“Check your e-mail. The Smilowitzes had to back out of the New York field trip. It’s an appeal from the Student Activity Office—chaperones needed or the trip is off.”
Well, there went the possible even number at my mother’s table. “You’d want to drive a busload of kids to New York and make sure they don’t wander off and buy drugs and stay up all night so that the hotel security knocks on your door at two a.m.?”
“Very bad attitude. It could be fun.” He read aloud as he typed his reply, “Alison—can I have the names of the kids who are going? Thank you, Nick Franconi, responsible adult, Office of Development.”
I said, “If you’re serious . . . good luck.”
“I don’t think you heard me. The Smilowitzes had to back out. Smilowitzes, plural. They need two subs, male and female, due to the genders of the students who have signed up: girls and boys.”
I said, “Ask her for the itinerary. If it includes my tenth trip to the Museum of Natural History, I’m not interested.”
“It’s right here in the first SOS. Tickets already in hand for the Matisse cutouts. Orchestra seats for The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. A tour of the Tenement Museum. Wait. There’s more. Thanksgiving dinner in Harlem at a famous restaurant whose specialty is chicken and waffles and sweet-potato pie.”
I asked where these substitute chaperones would be staying.
“Not the five-star accommodations on Turpentine Lane in the style to which you’ve become accustomed, but perfectly adequate.”
“Such as?”
“A Holiday Inn.”
“But I can’t just run off. I have a heartbroken mother to think about.”
“I’ve spent a drunken evening with that mother of yours. I’d say she’s doing remarkably well with her heartbreak.”
I looked down at the note I was trying to write. “Miss?” I heard. “Focus, please. Can I tell Alison you’re in?”
“I suppose my mother could go to Aunt Elaine’s. And Joel wouldn’t care.”
“You could just announce it—off to New York over Thanksgiving, Ma, done deal—without asking her permission. Some adult daughters might consider that.”
“Message received.”
“Here it is: the list of kids.”
“Read me the names,” I said. He did. All seniors. No troublemakers, at least not notorious ones, including a boy whose debate prowess and straight A’s were topics of my semiannual notes to his scholarship benefactor.
“You’re going,” Nick said. “Watch me call Alison right now and tell her she has snagged two chaperones.”
“Are we paying for these tickets and meals and everything else?”
“Read the e-mail. It comes out of the student activities budget. Apparently it has to be used before the end of the year or it disappears.”
“It’s a huge responsibility.”
“Eight honor-roll kids, one van, two chaperones? It’s like an away game with the chess team.”
“You’d drive? Because I’ve never driven a van.”
“Is that a yes?” Nick asked.
“What if we have to share a room with a kid?”
“We won’t. And when was the last time you got out of Everton?”
“Feels like never,” I said.
Our three and a half days didn’t exactly fly by. We dealt with two roommate reassignments, one inhaler overnighted from Everton, one pink eye, and two days of rain. We imposed a midnight lights-out rule, at which time Nick and I repaired to the hotel’s drab bar for wine disguised as coffee in Styrofoam cups. We adopted the motto “Divide and conquer,” which meant occupying two tables, one adult per four kids at every meal, except for Thanksgiving dinner at a teeming Harlem restaurant, where all ten of us ate family-style. Noticing that neighboring tables were saying grace, one of our girls asked, “Shouldn’t we do that?”
“Sure,” said Nick. “Anyone?”
I closed my eyes, waiting for secular inspiration, since I only knew one blessing and it was in Hebrew.
The drama club president and frequent leading lady, Carlee, obliged. “Let us give thanks for the plants and animals who sacrificed themselves so that we can enjoy Thanksgiving dinner,” to which suspected admirer Rafe added, “In New! York! City! People!”
One by one, they spoke—some sounding prayerful, but the majority expressing gratitude for not having to set the table, clear the dishes, load the dishwasher, peel potatoes; for not having to starve all afternoon while the turkey was roasting; for getting to see the Macy’s parade in real life, even though it would’ve been awesome if one of the floats had, like, broken free and got caught on the Empire State Building!
“Inside voices, children!” one of them called out, earning laughter from the moms at the next table.
Nick said, “So far, so good, you guys. I think I can speak for Ms. Frankel, who had to be convinced that this wasn’t the worst idea I ever had, that we are not sorry we signed on for this. So thanks, and keep up the good work.”
“A-men,” I said. “And let’s not forget to thank the generous alumni who funded our trip.”
“Thank you, rich people, wherever you are! Keep it comin’!” said our heretofore quietest boy.
“Planting the seeds of stewardship,” said Nick, with a wink.
One wink across the table in my direction? Who would even notice that?
The girls started it as we left New York on the ride home. “You two married?” one of them called out from the giggling back row.
“No. That would be Mr. and Mrs. Smilowitz, the chaperones who had to drop out,” said Nick.
“You know we’re not married,” I said.
“You share an office, right?” Carlee asked.
Then the debater I knew via my thoughtful stewardship updates offered, “Yah. And it’s, like, microscopic.”
Nick said, “Not true. Nor am I appreciating the subtext of that inaccurate description.”
I said, “People! Let’s talk about the play. How many of you read the novel ahead of time?”
Silence. “Nada!” someone finally yelled.
I told them that I owned a copy and would be happy to loan it. Which is when I heard a whispered “They live together.”
“And you know that how?” I asked.