Dr. Daddy's Virgin

“I don’t think anyone learns anything from the past,” she shrugged. “I find it boring and useless.”

“Nina, I don’t know why you feel this way, but I’m worried about what will happen if you blow off this class and sink your GPA because of it,” I said earnestly, trying to get through to her. “You’ve got to bring your grades up so that you can apply for college and scholarships next spring. You’re too smart not to take advantage of every opportunity you have.”

“Says you,” she said, looking up at me. I could see that there was something bothering her, but I was wary of prying when she was obviously intent on maintaining her defenses.

“I’m not trying to guilt you into anything; I’m just saying that I want to see you achieve your goals, and I know that staying in Waltham is not one of them,” I said bluntly, pointing out the fact that living in town and working at one of the low-paying minimum wage jobs that were available for non-college graduates should not be her first choice.

“You live here,” she said accusingly.

“Yes, but that’s because I finished my degree and made a choice to pursue a career that brought me here,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive. “I didn’t let this town become my default setting.”

“That’s nice,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she crossed her arms over her chest and backed away. “It’s not like Waltham is a terrible place to live, you know.”

“I didn’t say that,” I said, watching her move further away. “I simply said that you are too smart not to have options, and I don’t want your low History grade to keep you from pursuing them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, as she walked out the open door into the hall. I watched her leave without saying anything. Sometimes it was best to say what I had to say and then leave the student to mull it over. I just hoped I’d said the right thing.

I went back out to finish up the bulletin board, and as I stapled papers to the wall, Ginny Baker came down the hall carrying an armful of art projects.

“Hey, Emily, how’s it going?” she chirped. Ginny was the art teacher, and she had a seemingly unending supply of holiday cheer. It might have been annoying had she not been such a kind and generous person.

“Eh, you know, ready for Christmas break,” I said, as I smoothed the corner of a paper and stapled it to the board. “What are your plans for the holiday?”

“I’m heading down to Ft. Lauderdale to visit my parents,” she smiled. “They’re in a retirement community down there that encourages families to visit during the holidays. We’re going to drive down and spend the vacation lounging by the pool and playing shuffleboard or whatever it is they do for fun down there.”

“Sounds relaxing, I think,” I laughed.

“What are you doing for the break?” Ginny asked.

“I’m going to spend the time in blessed silence!” I said, more forcefully than I’d intended. “No cooking, no family drama, and no crazy relatives!”

“Sounds kind of lonely to me,” Ginny said. “But then, what do I know? I’m the crazy one spending my break at a retirement home!”

“Not lonely at all, it’s a much-needed break from the noise and chaos of the school year,” I said. “I need a chance to recharge after this fall.”

“I hear you!” Ginny laughed, as she shifted the load in her arms. “I’ve got to get these down to the main office so they can make it into the display cabinet this afternoon. See you later?”

“Absolutely!” I said, more cheerfully than I felt, and

watched her march down the hall toward the office.

I finished up my task and headed home to feed Howard and cook dinner. When I arrived, the house was cold, and Howard was curled up in a ball in the center of the bed.

“Sorry, buddy,” I said, as I flipped on the space heater and set a fire in the fireplace. It wasn’t long before the small house began to feel warmer, and as I prepared a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, I thought about my conversation with Nina. I wasn’t sure what it would take to unlock her potential, but I knew I wasn’t anywhere near done trying.

My phone rang just as the pot of water began to bubble on the stove. I tossed in the noodles and answered the call.

“Emmy! How are you, darling?” my sister cooed. She knew I hated the nickname she’d given me when we were children, but still she insisted on using it. Becca was my older sister by two years. She was the go-getter, the achiever, the one who not only met, but exceeded, all familial expectations, and as a result, she’d developed a sense of self-worth that tended to be off-putting, to say the least.

“I’m good, Becks,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated. In my family, we were nothing if not experts at passive-aggressive retaliation. “What’s up?”

“Darling, I’m calling because Mom and Dad are asking whether you’re coming home for Christmas,” she said, as I pulled a spoon from the utensil drawer and stirred the spaghetti sauce. “I told them I’d call and find out what’s going on with your schedule and report back!”

“Um, I don’t think I’m going to make it home,” I said, as I lifted the spoon to my lips and tasted the sauce. I added a little salt and a pinch of dried basil to the thick red mixture and stirred as I listened to my sister lament my absence.

“But, Emmy, you didn’t come home last year, either!” she whined. “Are we ever going to see you again?”

“Yeah, of course, I just have a lot to do here, and I can’t get away,” I said, spinning the only excuse that I knew would work. “You know how it is with teaching. There’s always a meeting or some kind of extra preparation we have to do in order to maintain our licenses or to get ready for a new program.”