17. Lina
SEVENTEEN
Lina
I’ve never been so aroused watching a man work a room. Dom is all dorky swagger, shaking hands and clapping backs with parents and giving high fives to little kids, laughing and smiling ear to ear, radiating charisma from every pore of his body. He objectively cuts an imposing figure, with the tattoos and the all black everything clothes, but this, combined with all the eye contact and active listening, like he’s the mayor of Fort Greene and everything everyone is saying is the most important thing he’s ever heard in his entire life? It’s absolutely one hundred percent doing it for me.
I have to say, we make a great team. The PTO President and the Principal.
Yes. It is I, Lina Sanchez, PS 2 Principal.
It was a unanimous decision among all the city and district officials who were a part of my panel.
All I had to do was describe in detail, all the work I’ve completed as the functional principal of PS 2 ever since Oliver left the school. Because I did Thomas’s job when she was hired, and I did it after she was removed. Throughout that time, our school scores and ratings either remained stable or improved. They had no choice, really. It was a no brainer.
It was announced this morning, and here I am now, with Dominic, two PS 2 leaders welcoming the shit out of PS 2 families. We lock eyes across the crowded room (because obviously Dominic was able to get a huge turnout on just a week’s notice) and grin at one another.
At one point, I take note of the sheer amount of dads here. Not just Dom, but lots more. This strikes a chord that I am not prepared to confront right now, so I paste on a smile and continue my welcome’s and thank you’s.
After a couple of hours, I get a reprieve from hugs and congratulations from staff and families and hand shaking and welcoming and make my way to the bar to grab a glass of wine.
Georgia and Emmanuel wander over to me. Emmanuel begins a genuflection.
“Get the fuck up,” I hiss at him.
“All hail Queenie Leenie,” he says solemnly, his head bowed over his knee.
Georgia knees him in the side and gives me a hug. “Congratulations,” she tells me. “Although you’ve basically been our principal since Courtney Thomas came on. But congrats on the pay bump.”
“Proud of you, though,” Emmanuel says more genuinely. “You deserve that spot, and I think you’re my favorite boss I’ve ever had.”
“Agreed,” Georgia says. “I’ll never forget when you interviewed me. You immediately made me feel like a part of the PS 2 family.”
I think something gets in my eye.
A warm hand brushes against my lower back, squeezes my waist once, so quickly I might have imagined it. “Hey guys,” Dom says.
Georgia and Emmanuel look at the spot on my waist Dom’s hand just vacated. To be fair to Dom, he probably doesn’t know that elementary school teachers never miss a fucking thing .
Georgia only looks mildly surprised.
Emmanuel begins to exhibit signs of a stroke.
Dom hugs Georgia and reaches out to shake Emmanuel’s hand. “I’m Dom, Oliver’s cousin. We might have met at his housewarming.”
Emmanuel doesn’t shake hands. He outstretches his hand to be shaken, palm and fingers facing down towards the floor. He eyes him up and down.
“Emmanuel,” I warn.
“Dom’s also the PTO President,” Georgia adds on. “He organized this entire event.”
Emmanuel’s eyes scan Dom’s body.
“I feel like I’m undergoing some sort of trial right now,” Dom tells him warily.
“This is the ordeal part of the hero’s journey,” Emmanuel sniffs. “What is your occupation? When was the last time you went to the dentist? Do you do your own laun?—”
He is interrupted because we are attacked by a glitter cannonball.
“Daddy,” Frankie screams. She is followed by a cloud of glitter, which settles like a fine dust all over everyone. I pull shredded cheese out of her hair and wonder where it came from, because we are not serving anything containing shredded cheese. “Everyone’s going home. I’m hungry. Can we eat dinner? Can you make Sassy Shrimp ( Thathy Thwimp )?”
“Frankie—” Dom starts gently, but he doesn’t have to, because Frankie has already noticed Emmanuel.
She sticks her shoulders back and juts out her hand towards him. “Hi. I’m Francine Flores. Nice to meet you,” Franthine Floreth says, and I smile, remembering this exact moment with her just a few weeks ago.
Emmanuel melts like I did. He holds out his hand like he did to Dom, and Frankie doesn’t hesitate to give it a firm shake. “Mr. Jean-Baptiste. I teach third grade. I love your shirt. Glitter is my favorite color,” he tells her.
“Mine is lavender,” she says, “but glitter is a close second.”
“What’s Sassy Shrimp?” I demand to know.
“Daddy fries shrimp with garlic and Sprite,” she says. “The Sprite makes it sassy.”
“It’s a Filipino thing,” he mutters. “Let me close out the tab and help Tim clean up a little first, Frankie, and then we can go. Did you bring your space encyclopedia?”
She nods.
“Can you look at it over there while I finish up?”
“‘Kay.” She skips away.
Emmanuel eyes Dom. “I think that little Sassy Shrimp just Samwise Gamgee’d you up Mordor.”
Dominic laughs, his face settling into those smile lines, and because I know Emmanuel well, I can tell he melts a little from that, too.
* * *
Georgia and Emmanuel soon leave, and Dom and I realize we’ll be here cleaning for longer than we anticipated, so I construct Frankie a dinner plate from the various (shredded cheese-less) appetizers and hors d'oeuvres we had from the beginning of the night. This includes three different cookies, so she was happy to pass on Sassy Shrimp.
We’re taking down the last of the streamers when Dom angles his head towards me. “Do you want to come home with us after this?” he murmurs.
“I’d love to, but I think that’s yours and Frankie’s decision to make.”
He sighs. “I feel like I’m blowing this before it’s really even begun. I don’t know how to broach this with her.”
“Baby steps,” I tell him gently. “We can start with tonight, and we can ask her how she feels about my coming over tonight.”
“What if she asks why?”
“Then we tell her in age-appropriate language,” I say.
He blows out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s what her psychologist said to do,” he says.
We toss the streamers in the trash. His jaw is clenched so tightly I see the muscle in his temple. “I don’t have to come over if you aren’t ready, Dom,” I whisper. But shit. Am I even ready? This seems like the opposite of finding myself.
He looks over. His face softens when he sees mine. “I’m ready,” he reassures me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “I just don’t want to fuck it all up. Dr. Fung told me to do exactly what you just said. Frankie knows you already and is extremely comfortable with you, so we shouldn’t ask her if it would be okay if you came over, but to tell her you would be, and to ask how she felt about it.”
I nod.
“I’m just nervous,” he admits.
“I understand. We’ll play it by ear, based on her reaction.”
He does the thing where he digests my face and attempts to untangle my emotions. “You sure you’re okay with all this?” he asks me, almost shyly, checking in, and in this particular moment I push all reluctance aside.
“Yeah, Dom. I’m sure.”
He squeezes my hand again. “Okay. Let’s go.”
We approach his daughter. “Frankie…” he says, with a hesitation and insecurity he doesn’t normally carry. “Lina’s going to come over tonight. To watch a movie.” He watches her face like a hawk.
She looks back and forth between us, sensing something is up, probably because Dom and I are looming over her with absolutely insane looks on our faces.
I take a step back, give her some space, break eye contact for a second.
“Okay?” she says.
“How do you feel about that?”
She continues glancing between us. “Fine? But why are you being weird?” She says with an astuteness far beyond her years, like she does everything else, because Dom, unlike my own, is an amazing father and has raised her so well.
I make eye contact with Dom and attempt to non-verbally communicate you gonna do this in a bar?
What, you want me to wait and have this conversation when we’re already home? his eyes say.
I guess not .
I wish we fucking thought this out and didn’t have to do this right now, but now we’re locked in , he winces. I sit down in a nearby chair to make this feel like less of an ambush. Dom squats down.
He goes with the ‘rip off the bandaid’ strategy. “Lina’s going to be around the house a lot. Lina and Daddy really like each other.”
She cuts her eyes to me. “Like you’re going to be in our family? Like how Tita Georgia joined our family?”
I start at her comprehension. The ends of Dom’s mouth tip up.
To think that a few weeks ago I was on a self-imposed luxury yacht break, and here I am now, trying to convince a five-year-old to let me into her family.
I freeze.
I almost walk out of the bar with this realization. Leave Dom and Frankie behind.
Because this is the absolute opposite of what New and Improved Lina should be doing. Starting a brand new, harder, time and energy intensive job? Joining a family ? Adopting a daughter ?
But then I look at the two of these beautiful identical humans who are looking at me with big hopeful doe eyes, and I push it aside. “Yeah, kind of like that. I’d like to be. I really like both of you—you and your dad.”
“What do you think?” Dom prods gently.
She is silent for a very long moment. Then, the deluge of questions breaks from behind the dam, as if she is a doctoral candidate conducting research for her dissertation and only has five minutes to do so. “Will you read me my bedtime stories alone or with Daddy?”
I don’t miss a beat. “You can pick whoever you’d like to read your bedtime stories. Me or Daddy or both of us.”
“Can I hang out with you during school?”
“During school, no. After school, yes, but I might be busy and might not be able to hang out much.”
“What do I call you?”
“You can call me Ms. Sanchez in school and Lina everywhere else.”
“Will you make new rules in the house or will you follow Daddy’s rules?”
Hm , Dominic’s face says. Good question .
“I will not be making any rules in your house, but I will be enforcing your dad’s.”
“Will you help me do my chores?”
“I’ll contribute to chores, yes, but I’m not doing yours for you.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I narrow mine back.
She sniffs. “I’m sleepy. Can I keep asking questions while we walk home?”
Dom kisses her head. “Let’s go.”
Frankie climbs into Dom’s arms, who holds her like he probably did when she was a toddler. I pick up her lavender glitter backpack, put her space encyclopedia in it, hoist my bag over my shoulder, and together, we all leave the bar.
“Will you come to Christmas? Do we have to get you a Christmas gift? Will you get me a Christmas gift?”
I look at Dom, who grins.
“I’ll take that one,” Dom says. “Lina is invited to Christmas. Yes, we have to get her a Christmas gift.”
“And yes, I will get you both a Christmas gift,” I add on.
“Will you teach me how to read?”
“Absolutely. One hundred percent. We can start tomorrow morning.”
“Do you have a family? Do you have a mommy or a daddy? Will they join our family, too?”
I pause, wondering if I should just swan dive right into my familial trauma right now as she’s half asleep, or if it will be more of a cannonball, or a belly flop?—
“That’s a very personal question, Frankie,” Dom cuts in, after sensing my hesitation. “Remember what we said about asking personal questions?”
“I have a mommy,” I decide to tell her. “I don’t have a daddy. But my mommy would be very happy to meet the two of you soon.” I think .
Frankie is satisfied with this answer and tucks her face into Dom’s neck. “That’s kind of like me. I have a daddy and I don’t have a mommy. But it’s okay. Daddy always says that what makes a family isn’t the number of people. It’s how big their love is. We’re small, but we have big love.”
I think there might be some sort of new strain of seasonal allergies, autumnal pollen or something, because both Dom and I get something in our eyes.
* * *
She passes out in Dom’s arms six minutes into the walk.
He tucks her straight into bed as soon as we get into their apartment. I put our stuff down and immediately look for some sort of chore to busy my hands with, but the place is immaculate. This is really the first time I’ve had the chance to look around, so I allow myself to do so.
The place seems to be approximately the same size as the guesthouse, funnily enough, except with the railroad style layout typical of older townhouses in this area. If I remember correctly, Oliver’s parents have owned this building since the eighties, so I assume Dom rents from them. The apartment is well-maintained and seems recently renovated, the kitchen and living room having more modern, clean looking appliances and detailing. The furniture here, similar to that of the beach house, seems expensive yet well-made and high-quality and durable.
This is the moment that I put two and two together and realize that Dom has money money.
You go, girl , I think, like a shallow hag.
But what I like the most about this situation, however, is that Dom has never for a second flaunted this. My first impression of him was that he competed in some sort of sketchy underground MMA ring for money, for fuck’s sake. But even as I got to know him, he continued to be the most down-to-earth dude who felt uncomfortable talking about the parking spot he had for his electric car.
I learn that this personality trait extends into his home, because regardless of the tasteful and high-quality furnishings, it’s still cozy. It feels like a home, well lived in. Frankie’s drawings are hanging, some framed. I spot a stray sock under the couch. Bits of glitter or sequin everywhere, on her backpack, her sneakers, on a jacket hanging by the door. There are photos of their family everywhere , but it’s hard to know what there are more of, photographs or books . Because there are books tucked into every visible shelf and nook and cranny in this place. A few inches between a candle and a plant? Perfect spot for a pile of books. Under a side table? Hardcover picture books have clearly been crammed in there by Frankie.
I’m in the middle of feeling a little off-kilter, filled with an uneasy, expansive feeling, like I’m about to float away, when a strong pair of arms wraps around me from behind and tethers me to the earth.
“Verdict?” Dom whispers into my ear.
“Are you rich?” I blurt out.
He laughs. “Define rich.”
“So yes.”
I feel him shrug behind me. “We do okay.”
“Why don’t you own an entire townhouse in Fort Greene or something?”
He walks towards the kitchen. “We moved here before Frankie started school, because I eventually wanted her to go to Oliver’s school, and this apartment was in the zone. I also wanted her to have family close by—it’s important for her to form strong relationships with my aunt and uncle. Ollie used to live in the neighborhood, too, before he bought the place with Georgia. This apartment opened up, and it was easy enough for us to slide in.” He opens a cabinet. “Wine?”
I nod. “But he’s not at the school anymore,” I say. “You could’ve bought the entire place next door. Or moved to a district with a better elementary school. I mean—” I roll my eyes, “PS 2 is obviously the best in Brooklyn and extremely high performing, but it’s no Upper East Side or anything.”
He hands me a glass of a cloudy red. “Frankie had already made friends in the neighborhood by the time Ollie left. Then she started Pre-K, and I’m not going to take her out of PS 2 now that she’s had a full year of it. I could buy a place in the zone, I guess, but you know how busy I am. I don’t even have time to get a haircut, much less peruse real estate. Anyway, it’s nice to have Tita Gloria and Tito Ben downstairs.”
I roll this around in my mouth. Dom’s deliberate decision making, everything he does for his daughter. He drags me by the hand to the couch, pulls my feet into his lap.
“I think I’ve said this a million times, but I can’t believe how good of a dad you are. In fact, when we were at the bar, I couldn’t stop thinking about how involved so many dads were,” I say, finally confessing the thoughts that have been in my head since earlier.
He notices the change in atmosphere immediately. I watch him coat himself in tact. “You’ve talked about your mom before. Is your dad around?” he asks gently.
I laugh, but it’s without humor. “He’s dead now. But around? He was, sometimes. Present? Never.”
He squeezes my foot, digging his thumb into my arch, giving me space.
“He was just kind of a deadbeat. Was in and out of the house. I don’t think he ever had a real job. Mai did everything for him. She was a secretary at a local school for most of her life, and then she would come home and take care of the two of us. I would always try to help her out, but he didn’t do shit. And that’s when he was around. When he wasn’t, it was actually way better. Only meals and laundry and dishes for two, instead of three.”
“Your mom sounds like Super Woman.”
“She is. She did everything for me. I’m trying to pay her back by taking care of her now, like she’s always done for me. She fucking hates it though,” I chuckle. “But I kind of grew up thinking all dads were shit. I’m pretty sure mine didn’t even know my birthday. Men, in general. Need to be taken care of, babied, because that’s just what they’re like. It’s led to some pretty sorry relationships.”
He nods, continuing his foot massage on the other foot. “Your ex, right?”
“My exes have all been some level of immature, but he was the worst. I wasn’t kidding when I said I gave too much of myself to him. I lost who I was. I was happy to do it, too, because I was so good at it, which is the really pathetic part. I just thought that was what I was supposed to do. What I’ve grown up seeing done.”
“I’m here to help you take yourself back. In whatever way you may need,” he says, which is arguably the single most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me in my life.
“I actually think we both need to learn some balance. How to let go. How to delegate. How to care for ourselves, as people independent from others. I don’t want to be another thing you need to worry about, and I want to learn to figure this all out on my own, anyway. I’m sure you feel the same way.”
He looks up towards the ceiling in that way that he does. “I think I feel the same way. Although, I legitimately can’t see myself as a person independent from others, because of my daughter. But I agree that I can start becoming more comfortable sharing responsibility for her. Letting go. But as far as you and me… it seems a little unfair, like the scales are tipped in our favor, because I have a Frankie on my side. You need to add a whole-ass kid to your plate.”
I think about this. “But it doesn’t seem like she’s taking anything away from me,” I say finally. “She seems like a natural extension.”
Dom’s eyes light up at this, and he looks at me with a fondness that makes me feel a different warm, floaty feeling again. I’ll do it all, dedicate my personal life to this family, add more to my plate. I’ll pile it all up. It doesn’t matter, as long as they are as fucking happy as Dom looks right now.
I feel bubbles rising to the surface, ready to pop. I manage to pop into Dom’s lap, straddling him, but tucking my face in his neck while he envelops me with his wide chest and tentacle arms. I breathe him in, feeling safe, secure, appreciated, taken care of for once in my life, while he kisses my temple, my hair, anywhere he can reach. Content to let me rebuild Real Life Lina, there to hold my hand if I need it.
* * *
The first three weeks of school fly by so quickly that I don’t have time to be stressed. I mean, I’m still stressed and pretty exhausted, but I’m so busy and pleased with my personal life that I barely notice.
It feels as if that conversation with Frankie made it official for me and Dom, because after that, we flow pretty quickly from “dating” into “relationship” on Dom’s texted timeline. I spend every weekend with Dom and Frankie and we go on little adventures, and I try to plan them so we get to do some of the things Dom said he liked to do before Frankie was born. I make everyone pack a backpack with books, and we take them to Prospect Park and spend hours reading in the grass. We go to Brooklyn Museum afterwards. We take Frankie to some of the trendy restaurants that have opened since she’s been born (luckily, many of them are in Fort Greene, but we manage to make it into the city once).
My staff come back and are thrilled by the updates in leadership. We start off the year strong, everyone in a good mood, rather than trudging through that debilitating post-summer slog most educators typically come back to school with (myself included).
Everything is running smoothly. I make Dom give me some Finance and Budgeting 101 lessons, because while I have a grasp on the big ideas, I want to learn some of the nitty-gritty stuff, down to the most minute details. After a few days of this, we finally have enough funds to make some repairs to the school yard. We got our test scores back from the spring, and we crushed it.
I’m doing everything again, which is fine with me, but then Oliver reminds me that I can and should hire an AP, which I honestly forgot about.
“I don’t want to spend the school budget on an AP salary if I can do it all myself,” I reply, scooping rice out of a tray in Mama Flores’s and Ben’s apartment.
“Just because you can do it yourself doesn’t mean you should. You can even hire two,” he says, eyebrows waggling.
I frown. “But you never had two.”
“Well, I didn’t want to spend the school budget.”
I hip check him away from the lumpia tray.
Right, because I attend Flores gatherings now. Frankie may think that her immediate family is objectively small, just her and her dad, but their extended family is big big. Big in number and in love.
For someone coming from a very small immediate and extended family, this is all frankly very overwhelming at first. The first ‘small lunch’ I attend in Flushing, at a Tita Tess’s apartment, I probably meet fifty new people, all of whom have different titles attached to their name.
Like Tita and Tito , which directly translates to ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle,’ but can also mean ‘person in your family who is older than you by maybe twenty to thirty years’.
Or Lola and Lolo, which directly translates to ‘grandma’ or ‘grandpa’ or ‘person in your family who is older than you by over thirty years’. But then some Lolas don’t like to be called Lola because it makes them feel too old, so it would do you well to remember each individual distinction.
Oh, and there’s Ate and Kuya , which I learn mean older sister and older brother, but also can roughly mean ‘person in your family who is older than you by at maximum ten years’.
There is no label for someone younger than you.
Actually, no, anak is a term of endearment. I think for someone who is much, much younger than you? Like, everyone calls Frankie anak .
But Dom and Frankie and Oliver and Georgia are always there next to me, giddily happy to explain the particular nuances of Filipino familial nomenclature, and their excitement makes the intensity more palatable. And all the Flores’s have welcomed me with open arms and plates of food, weaving me into the fabric of their family so tightly that it seems as if I’ve always been there. I thought this was strange, at first, expecting some sort of test or initiation, but Georgia said the same thing happened to her. The Flores family is just big love .
I learn that Frankie is the baby of the family, youngest by a few years. I realize that Dom’s support system slash network is, or at least could be , incredibly vast, if he just let go and simply asked for help .
I learn just how deep-seated his reluctance is to let anyone into their lives, thinking somehow it may detract from his legitimacy as a parent. I’m still not quite sure why, or where this stems from. But I’ve managed to get him to start small, like leaving Frankie with Mama Flores for a few hours so we can do something mundane and couple-y, like going out to dinner or seeing a movie. I convince him to let me walk Frankie home (once, but at least it’s something), when something comes up at his job.
What he doesn’t know, however, or at least what I haven’t told him, is that Frankie spends almost every day after school with me in my office instead of going to her after-school program.
Frankie’s little head pops into my office every day around three o’clock, and she asks me if she can sit and hang until her dad comes. Since most of my work after the school day ends is desk-based, I don’t see why not. She just folds herself into a tiny ball and looks at books in the corner, and most times I forget she’s there. My snack drawer has significantly increased in quality and quantity, though.
She asks me, no, begs me not to tell Dom, which puts me in a tough spot. I get the sense that there’s some sort of interpersonal issue she has to deal with in her after-school program, and so she’d rather come to me. The first time I realize this, I’m shocked by the sudden, acute, almost violent feeling of mama bear protectiveness that cuts through my body, that someone dare mess with my baby. And it’s a completely new feeling. But upon further consideration, I realize the strange situation and power imbalance I have as the principal of the school, and I decide not to push it. She’ll tell me when she’s comfortable talking about it, and I’ll deal with it then.
I’ll tell him about it… eventually.