They come into the rooms, tentative the first few times. Mostly, they’re mothers who can’t let go of their kids just yet, yet know they need to. So they come help, continuing to wipe noses and protect from germs. She is grateful for the help, dreads the interference in the work she has to do.
So when he comes in, she is surprised almost to discomfort. Men don’t volunteer, they go off to work. They don’t take an interest, the rest of the world is supposed to be interested. This one is different. He helps. Makes meaningful eye contact at meaningful times. Doesn’t get in the way, or if he does she doesn’t mind as much. Pushes in chairs without being asked.
He comes in every other Tuesday and she begins to miss him between. And each time she does, the guilt grows smaller, the discontent greater. In response, she mixes up the colors her own white board pens.
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