Nick
The room fades under the pounding of my heart.
Of all the schools in this city. Of all the teachers in this district. Of all the ways this day could have unfolded, I never considered the possibility that Grady's teacher would be Leah, the woman who occupies an embarrassing amount of space in my thoughts since the night we met.
How is she even more beautiful than I remember?
Except there's an intensity in her expression that wasn't there at the bar, something sharp enough to cut through my initial shock. Her kind eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I can't tell whether she's surprised, disappointed, or simply unhappy to see me.
I've thought about this moment more times than I care to admit, wondering what I'd say if I ever got the chance to see her again.
This is not how I pictured it.
Before I can form a coherent thought, Leah smooths her expression into something polite and professional. Stepping forward, she shifts the stack of books and papers in her arms onto her hip, and extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Crawford. I’m Grady’s teacher, Ms. Harrison.”
For a brief moment, I just stare at her outstretched hand, the déjà vu catching me off guard.
She remembers me, right? Surely, she remembers that night. The cards. The rain. The mistake I made when I didn’t dance with her, and worse, the mistake I made when I didn’t kiss her.
“Hi,” I say softly. My hand takes hers, and for a fraction of a second, we’re alone in the bar again, talking about nothing while the air crackles with everything.
A spark flickers in those captivating eyes, but as soon as it appears, she lets go of my hand.
“Mr. Crawford?” A well-dressed gentleman in navy slacks and a tie appears, stepping between Leah and me. “I’m Victor Torres, vice principal here at Pinehurst Elementary.”
I force my attention away from Leah and offer my hand.
“Nick Crawford—Doctor Nick Crawford.”
God, I sound like such a pretentious douche-bag.
Mr. Torres brightens. “Well, Dr. Crawford, if you don’t mind, I’d like to chat with you about today’s incident.
Anytime there's an altercation involving a student, we follow a standard protocol and meet with parents.
Nobody is in trouble; we simply want to review what happened, identify any additional support Grady may need, and make sure we're all on the same page moving forward.”
“Oh, um ...” I let out a nervous chuckle and rub the back of my neck. “Grady's mom usually handles all of this. I'm more of a last-minute substitute in this situation. Maybe y’all should wait and talk to her.”
Mr. Torres offers an understanding nod. “I appreciate that, Dr. Crawford, but you're here now, and Grady deserves to have all the adults in his life working together.
This shouldn't take long.” He motions for us to follow him into his glass-enclosed office, where Grady kicks his dangling legs in an armchair.
The room is comfortably furnished with family photos lining a bookshelf alongside framed degrees from the University of Houston. I lower myself into one of the chairs across from the vice principal’s desk while Grady climbs into the seat beside me.
Leah settles into the chair on my other side, her cheeks still tinged pink as she fixes her attention straight ahead, seemingly determined not to look at me. She holds her towering stack of papers and books in her lap, her thumbnail picking at a worn box of crayons balancing on top.
Before Mr. Torres can have a seat, there's a quiet knock on the metal doorframe. “Sir, you have a call,” his secretary informs him.
“Can I call them back in a—?”
“It's your wife, sir.”
“Ah.” Without a second thought, Mr. Torres jumps up from his chair. “Give me one second, folks. I’ll be right back.”
Silence settles over the room. The tension thickens with every passing second. I debate whether or not I should acknowledge the obvious, wondering if it would make things better or infinitely worse.
“Hey, Nick?” Grady tugs on my shirt, breaking the silence. “Did you know Triceratops were herb-herbivores?” He confidently trips over his words.
I offer a smile. “Oh yeah? Do you know what that means?”
“Uh-huh.” He pushes up his glasses. “That means they only ate plants. Like cows.”
“Ah, you're right.” I ruffle his hair. “Good thinking.”
“Maybe Triceratops and cows have the same teeth.”
Leah stifles a grin, holding a finger over her lips.
I chuckle. “You might be onto something there, partner.”
The awkward silence returns, and we immediately commit ourselves to separate activities.
I hand Grady a piece of copy paper and a pen, telling him to draw me a picture of a dinosaur.
Leah smooths an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt while I drum my fingers against the armrest, both of us suddenly finding anything and everything more interesting than looking at each other.
“Cows?” She finally speaks, her voice gentle so she grabs only my attention and not Grady’s. She still won’t look at me.
I snicker. “Yeah, I may have mentioned the stockyards to him the other day.”
“I'm guessing you’re from Fort Worth then?”
I slowly nod. “From around there, yeah. Born and raised.”
She hums in understanding. “I kinda wondered where your accent came from.”
Whatever fragile truce we'd stumbled into evaporates almost immediately, leaving us once again studying opposite sides of the room.
“Listen,” I start. “Leah, I’m sorry—”
“It's fine,” she whispers. “We don't have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about—you know … the other night.”
I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “Maybe we should.”
“Well, I don't want to, Mr. Crawford—”
“Mr. Crawford?” I scoff. “Are you serious right now?”
She glances over at Grady, ensuring he is still preoccupied. “Look, the other night was fun. We were just … two people unwinding from the day, eating candy, playing cards, no strings attached. That's it.”
“Is that all it was to you?”
Leah’s eyes meet mine, the light slowly fading from their vibrance. “Isn't that what it was to you?”
That’s when I realize it: I'm a selfish prick. I’ve been so consumed with my own insecurities and self-doubts that I hadn’t considered how I made her feel. Rejected. Embarrassed. Maybe even used.
If she only knew ...
Except she wouldn't because I literally left her in the pouring rain.
“For what it's worth, I am sorry.”
Leah blinks away, clearing her throat. “I appreciate that, but—” she shrugs—“it's fine. It doesn’t matter anyway. We have to be professional. For your son's sake.”
“Are you pushing me away?” I work my jaw. “Is this because I have a kid?”
She shakes her head. “That has nothing to do with it—”
“Oh …” I rub a hand over my chin. “This is because I'm his father, huh?” I mouth the word father.
Leah's fingers tighten around the armrests of her chair as a faint flush rests on her cheeks. She remains quiet, chewing on her lip, but her silence is louder than anything she can say.
“You think I'm a deadbeat, huh.”
She abruptly turns her head. “Nick—”
“That’s exactly what you think. Isn't it?”
“I … I don't know what I think, to be honest.” She looks back over at Grady, the hint of a smile curling her lips. “All I know is I care the world for that boy. He deserves a father who's—”
“There for him?” I finish her sentence.“I agree. And I'm doing my best to do that.”
“Good.” She nods, staring back down at the papers in her lap. “I guess we'll be working together to support him.”
Grady continues to color, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. So innocent. So unaware that his world is transforming. Leah might have slipped through my fingers, but knowing my kid is in her care is an even bigger relief. “For what it's worth, I'm glad he has you in his corner.”
Our eyes meet again— only briefly this time. She looks away too quickly, retreating behind her teacher composure. A hint of a smile remains, and I spend the next three minutes committing it to memory.
“Sorry, about that,” Mr. Torres says, shutting the door behind him as he makes his way behind the desk. “Let's begin.”
For the next several minutes, Mr. Torres and Leah walk me through the events leading up to the altercation.
Between witness statements from staff and conversations with the students involved, a clearer picture begins to emerge of what happened on the playground, and with every new detail, the knot in my stomach pulls tighter.
What began as a disagreement between kindergarteners now sounds like a child who felt cornered, embarrassed, and unsure of how to advocate for himself.
I may have had something to do with Grady’s retaliation. Thankfully, both Mr. Torres and Leah found the misunderstanding amusing.
Note to self: be careful what you say around this kid.
Once the meeting concludes, Leah slips out to attend her teaching duties as the vice principal escorts us to the front office.
His secretary interrupts us again. “Mr. Torres, the principal needs a hand with something.”
“Never a dull moment.” He chuckles. “Excuse me.”
Grady and I make our way toward the front doors, but then he stops me with an outstretched hand.
My eyebrows furrow. “What's this for?”
“We're supposed to hold hands when we walk outside.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” I take his tiny hand in mine before continuing toward the front doors. At this rate, this kid is going to have me wrapped around his little finger by the time we leave the parking lot.
“Alright, partner.” I adjust my grip. “Let's get you some lunch and back to your mommy.”
We start down the hallway together, but an abrupt clatter causes both of us to stop and look back. Leah stands frozen in the middle of the hallway, her arms overloaded with books, folders, and paperwork, while a box of crayons has spilled across the floor at her feet.
Grady lets go of my hand, dropping to his knees to collect the crayons. I follow suit, slipping the broken pieces back into the flimsy box.
“Do you need some help?” I ask, gesturing to the massive amount of supplies in her hands.
Leah chuckles. “If you don't mind just tossing the box of crayons on top.”
“Are you sure?”
“I've got it.”
“Do you?”
She huffs out a laugh. “I promise, I’m good. It's a short walk. I normally have a rolling chair with me when I'm making a lot of copies like this, but today—” she looks down at Grady, picking up the last crayon—“today had a lot of excitement.”
I wrestle with the lid as I cram another crayon in the box. “That box has seen better days.”
“School supplies have this remarkable feature of growing legs and disappearing.” She chuckles. “I keep my eyes peeled in the lost and found for stray crayons and markers and try to rehome them.”
“What happens if a kid comes looking for—” I hold up the last color—“neon carrots?”
She shrugs. “Snitches get stitches, Mr. Crawford.”
My cheeks ache from my smile as I finish packing up the last crayon and set it on top of her papers.
“Thank you, guys. Grady, that was so helpful.”
He beams a shy smile.
“Y'all have a good afternoon.”
She disappears down the hallway, somehow managing to keep her entire paper skyscraper from collapsing.
“She likes dinosaurs, too,” Grady announces.
I chuckle. “Oh yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” He holds his hand out for me again. “She's really nice. I like her.”
Me too, partner.