FROM: Josephine Bordelon—[email protected]
DATE: October 2, 2018
SUBJECT: RE: My +1
CC:
BCC:
TO: Meredith Lawton
A Fairchild school tour waits for no mother. The show must go on. If you can manage to be the first to send in your application and sign up for a school tour, color me crazy, but I suspect you can manage to make it to the tour on time. I’m sure your BFF Beatrice Pembrook will understand if you have to run out without finishing that last sip of prosecco. Consider it excellent training for the next thirteen years of your life driving Harrison and the bodyguard to school for 8:15 a.m. drop-off.
Fondly,
Josie Bordelon
DIRECTOR OF ADMISSIONS
FAIRCHILD COUNTRY DAY SCHOOL
I hear the first footsteps coming up the stairs and into Colson Hall for the tour.
DE-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-TE.
There go my most sincere thoughts along with any time I had to spare to send off an appropriate, if not honest, response.
I pick up the phone to call Roan. “Wife’s five-two, French, kitten heels, jeans, white-and-blue-striped boatneck shirt, and a fitted blazer. Oh and Anna Wintour wannabe hair. Casual French chic. Husband works in biotech sumpin’ and sumpin’, collared shirt, blazer, no tie; fit, but angular face that looks pinched, like he’s sucking lemons.”
“No, the footsteps are too staccato. I call gay men who know alternative families are all the rage in private schools. One is carrying some extra dad weight. He’s the mom. My guess is the dad might be fairly good-looking and they’re going to seem like an odd match; so in our post-tour pillow talk we can deconstruct that relationship for a good couple of hours. And I say thank God, this school needs a little more of my flavor.”
“Trust me, the school can’t handle any more Roan.”
“Three, two, one, go.”
We both step out of our offices and into the conference room and Roan does a little happy dance behind the backs of the two dads. He nailed it. I do my best to conceal my disappointment. Roan and I play guess the first family at every school tour. Whoever wins (or comes closest) based on the sound of the footsteps coming up the stairs has to buy the other lunch before the next school tour. Year after year, Roan is the equivalent of a Vegas card counter at our game and by the end of the twelve-week tour season my bank account is running low and Roan’s ego is on a high. I know it’s juvenile, but when you’ve been doing admissions as long as I have you must do what you can to keep things interesting otherwise every year is Groundhog Day—same faces, same stories, same cycle. That said, I really thought I had come out of the gate strong this season with a Frenchie couple. Gay dads threw me for a loop.
“Welcome to Fairchild Country Day School. I’m Josie Bordelon, director of admissions. I’m so happy to have you on our first tour,” I say, recovering from my devastating season-opener loss.
Good to note, my lady parts are not dead. Gay or not, one of the dads has given new definition to “dad bod.” I almost wish the tour were over so I could call Lola. The other 75 percent of me hopes there are a lot of questions at the end of the tour, so I can stare longingly at Dad #1. Or is he Dad #2? I decide to label the hot one Dad #1.
“I’m Daniel,” says Dad #2.
Being the first tour of the year, I remind myself that when trying to build as diverse a class as possible two dads always trumps two lesbians or mixed-race families; it’s an accepted industry fact.
“Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand and give my well-practiced smile that says you might be the most important parent I have ever met. I’ve given that smile approximately 18,142 times. Approximately.
“We’re so happy to be here, we can’t even tell you. I mean we’ve been waiting for this for years and it’s better than I ever expected. I can’t believe the Palace Legion of Honor is practically in your backyard and the kids can go for hikes on the Land’s End trail all while learning in the peaceful environment of the Sea Cliff neighborhood.” Daniel blurts out the Fairchild topography with overt enthusiasm, a drop of spittle landing on my right boob. Daniel turns red, I pretend not to notice. I’m going to give him a break since he was smart enough to marry up.
“I’m Ty,” says Dad #1 with a radio-smooth voice. He towers over his stumpy husband. Oh what I could do with this blond-haired, blue-eyed gabe (that’s what Roan calls a gay babe and I’ve culturally appropriated it). I immediately rename him Wonder Boy. Like, I wonder if he ever had an awkward stage. I wonder how Daniel snagged him. I wonder if he would let me feel his broad shoulders. I wonder, yet again, why the best-looking men in San Francisco are gay. If this guy were straight we’d make a fabulous salt-and-pepper set. God, I can’t wait for the admissions visit dates, when I get to take Polaroids of the families for their files. I want to pin Ty up on the “Admission’s Hall of Fame” bulletin board that hangs inside my office storage closet. I’ll just cut out Dad #2 and their offspring.
“It’s really quite nice to meet you.” I put my hand out to shake with Wonder Boy. His grip is firm and oozes confidence and safety. I internally shudder at my overemphasis on really. Luckily I’m black, because beneath this ebony I’m blushing red velvet. His name already lost to my memory, I turn and smile again at Dad #2 as some sort of consolation prize. I’m sure he’s used to playing backup in this duo.
“What’s your rising kindergartener’s name?” I eke out, thrown off by Wonder Boy and his superhero bod. Roan shakes his head in disgust and leaves the conference room to greet other parents walking up the stairs. I need to steady my footing and reclaim my game.
“We have a daughter, Gracie,” Dad #2 says awkwardly, patting Ty on the shoulder and then quickly recoiling. Boom! There it is. The chink in the perfect family chain. Thirteen years in admissions and I can pick up on it with the first physical touch I spy between parents. It’s the weak smile, the lack of eye contact, the crossed arms. The dead giveaway: awkward affection.
Daniel, that’s Dad #2’s name, I remember now. I’m back from my momentary swoon. I know this story like the Aesop’s fables Aunt Viv recited to me every night as a child. Daniel desperately wants Gracie to go to private school; Wonder Boy does not. Wonder Boy went to public school and it did him just fine (which I can’t argue with, look at him); so if public school was good enough for him it will be good enough for his daughter. Daniel, however, wants this for Gracie. He wants more than what he had. The fine AND industrial arts; the four-year coding AND robotics program; the choice to take Mandarin, Arabic, Latin, or Spanish; the Pembrook Aquatics Center; AND the seventh-grade service trip to Nicaragua. Daniel wants to be a Fairchild family. Ty does not.