Page 52 of Learn Your Lesson

But she sprinted around the table and threw herself into Chloe’s arms, instead.

“Great job,” Chloe whispered, and she hugged my daughter tight, her eyes shut, the widest smile on her face.

My chest nearly caved in on itself at the sight.

I couldn’t place the feeling — how I couldn’t quite breathe right, how my pulse was unsteady, my mouth dry and a strange sensation pricking my eyes.

I blinked it away when Chef delivered my dessert, muttering a thank you toward her.

But I felt a monumental shift in that seemingly tiny moment.

Something in this house had changed.

Something inAvahad changed.

And it was all because of a certain someone.

Warm-Up Humps

Chloe

My classroom was absolute chaos.

Between the little voices, the adult ones, and mykid-friendly, not annoyingplaylist — the noise level was roughly around the decibel level of the Tampa Bay arena during a hockey game or a Mia Love concert.

Desks and tables were pushed together with the tablecloths I’d purchased failing miserably at keeping sugar and sticky goo off the wood. We’d had three milk spills already and one box of a dozen donuts dropped on the carpet — which was the kind that held stains like my mother held grudges.

But it was the mostmagicalsort of chaos.

I felt like sunbeams were about to burst out of me as I looked around at it all, taking in the various groups of parents and children. It would be hell to wrangle these little humans once their fathers left, but right now, they were smiling brightly and chattering on and on about what they’d been learning in class.

Their tiny fingers pointed to various areas in the room — our counting posters that lined the top of the white board, the world map and globe that we’d been exploring, the cork board where I proudly displayed their best artwork.

They were so happy, so carefree, sothrilledjust to share this little bit of their world with their dads.

It was hardnotto feel your ovaries swelling when you saw something like that.

The dads wore various expressions. Though most of them smiled and asked questions and laughed when they had to clean their kids mouth after a powdered donut incident, some of them sighed and watched the clock and wrinkled their noses at the mess.

This was par for the course.

It was easy to see who’d been forced into coming, whether by their wives or someone else, and who actually wanted to be here.

I made my rounds, making sure I stopped to speak with every parent and paid special attention to the kids whom I could tell were a bit uncomfortable. They may have been five-year-olds, but they weren’t stupid. They could tell if their father wanted to be there or not.

One moment, my heart would be full, watching a dad hold his kid in his lap and snap a picture on his phone, or grab two donuts and hold them up to his eyes like glasses to make his child laugh, or reach for his little one’s hand and ask them for a tour of the classroom.

The next moment, my heart would be breaking, watching a dad and his son sit in complete silence, or a grandfather try to cheer up his granddaughter who was no doubt wondering why her father couldn’t make the time to come, or two kids sitting alone together, eating theirdonuts and pretending it didn’t bother them that no one had come to join them.

I flitted around the room with a smile I hoped could lift any spirit, refilling milk, juice, and water cups, and stopping long enough to chat with each parent and child individually. I made sure to spend extra time with the kids who needed it most, especially my two who hadn’t had anyone show up for them.

Fortunately, a couple of the great dads had noticed my loners and had taken it upon themselves to help. I mouthed athank youto Mr. Oster, who was currently holding the sticky hand of a kid who wasn’t his and asking about the rhyme wall.

I felt in my element as I drifted from table to table, answering questions for the dads who asked them, and making sure I had something positive to say about each kid, something to brag about. It was easy to do, since they all felt a little like my own. I knew so much about them now. I knew who was quiet and who was outgoing. I knew whose hand would shoot up quickly when I asked a question and who would dip their head shyly and wait for me to ask them what they thought. I knew who was a jokester and who took everything seriously. I knew who had the softest heart and who wore the toughest skin.

They weren’t my babies, but in so many ways, they were.

As I walked around that room handing out hugs and smiles, I swore I felt a pair of steely eyes following me every step of the way.