Love Lessons

Chapter Ten Apple

Chapter Ten Apple

Andrew

“Oh my God! Stop!” Valerie whisper-yelled to Andrew, trying to avoid having a full-blown argument in front of the entire class.

“The first round of the spelling bee is in a week. They need to practice.”

“They’re five and six years old, Wexler. Five- and six-year-olds don’t need to know how to spell ‘gnome’! If they walk out

of here knowing how to spell ‘dog,’ it’s a win!”

“?‘Dog’ is for kids in other schools. This is not just any school, Marquez. This is GPA, and we’re the kindergarten spelling

bee champs. ‘Gnome’ is on the approved list, and they have to know how to spell it!”

“Silent g ’s and k ’s are stupid!” she said, sounding like a petulant child.

“You sound stupid!”

“Did you just call me stupid, Wexler?”

He didn’t answer.

“You. You...” She turned to see the entire class staring at them.

“Dumb. D-U-M-B. Dumb. It has a silent b ,” one of the kids said proudly.

“Argh!” she said, stomping her foot and facing Wexler. “Look what you did!”

“Very good!” Andrew said proudly. Why didn’t she find this important? This was her chance to be part of the winning team.

Was she trying to push his buttons intentionally again? He thought she had begun to understand him.

“We’ve been doing this for two days. I am done,” she whispered, and then walked around him to her desk. What now? She opened her bottom drawer and then slammed it shut. She held a red dome-shaped push button, like something from a board

game. He eyed her suspiciously as she slammed it on top of her desk. Looking right into his eyes, she spitefully pressed the

button hard, while yelling to the entire class: “Dance party!”

Music started coming out of the contraption.

“Everyone up.”

Valerie began to dance and so did the class. Arms swaying, butts jiggling, waists swinging. The children were happy, but that migraine that had been dormant for the past few months was back. Loud noises were the death of him. She looked over her shoulder arrogantly. She was feeling vindicated, knowing he was pissed off. Apparently they were still playing the immature game of pissing off one another. Except that, before, she had pissed him off. Now he felt hurt. Why didn’t she understand this annoyed him? It gave him headaches. And, mostly, it distracted the children from learning.

He whispered into her ear, although doing so wasn’t necessary because the music was so loud, “You’re a fucking psychopath,

and FYI, there’s a silent letter in that word.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as pain started to throb behind his eyeballs. She stuck out her tongue at him and continued

to dance. “Man, that thing is loud,” she said. She twirled, her arms outstretched, and shimmied her shoulders.

There was absolutely no way he’d be able to do one more round of spelling bee practice after all this exertion from the kids.

Because she was so busy with her dance party, she didn’t notice the classroom door open. Carmichael stood by the door, looking

livid. Andrew rushed over, about to say that it was something they were trying out together to motivate the children, but

it was too late. In the middle of one of her twirls she caught sight of Carmichael with his arms crossed.

“Why don’t we take a little dance break,” she told the class. She stopped spinning and pressed the red button, which stopped

the music instantly. “Uh... dance party?” she asked Carmichael breathlessly.

“In my office after school, both of you.” Then he walked out, closing the door behind him.

“Good job, Marquez.”

“You tattled on me?”

“Absolutely not! He probably heard the commotion from his office.”

“Well, if you’d given it a rest with the spelling bee BS, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

After that, they both decided the best compromise was writing. So they had the kids practice their letters for the rest of

the afternoon.

He was angrier than he remembered being in a long time. She didn’t understand him. She never would. Still fuming, both of

them stomped into the principal’s office after all the children were gone for the day. Both Andrew and Valerie sat in their

respective chairs across from Carmichael, with their arms crossed over their chests and big scowls on their faces. Carmichael

opened a bottle of Tums, grabbed a handful of tablets, and tossed them into his mouth.

“My ulcer was better. Now it’s back. I told you I wasn’t doing this again this year. You two are in your class yelling at

the top of your lungs and there’s music blasting. This is a respectable school, and I don’t care how good you two are, one

of you will go if this continues. Enrollment is at an all-time low, and two teachers for one class is one teacher too many.

One salary too much and definitely an ulcer I can’t handle.”

The anger that had been at the boiling point turned into fear. Carmichael had never been this upset with them before. He didn’t

seem like he was joking about this—at all.

“I won’t bother waiting until the end of the year, you hear me? I told you I would not tolerate one single peep from either

of you this year. One-strike rule and you’re both on the brink...”

“We’ve been doing so great,” Valerie began, but Andrew cut her off. Carmichael didn’t seem as if he was ready to compromise or hear any excuses. “Yes, sir,” Andrew said, and Valerie shut her mouth and nodded.

“Now go,” Carmichael said, pointing to the door. Both of them stood and left.

“Well, that was harsh,” Valerie said.

“Never heard him so upset,” Andrew said, still mad at Valerie but mostly shocked at Carmichael’s outburst. “It’s been months

since he’s said a word to us.”

“I know! That’s what I was trying to say. We had been doing so well, and you had to mess it all up!”

Valerie walked quickly ahead of Andrew to the classroom, grabbed her purse, and walked out without so much as a goodbye. Andrew

did much the same, after turning off the lights. He had not messed anything up. The audacity of the woman to blame him for

this debacle. She should have just left him to teach the class, not had a fucking dance party in the middle of the day. In

the parking lot, he noticed Monique and Valerie talking next to Monique’s car, which was beside Andrew’s truck, so he couldn’t

help but overhear.

“...and the budget cuts are really bad,” Monique was saying.

“Budget cuts?” Andrew asked. Valerie shrugged, just as lost as he was.

“Apparently, we lost the subsidized funding from the state due to the new administration, combined with the enrollment decline.

Vivian told me over lunch this afternoon,” Monique said. “Carmichael’s stressed AF,” she added. Like most teachers, after

a while they started to sound like their students.

“That explains a lot,” Valerie said, looking at Andrew with a bit of relief, but Monique cut in.

“Nah, you two arguing was bad. You’re in the main building now, and we could hear it all the way on the other side.”

Valerie flushed with embarrassment, and Andrew fumbled to get his car keys from his pocket. She needed to curtail his frustration

or else she was going to get fired.

“Have a good night,” he said to them, and they parted ways.

Andrew did not sleep that night. He was worried about his job. He was worried about Valerie’s job. He was worried about Valerie

in general. Was she taking care of herself? Was this the last straw between the two of them? Would she stop sharing things

about the pregnancy with him? Would she keep the baby away? Shit was a mess, and one of them had to make an effort to change

things, or else everything would soon fall apart.

Andrew: Montana

Valerie: For a vacation?

Andrew flipped over onto his back. She’d written back right away, so she must’ve been awake. He wondered if she was worried

too. He didn’t want her to worry, and he didn’t like that they’d fought and left things weird.

Andrew: For a name

Valerie: Montana Wexler? That’s terrible, Wexler. Terrible.

Andrew: I know. I was just trying to figure out an icebreaker to start a conversation.

Valerie: I’m sorry we fought today.

Andrew: Me too.

Valerie: I’ve really been thinking about Benjamin. Bens are nice. I haven’t met a Ben I didn’t like.

Andrew: I only know Ben Stiller, and he’s funny.

Valerie: And Ben Affleck?

Andrew: He seems cool too. I like Ben. I can see Junior as a Ben.

Valerie: So we have Benjamin and Axel on the list.

Andrew: Axel is still on the table?

Valerie:

Valerie: I didn’t like that you were so upset at me.

It was such a big admission on her part that he was left speechless and deeply moved.

Andrew: Why is that?

She was silent for too long. He should have just accepted that little piece of vulnerability and left it at that. She would have said more in her own time, as she often did. Fuck. Why had he asked a follow up-question?

Valerie: Not really sure and I don’t want to analyze it so, g’night, Wexler.

Andrew: G’night, Marquez.

Andrew: And, Marquez...

Valerie: ?

Andrew: I don’t like it when you’re mad at me either.

The three little dots on the screen appeared and disappeared a few times, and when too much time had passed, he realized that

he’d left her speechless too.

That night he slept better than he had in a long time, knowing that the mother of his child was starting to feel something

toward him, just as he did toward her.

Valerie

Everyone have their pictures ready today?” Valerie asked the class.

“Yes!” all the children yelled.

“On the count of three, flip them around and show your partner. One... two... three!”

The homework had been to draw a portrait of the person who sat next to you. The children had been excited to show their friends

their drawings. All the kids flipped their papers around to show one another. Valerie was mostly concerned about two students

who did not get along particularly well, Theo and Harper. Harper was unreadable, and Theo wasn’t talking.

“What do we have here?” she asked Theo.

It was a stick person with a big round head, big green eyes, pink lips, yellow lines around the head—that was presumably Harper’s

blond hair—and a huge pink thing on the top. “What’s this?” Valerie said, pointing at the pink.

“A bow. Harper weared a big pink bow to school yesterday.”

“Wore, not weared,” she corrected him. “And that’s very nice that you remembered, Theo. Isn’t that nice, Harper?”

Harper nodded. “And what’s that?” Valerie asked, gesturing to the doodles around the paper.

“That’s a notebook with a unicorn,” he said, and he pointed to the notebook Harper had on her desk. “And that’s the pencil

that Harper sometimes lets me borrow and the eraser that smells like bubble gum.”

Harper pointed to a blob in a corner of the paper and said, “That’s my purple puppy lunch box.”

Theo nodded.

The thing was literally a blob, but it was somehow a recognizable blob to Harper. “This is excellent, Theo. Great job. What

do you think, Harper?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and then she sat back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

Valerie didn’t want to address it with everyone watching. “Great job, kiddos. Let’s grab them all and hang them in the back,

and then we can have some free time with Garfunkel, if that’s okay with Mr. Wexler. I’m sure he misses Simon and could use

a little cheering up.”

“Yes of course. Come on, I’ll help you all hang these.”

Harper stayed in her seat, so Valerie pulled up one of the kids’ chairs next to her and sat.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t you like your portrait? I thought Theo did a great job.”

“Yes.”

“Is it that you didn’t like the one you did for Theo?” Obviously, Harper was embarrassed that she’d been mean, but it was

Valerie’s experience that kids only knew how to voice a handful of emotions from the emotional wheel: happy, mad, and sometimes

sad. Many times, mad and sad were confused.

She shrugged. “You know, Harper, sometimes people get mad and locked into their own emotions. Just because maybe you were

a little mean with your picture doesn’t mean you have to be mean forever. Do you understand what I’m saying? You could start

over and be friends? You could tell him that you’re sorry?” Valerie knew how difficult it could be to put your pride to the

side and apologize.

Harper nodded.

“You know what’s a good way to make it better? You can fix your picture or you can tell Theo he did a good job.”

Harper looked embarrassed.

“Come on, grab your photo, I’ll help you.” Sometimes the kids just needed a little push. “Tell me one nice thing about Theo. Just one.”

Harper looked up to the ceiling. It took far too long, but she finally said, “He’s good at math.”

“Oh, good one!” Valerie said. “Let’s add some numbers around the photo. Here, grab a color and I’ll take this one.”

“No!” Harper said. “Not green. Theo hates green.”

“Oh, okay.”

They added numbers around the canvas. “I like Theo’s hair,” Harper admitted.

“I do too. We should tell him. He might be sad if he thinks that you don’t like it.”

“Okay, Ms. Valerie.”

Valerie called Theo over to the desk. “Look, Theo, Harper finished her drawing, and did you know that she likes your hair

and she thinks you’re really smart in math?”

“Really?” he said happily.

“Yes,” Harper said.

“You want me to help you hang it?” Theo asked, as they were already walking together toward the back of the class.

Maybe they wouldn’t be best friends, but for now the war was at a standstill, and that’s all Valerie could hope for.

“You know... for someone who never wanted kids, you’re pretty fucking incredible with them,” Andrew whispered into her

ear before following the kids to assist them in hanging their art.

Her heart fluttered and so did Junior’s. It was the first time she’d felt him move. “Oh,” she said, and put her hand on her

belly.

The entire class looked at her, and Andrew was by her side almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just felt the baby move.”

Without hesitation he put his hand on her belly but then yanked it away. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

“No, it’s fine,” she said. It would’ve been weird if it were anyone else, but it didn’t feel weird that Andrew touched her

stomach. “But it stopped. It felt like a bubble.”

“Ms. Valerie, what’s wrong with your belly?” one of the children asked.

“Oh, well, I have a baby in there.” She wasn’t comfortable telling her students before her mother or even Carmichael, but

she couldn’t very well lie to her class.

“Oh!” another child said. “My mommy has my sister in her belly.”

“She does? That’s wonderful,” Valerie said, and then Garfunkel started playing inside his wheel and the class forgot all about

the baby in Ms. Valerie’s belly. But Andrew had not forgotten. He was still next to her. “Why don’t you sit? Put your feet

up.”

“I’m okay, Andrew. Really. It just startled me is all. This is so real. It still surprises me.”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Tell me about it.”

Between the feel of the baby and the compliment Andrew had given her earlier, Valerie felt like her heart would explode. She

was really, really beginning to like her baby daddy.

A week later, Valerie walked into the classroom and wondered if today would be the day she killed her baby daddy. They’d been at peace for an entire week, a week during which he’d say the sweetest things and she would have to avert her eyes when he caught her watching the way he moved when he taught. The way his cardigans clung to his shoulders and his trousers framed his muscular thighs. Things stirred in her core when he smiled at her from across the room.

But today, all of that had gone out the window. He’d sent her a text saying he was banning all music from the classroom for

the rest of the year. No explanation. Nothing. What the heck had happened?

“Who do you think you are, making decisions arbitrarily like that?” Valerie said the moment she walked inside. She hadn’t

noticed the dark room or Wexler’s head in his hands when she’d stormed inside.

“Can you please be quiet?” he growled.

Her brows furrowed, and the anger quickly evaporated “Are you okay?” she said, and turned on the lights. With her thumb and

forefinger she tilted his head up. “Ohhhh... you look kind of bad.” He hadn’t shaved, and his hair was a mess.

“Migraine. Bad one.”

“Go home. I got this.”

“No. Not leaving.”

“Well, we can’t exactly teach in the dark,” she said. She gently ran her fingers through his hair. The man was hardheaded.

“What triggered it?”

“Noise. Loud continuous noise often triggers them, and yesterday I was at the house all day working on the bathroom while

they installed the kitchen cabinets.”

“Ouch—banging?”

“And drilling,” he said, looking miserable.

This time she bent down and took his hand. “I need you to listen to me, Wexler. I’m good. I feel good. I can handle the class

alone. I’ve done it for years.”

“That’s before,” he said, referring to her pregnancy.

“No. Listen to me. Either I call Monique to watch the class while I drive you home or I call you an Uber or a Lyft. Your choice.”

“Are you sure?” he asked after hesitating for a moment.

“A hundred percent. Go. Seriously. I’ll swing by after school to check on you.”

“That’s nice,” he said, as he stood and walked out of the classroom in a daze.

“Wait! No, you can’t drive,” she said when she noticed him tilting slightly to the side. She opened her ride-sharing app.

“Address, Wexler.” She followed after him as he mumbled it. School didn’t start for another ten minutes, but the car drop-off

line had already formed outside. “This way,” she said, and grabbed his hand and pulled him through the emergency exit. “Two

minutes. Blue Nissan Murano,” she said while she looked down at her phone. They stood in the shade as the car approached.

She practically shoved him inside. “Call you later.” Then she looked at the driver. “Nice tip in it for you if you make sure

he makes it inside.”

“You got it,” the driver said.

“Uh-huh,” Andrew murmured, his eyes closed. She sincerely hoped the driver would wake him up and make sure he made it into his house. She followed the app while she walked back into the classroom. She sent Carmichael a quick text to explain that Andrew had gone home sick.

Andrew had arrived at home, because she’d seen it on the app. She had quickly called him while the morning announcements were

on, and he’d mumbled something that sounded like “I’m home and asleep.”

Andrew: Jeremiah

Valerie: Was a bullfrog.

She was already familiar with this game. It had been a long day of teaching without her co-teacher, and she was already on

her way out. She’d thought of him all day. Not only because she was worried, but also because she’d gotten used to him always

being there. Talking. Bantering. Smiling. She even missed how he was sometimes grumpy or ornery. She missed how he rolled

his eyes when it was art time or when they argued about the spelling bee.

She just missed him. And the thought made her anxious as hell.

Andrew: I knew you’d say that. There are people named Jeremiah who will never live a normal life because of that song.

Valerie: Tell that to all the poor women named Karen.

Andrew: So Jeremiah is out?

Valerie: Absolutely. Every time I call his name I’ll think of the song. I take it you’re feeling better?

Andrew: Much. How was the day?

Valerie proceeded to text a recap of the day. She told him about Georgianna’s tantrum. How Harper and Theo actually did an

assignment together. She gave him some work gossip about the third-grade teacher and the PE teacher’s rumored hookup. She

pressed send but then called him because she was about to start the car.

“Hey,” he said. “I was about to read your text.”

“Read it later. I don’t want to text and drive. Do you want me to pick up some dinner? Are you hungry?”

“I could eat. But you shouldn’t eat restaurant food, so I’ll make something for us.”

“Absolutely not. It’s my turn to take care of you.” That sounded so intimate that she quickly added, “We’re friends, right?

The least I can do. Let’s get you some food. I was planning on eating leftovers when I got home, and I’m not hungry right

now anyways. What are you in the mood for?”

“Ummm... Will you kill me if I say fast food?”

“I’ll have you know I have self-control, Wexler. Text me your order and I’ll go get it for you. See you in a few.”

Valerie did not have self-control. She had a handful of French fries because they were warm and delicious and she missed eating non-bland food. But then she felt guilty and stopped munching. Once she parked, Wexler opened the door before she could get out of the car. He had on basketball shorts and a T-shirt. He still hadn’t shaved, and his hair was still a mess. She really liked how he looked when he was just a regular guy.

“Thank you! I’m starving. Come in. I’m watching Below Deck . It’s a reality show that I got sucked into because I was too sick to look for the remote control and it was playing on TV

when I turned it on.”

“I love Below Deck ! Which franchise is it? Sailing? Mediterranean?”

“There’s more than this one? I think this one’s in Australia.”

“Good season.”

“Why don’t you stay a little bit and watch it with me?”

“Sure. But just one episode.”

Andrew, unsurprisingly, did not eat fast food out of the bag like most normal people. He placed his burger and fries onto

a real plate and squeezed out two packets of ketchup next to the fries. He didn’t bust out a fork and knife; he wasn’t a complete

sociopath. “Now you have to clean that,” she said while she watched him like he was a National Geographic case study.

He looked down at his plate and shrugged. “I know. But I don’t like to shovel food into my face.”

“Neither do I, but I still wouldn’t dirty a plate for no reason.”

“It’s not for no reason. It’s because I’m worth a real plate. You’re worth a real plate if it’s something that makes you happy.”

“Eating off a real plate makes you happy?” she asked.

He seemed to never have thought about it, because he answered as if he too were surprised. “Yeah, it does, actually.” He took a huge bite of his burger as she watched him. The bags under his eyes from earlier were mostly gone, and he didn’t look pale anymore. “I spiraled some zucchini because I ran out of spaghetti. You don’t have to eat it now if you’re not hungry. I have the sauce from the other day warming up too.” He’d made her low-sodium ground chicken red sauce earlier in the week. It was actually very tasty in comparison to all the bland things she’d been eating.

“I was thinking, when should we tell people? Carmichael needs to know and the staff will know something’s going on soon.”

Valerie looked down at the small protrusion in her abdomen. “Are you calling me fat?”

The color drained from his face. “Uh... no!” he said nervously. “No. That’s not what I meant. What I mean is, eventually

you’ll—”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she said while laughing uncontrollably. “Jeez, you looked like you wanted to jump off the roof.”

“Not funny, Marquez,” he said, holding back his own smile.

“I thought about it too. I was just waiting until the second trimester, and then I was like—do we just blurt it out? I don’t

want to make it a thing, you know?”

“I guess when the time’s right, we’ll know. It’s your call,” he said. “You should eat, though. Otherwise no one is going to

believe it when you do decide to tell them.”

“Maybe after this episode,” she said, and made herself comfortable on his couch. Of course, one episode turned into five, and somewhere between episodes three and four she sat beside him eating a plate of food and daydreaming about going to Australia. She learned that he had hardly traveled, but his dream was to snorkel in Bali.

“Oh, that’s a good dream, Wexler,” she said. “Mine’s to backpack through Spain and do the Camino de Santiago.” She then explained

the spiritual pilgrimage to him. “I’d start in Pamplona and end in Santiago de Compostela. I know the exact route I’d like

to take.”

“How long is that walk?”

“Depends, but like a month, maybe?”

“Everything with you is a hike, camping, volunteering. You’re amazing.”

She shrugged. “I want to see it all. Experience it all. But I do like resorts, of course. A spa sounds like a dream right

now. Snorkeling in Bali and staying in one of those villas with the glass floors sounds amazing. I’m open.” She smiled dreamily.

They were turned toward each other, knee to knee, talking about their dreams. The future. Suddenly, all of it felt too intimate.

They were different in too many ways. She wanted him to go to Bali and snorkel and eat good food with someone he genuinely

loved, not someone he felt obligated to. He leaned an inch forward, and the air between them changed. She moved an inch closer

too but then abruptly stood.

She tapped his knee. “Glad you’re feeling better, Wexler,” she said, and squeezed his shoulder as she walked past him with their plates. She loaded the dishwasher, her face burning; she wanted him so badly. She could picture the way he would have kissed her. It wouldn’t have been sweet, the way his eyes had blazed with desire—no, it definitely wouldn’t have been sweet. “See you tomorrow?” Her voice shook.

He exhaled a deep breath and let his head hang down in defeat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Valerie,” he said, his voice hoarse.

And if she could have run out of his apartment, she would have.