I didn’t expect a Just Fired! lawn sign or an Officially Unemployed wall banner, but for once, I thought maybe he could keep his opinion on the matter to himself and just stand behind me.
Mom has her thoughts on it, I know that, but at the end of the day, if I’m happy, she’s happy. By tomorrow, she’ll be on to the next meal train or craft fair. She’ll be sad for me when the subject comes up, but once the dust settles, all will be well.
But Dad will never let this go, not completely. It’ll be an ongoing game of Whac-A-Mole trying to dodge his subtle digs and that thought alone is enough to exhaust me already.
At this point, I’d at least take the lawn sign.