Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
The man is a snack. Scratch that, he’s the whole damn meal.
I find myself returning to the question of his love life. How the hell is he still single? Mom said he had a bad breakup with his ex-wife. Maybe he’s still scarred from his previous relationship. Or maybe he only wants to screw around with all the women lining up for him.
I’d line up too, if I weren’t his nanny.
I pad out to my little kitchen and pour myself a giant glass of water. Then I sit at the table and open my laptop. I take one look at my paper, and I immediately decide to study for my exam instead.
I open a Google doc of notes from my most recent class. Pages and pages and pages. I take great notes. If only I could absorb any of the material I took those notes on, or make myself care more.
I shove my hands into my hair and rest my elbows on the table. I know I’m frustrated because I tried teaching—you know, only the thing I’m going to school for—and hated it. The kids were cute and most were wonderful to have in class. But some were definitely tougher to connect with. A couple were downright violent, leaving me with bruises and a cut on my cheek.
The days were long. And the parents? God, they could be awful. The administration did what it could to support us teachers, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There wasn’t enough of anything to go around—time, money, patience. Space. Our classroom was a trailer in a parking lot off the cafeteria. The air conditioning didn’t work half the time, and the roof leaked when it rained.
It was exhausting and under-appreciated work that paid like shit, and I knew less than a week in that I didn’t want to do it forever.
But becoming a teacher was always my plan. The only plan. Mom has always pushed for me to end up in education. It’s what she would’ve done if she went to college.
If I don’t teach, then what?
I do what I always do when I, well, don’t know what the hell to do.
I FaceTime my parents.
Dad picks up on the first ring. “Number one!” he says, smiling into the camera.
I grin. It’s an old joke: I’m my parents’ firstborn, yes, but there are no numbers after me as I’m an only child.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Aw, honey, you sound tired.” Mom’s face appears beside Dad’s. “Everything okay?”
“Things are great. With Tuck and Katie, at least. Mom, they’re great. Well, Tuck’s a little broody—”
“His mama did say he takes a bit to warm up. I know he looks intimidating, but apparently he’s just a sweet cinnamon roll on the inside.”
“A cinnamon roll?” I laugh. “Maybe with his daughter. They’re adorable together.”
Dad frowns. “He not treating you right?”
“He’s been treating me just fine. He helped me unpack and then made us all dinner. It was nice.”
“Then why do you sound so down?” Mom asks.
“I don’t know. I have an exam on Friday and I’m really struggling with the material for class.” My throat tightens. “This semester just started, but it’s already been much harder than I anticipated.”
Mom tilts her head. “Did you reach out to your professor?”
“I did. She’s been great. It’s just . . .” I think I’m on the wrong path and I have no idea what to do with my life.
No big deal.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Mom says. “Maybe you’re just tired. What if you went to bed and then got up nice and early to study?”
My throat tightens. “I could try that, yeah.”
“You’ve crushed every class you’ve ever taken,” Dad says. “You’ll crush this one too. You’re getting your master’s degree, for goodness sake!” He laughs, looking at Mom. “Our daughter and her three degrees. Wild.”
“Two,” I correct. “I will have two degrees.”
“Two degrees, if you keep your eyes on the prize.” Mom smiles proudly. “You can do it, honey.”
The ache in my throat hurts so badly it’s making my head throb.
I understand why my parents are obsessed with me getting all this education. Dad has his bachelor’s, but Mom never went to college. She had me young—my parents’ wedding was a bit of a shotgun situation—and while she’s never, ever made me feel like a burden for showing up so early in her life, she’s made it clear she wants something different for me.
And I get it. I appreciate it too. An education like mine means I’ll have security and opportunities Mom never did. But sometimes I wonder whose dream I’m really making come true.
Then again, I have no idea what I’d be doing if I weren’t getting my master’s. I just . . . there’s already so much pressure to decide where I want my life to go. I think about my future all the time. But the more I think, the more frustrated I become.