“Hi, Raphael,” she said. “I’m Alice. Can I see your car?”
The boy didn’t move, but his parents did. Alice watched in slow motion as the Joffeys turned their heads toward the sound of her voice.
Hannah was beautiful, of course. Alice had found her Instagram, and had already scrolled through enough pages to have seen her from many different flattering angles. She wasn’t what Alice had expected, which of course made it worse. Hannah had an interesting face—a large nose, slightly off-center, as if maybe she’d broken it once, and eyes wide-set enough to imagine that she’d been teased as a child. Her hair—dark brown, with gentle waves—hung to her waist. She did not smile.
“You must be Hannah,” Alice said, walking toward her with an outstretched hand. She found that she couldn’t actually look at Tommy, who was standing up to meet her. Alice was watching him out of the corner of her eye, just a shape and shadows, and her heart was beating fast. She shook Hannah’s skinny palm, feeling all her tiny bones, and then turned on her heels.
Raphael had scooted around and was hiding behind his father’s legs. Tommy had one hand on the boy’s head, and the other flat against his stomach. Alice put out her hand, but Tommy raised his arm and tipped his head to one side, inviting her in for a hug. Alice closed her eyes and stepped into his body, her face grazing his shoulder. Her mouth was near enough his cheek to kiss it, but she didn’t.
“Good to see you,” Tommy said. She was finally looking right at him.
There was nothing doughy, nothing soft. His hair was still curly, still dark, though there were threads of silver at his temples. Alice didn’t know if she still loved him, somewhere deep inside her body, or if it was only that she remembered him, which felt the same, a tug at her core. Tommy smiled.
“So, Raphael, are you ready to come and play with me? Or should we go talk with your parents first, and then we can play after?” Alice had worn her best necklace—a gift from Melinda. It was extra-tiny matchbox cars and toy airplanes, all dangling like a charm bracelet. She bent down to show it to the boy. He reached for the necklace with one hand and gently put the other one on Alice’s forearm. She looked up at Tommy and winked. If the boy got in, then the power balance would shift, and she would just be someone he went to school with who for some reason had stayed locked into this one place, someone who was stuck in high school forever, but right now, Alice was fully in charge, and it felt good.
11
Emily loved the story about the restaurant. She loved that Alice had said no. Emily still wanted to make everyone happy, and her breakups were always drawn-out, tear-soaked misery cakes with a smattering of sidewalk arguments sprinkled on top.
“I just think it’s, like, the most badass thing I’ve ever heard.” They were outside smoking. “And I cannot believe how hot that guy you went to school with is. What’s his story, anyway?”
The information had come piecemeal, teased out as it was through conversations with and about a five-year-old. They had just moved back to New York from Los Angeles, where Hannah was from. Rafe—that’s what they called the boy—had allergies, severe ones, and they were seeing a doctor in New York, the best doctor in the field. They hadn’t moved back to be near Tommy’s parents, but the Joffeys owned a small apartment in the building, and so it’s where they were. Hannah made jewelry and short films. Tommy said he was a philanthropist and when he did, Hannah had touched his leg, her hand gently stroking his thigh.
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Emily asked, flicking her cigarette.
“I have no idea,” Alice said. “Last I heard, he went to law school.”
* * *
? ? ?
When they got back to their office, Melinda was waiting for them.
“Are we grounded?” Emily asked. She popped a mint in her mouth. It was nearly five o’clock, and everyone except the security guard and the middle school volleyball team had gone home.
Melinda shook her head. “Sit.” They sat. Emily and Alice looked at her expectantly, like musicians waiting for their conductor’s baton.
“I’m retiring. At the end of the semester.” She’d been talking about it for years—an empty threat most often leveled just before the holidays, or in the spring, when angry parents began to complain that their perfect, special child had not been accepted. “It’s time.”
“Melinda!” Alice said. She looked around to make sure no one else was in the suite of offices. “Did they fire you? Those assholes! This is ageism. Sexism? Probably both!”
Melinda clucked her tongue. “No, no, my dear. It was my choice. I was going to do it last year, and the year before, and the year before, but the timing was never quite right.” Everything about her was soothing. Children came to the office just to say hello to her and to hug her. On Emily’s and Alice’s birthdays, Melinda would produce over-the-top treats from the bakery around the corner and thoughtful handwritten cards that would invariably make them cry.
“I don’t want you to go,” Alice said.
“I’m seventy,” Melinda said. “It’ll be fine.”
“Well,” Emily said, “number one, sad, and number two, does this mean that Alice is the boss now?” She raised her thumbs.
Alice blushed, surprised. “Oh, I hadn’t even thought about that.” It would be a good balance to breaking up with Matt, a bigger job. She felt a chill run through her when she thought that she might soon have more hours to fill, if she wasn’t going up to the hospital anymore. That was what people did with grief, wasn’t it? Poured themselves into work? She could imagine it more than she could imagine learning how to knit, or downloading a meditation app and really sticking with it.
Melinda cleared her throat. “That would be wonderful, but no. The school is bringing over the head of admissions from Spencer Prep.” She paused, considering how much to say. “I believe they are looking to go in a different direction with their goals.” Emily turned her thumbs toward the ground. Melinda patted her knee.
“Oh,” Alice said. “Of course.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Emily said. “Excuse my French, Melinda.”
“Oh, girls, stop that,” Melinda said. “Let’s not be dramatic. I’ve met the woman they’re hiring. She’s very smart, very sharp.” None of this was reassuring, and she knew it.
If someone had asked her, Alice wouldn’t have said that she hoped to take over Melinda’s job someday. Melinda was irreplaceable, a singular force, and what qualifications did Alice even have? Belvedere had sent her to some administration courses, but she didn’t have a master’s degree. She hadn’t thought about doing the same job at a different school. What did she know about those people, about those kids? The idea of some Professional Person coming over from Spencer Prep felt all kinds of wrong, as if the job—selecting kids, building classes, forming the community—were a business decision. Alice was so used to Melinda, to doing everything as it had always been done, that she couldn’t actually imagine sitting in the office with someone else at the helm. Emily would be fine, she was still young. She would leave soon, to go to graduate school for something or other. Most people did.