Yeah, not being petty at all.
“You are not going to kill him,” I say, putting my gloved hands in front of the heater. “It was my idea to break up.”
To be fair, I was kind of forced into it, but I leave that part out. I really don’t want to ruin their friendship.
Devon grunts.
“Enzo was a perfect gentleman. There wasn’t any big fight or anything. He just . . .” I try to find words for what happened, but it’s hard to do that around the big lump that has formed in my chest. I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing. How his day was. I’ve gotten used to talking to him, if not seeing him, every night.
“He works too much,” Devon guesses. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. “And he lives in New York, while you’re out here.”
But he’s still angry.
I look at Devon’s profile. My big brother, always protective.
“Please don’t be mad at him, Dev. Enzo didn’t do anything wrong. Seriously.”
It would probably be easier if there had been some big blowup. If one of us had stopped caring. Instead, he just picked Angel, Inc. over me. It’s that simple.
“Except date you in the first place. A person would have to be blind not to have seen this coming.”
That stings.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean you.”
He turns the corner, snow dotting every surface from a dusting earlier in the day.
“I knew this would happen, though.”
Yep, I’m starting to regret coming out.
“I guess I was naive to think he could build an empire and carry on a long-distance relationship. But what do I know about billion-dollar businesses? I’m just a small-town schoolteacher.”
So much for not being a bitter Betty.
“Char, don’t.”
I can’t help it. I’ve felt out of my league since the beginning. Because I was out of my league. Maybe Devon’s right—maybe this was inevitable.
I bite my cheeks as they start to tingle. If I cry in front of my brother, he’ll go on a the warpath.
“You are not just a small-town schoolteacher. You are an amazing woman who cares more about her students than anyone I know. You’re the one who’s always talking about the third grade benchmark. How it’s your job to make sure your kids can all read as they should so none of them fall through the cracks.”
My chest rises and falls as I listen, unable to answer.
“Maybe if he’d had a teacher like you . . .”
Devon closes his mouth like a crocodile feasting on a fresh fish. He clearly regrets the words, but it’s way too late for him to take them back now.
“What are you talking about?”
We pull onto Mike’s street.
“Nothing. Forget it.” He pulls out his phone to text his friend. When Devon looks up, he finds himself staring down at my best tell me right now look.
“You can’t say something like that and then take it back.”
Apparently he can, and he will.
So I pull out the big guns.
“I’ll tell Mom you have a girlfriend.”
Devon whips his head toward me.
“How do you—”
It’s my first smile of the week. There’ve been clues, but my brother just confirmed it. My guess is Colleen.
“I can hear her questions now. ‘Where did you meet? Why didn’t you tell me? When are you bringing her to dinner?’”
“Char.” I don’t heed the warning in his tone.
“Maybe I’ll call Mom up now before her movie . . .”
“You are such a pain in the ass.”
“And you need to spill whatever you were going to say. Now,” I press, seeing the lights flicker off in Mike’s house.
“If you tell him . . .”
“I assume you mean Enzo? The man I am no longer dating?”
Saying it aloud sucks.
“He doesn’t tell people. I’m serious, Chari.”
Normally, I wouldn’t press my brother to break a confidence. But he’s the one who offered it up. And I’m way too curious to let this go now.
Mike’s front door opens.
“Enzo . . .” He hesitates. “. . . couldn’t read.”
I sit up in the seat and turn the music down.
“He got to fifth grade somehow before they figured out he had dyslexia. His mom went on a tear trying to figure out how to help him. She finally convinced the school to get some special program . . .”
I was barely listening.
Enzo? How is that possible? He went to an Ivy League school, for God’s sake.
“I’m not sure who worked harder to help him at that point, Enzo himself or his mom. I just remember they had to get a lawyer. It wasn’t pretty.”
Having dealt with the system for the last several years, I completely get it. Well-meaning teachers (myself included) are still fighting the good fight to help the kids who need it. To get money diverted from new gyms or sports equipment for the expensive research-based programs that might help kids like Enzo learn to read more quickly. The exact program Devon’s talking about.
“Don’t mention it to him,” Devon pleads as Mike opens the back door. “I could tell you a few horror stories, but I won’t. All I’m going to say is that I think it’s part of the reason he pushes so hard.”
“Hey, Atwoods,” Mike says. “Ready for a night on the town?”
I turn to greet him, trying really hard not to look as if my heart wasn’t torn out twice this week. Once when Enzo decided not to make room for me in his life, ad again upon learning that the man I know, the paragon of confidence, was once a fourth- or fifth-grade kid who pretended he could read because he thought he had to. Who feared being called on by the teacher. Whose parents were shuttled from one conference to another to be told about how he was struggling with the curriculum. As if everyone involved didn’t already know that.
I know that kid, because I see him or her every year. I lie awake at night wondering if, despite my best efforts, that kid has left my class without the skills needed to progress to the next grade even though I did my very best to help close the gap.
I know that kid because I was just dating him.
I just didn’t realize it . . .
39
Enzo
“Ada?”
Hayden is as surprised to see her as I am. She never comes to Wednesday dinner.
“I didn’t know if I’d catch you.”
I stand, reaching her before Hayden does. As I kiss her on the cheek, I realize it’s been much too long since I last saw Hayden’s family. I tell her so.
Hayden looks at her the same way he always does, his expression full of as much reverence as love. She saved him. I may have helped set the course for Hayden to be the man he is today, out from the shadow of his father’s expectations, but Ada provided the sail. And the wind. And my friend knows it.
“Come sit. We were just finishing.” He turns to look for a seat.
“No, that’s OK, you guys finish up. I know you don’t check your phone during Wednesday-night dinner, but I figured it would be nice if I picked you up so we can send Henry home.”
Henry is their driver.