"After a while, I started thinking of it as part of the commute," I said. "I hardly notice it anymore. And I have millions of frequent flier miles."
She spared me a glance before returning to the menu. "I would think it would be difficult to travel that much with a small child at home."
"It is," I agreed. "But being based in Virginia now means most of my travel is no more than a train ride away, and longer trips I'm usually able to hold for when Percy's with his grandmother. If all else fails, the nanny doesn't mind staying the night."
"The nanny," Audrey murmured. "Why didn't you hire her for this adventure? I have to imagine it would've been much simpler."
I stared at the spill of pale blonde hair over her shoulder. I still wasn't used to seeing it down but I liked it. It felt more like her than the ballerina bun ever had. "Wayne's been a lifesaver for us, but I don't think he'd go for that."
"Wayne," she repeated.
I'd take another hellish day of flight delays just to watch her gulp down the realization that Wayne wasn't some hot twenty-something au pair trying to slide into the mom spot but a retired firefighter in his fifties who handled my kid's attitude like no other and had a top secret pancake recipe that could open some doors in the world peace process.
"More importantly," I went on, "he's already off on a camping trip across the Canadian provinces with his partner, so he's not available."
"Well." She gave a short, high hum, a sound I recognized as the placeholder for everything she wanted to say but swallowed down instead. That single syllable was the cork on a pricey bottle of champagne one hard shake away from exploding. "It's good you have someone you can trust with Percy."
Before I could stop myself, a bitter laugh snapped out of me. "Wasn't always like that. I'll spare you the long-form account of our history with caretakers, but suffice it to say, not everyone is built to work with kids who have different needs."
Audrey started to respond but stopped herself when the server appeared. She ordered a rice bowl, holding half the ingredients listed on the menu, and I went with a burger. Airport restaurants could always be counted on to get a burger close enough to right.
"And a beer," I added. "Whatever's in season and on tap." To Audrey's arched brow, I held up my hands. "After the morning we've had?"
She considered this a moment before asking, "Do you have any hard cider?" The server rattled off five different options. "I'll try the Woodchuck. Thank you."
When we were alone again, Audrey ducked away from my attention and checked her phone. I did the same and found seventeen texts from my mother. It was clear she'd heard about the outage and mass cancellations, and was now thinking out loud as she rescheduled her dinner party plans for this evening. There were a few from Percy too, though they fell into theGeneral Complaints about Grandma's Foodcategory. I knew for a fact he had enough toaster waffles and chocolate hazelnut butter to survive a year with Brenda, so I wasn't going to stress over that one.
Our drinks arrived and Audrey pulled hers close, circling her hands around the glass as she stared at the tabletop. A moment passed before she said, "You're right about not everyone being built for kids who require something different from us. My student teaching supervisor was amazing like that. Everyone loved Mrs. Carroll. Everyone wanted to be in her class. Watching her in action was like—well, all I could think when I observed her was that I'd feel pretty happy about my teaching if I was half as good as her."
I sipped my beer and nodded. My only goal was to keep her talking and I'd probably fuck that up if I opened my mouth.
"The thing that made her really incredible was that she could adapt to any kid's needs in the moment. It didn't matter what the problem was because there was always a different way of reaching the endpoint." She glanced up at me. "It basically took all the things I'd learned in my elementary ed program about rigid performance goals and demonstration of mastery, and knocked it over." A shy smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "And I liked that a lot."
"How'd you make your way into teaching?"
She leaned back against the booth, history rippling across her expression. "There came a point when I needed to make some changes," she said, her words measured.
When her marriage ended, she meant. I didn't push it because I knew she was one minor inconvenience away from telling me to have a nice life. But the subtext was clear and I was dying to suck the juice from every ounce of that story.
"I could've stayed at the ballet, but leaving San Diego was one of those changes I had to make. There was nothing left for me there—or anywhere in California," she added. "I wish I had a meaningful story about becoming inspired to shape young minds or make a difference. Most of my friends have stories like that. But I just read a book where the protagonistwas an elementary school teacher and it struck me that it was something I could do. Maybe even do well." She laughed. "Looking back on it, I realize it wasn't a very accurate portrayal of teaching."
"But you're good at it."
She waved me off, a craggy little grin on her face. "Eh, it depends on the day—and the phase of the moon." At my confusedhuh?she added, "Kids are like baby werewolves. The full moons do a number on them. Trust me on this."
She finally took a sip of her cider, and I didn't know why I cared but I watched, waiting for her reaction. Didn't bother breathing for a minute. "All right?" I asked when she set the glass down.
"Mmm. Yeah." She nodded at the glass. "I'm not good at ordering. My friend Jamie is usually the one to mix the drinks and tell me what I'll like. I always forget."
"Is she the one getting married?"
"Oh, no," she said, laughing. "Jamie's never getting married. It's Emme's wedding coming up. Or, her second wedding. They eloped last spring and now they're having the big party." She smoothed her napkin a few times, her focus trained on her lap. "The wedding is being held at this beautiful tulip farm in Rhode Island. My friend Shay—she used to teach kindergarten down the hall from me—she and her husband own the farm. It's stunning. I love it there. Sometimes I think about moving there."
The food arrived and I stalled with my beer as Audrey picked at the bowl like she expected to find a severed finger in there. I couldn't tell if she didn't trust airport kitchens or had stopped trusting food in general at some point. It made zero sense but clearly mattered to her—and now it mattered to me too. More than it should've, perhaps, but I'd never been good at limiting myself when it came to Audrey.
She took one delicate bite, chewed thoughtfully, then relaxed against the booth as if she'd won this battle. That little flicker of relief in her expression stuck with me as I turned my attention to the burger waiting on my plate.
"Is Emme a teacher too?" I asked between bites.
