This Time Tomorrow(12)

“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.

When Alice had been fresh out of art school, working at Belvedere had seemed quirky and amusing, a punch line. Belvedere often hired recent graduates for low-level jobs, a gentle tide of nepotism that never seemed to cause much harm because people never stayed long. But Alice had stayed. She had stayed in New York, she had stayed in the same apartment, she had stayed at Belvedere.

It had always been one of her best qualities, she thought—steadiness. Reliability. The last time she’d gotten a promotion was when Emily was hired, four years ago. Before that, she’d been Melinda’s only assistant, and before that, she’d been moved around the school, temporary help for whatever hole needed to be patched. The time had passed quickly, five years, then ten, and so on. Now she’d worked at the school longer than she’d been a student, and some of her favorite colleagues had once been her teachers. For the first decade Alice had been on staff, she’d been a human Band-Aid: someone was on maternity leave; someone broke their leg and couldn’t get on the subway—and Alice was there, reliable and familiar. She had always been happy at Belvedere, as happy as one could be. Sometimes she felt like a doll that had been left behind, with too much obvious sentimental value to just throw away, but most of the time, yes, she was happy.

“You’ll like her, Alice,” Melinda said. “I think she’ll be a good mentor, actually. Better than me.” Melinda cocked her head to the side, and Alice saw that her eyes were teary. “I was always just making it up as I went along.” Alice and Emily both cried, and Melinda swung the tissue box from one to the other, always prepared.