Page 93 of The Perfect Rom-Com

I can’t believe her there. I’m shaking my head. “See, I just can’t believe that. If you think that way, you lose. You lose before you give it your all and really try—”

“Gran made the announcement.” Gloria presses her lips together. Eyes me solemnly. “She made the announcement last week while you were gone. She said she didn’t think it right to wait any longer when everyone could start trying to get new employment plans going.”

“But . . . but they’re still not closing until January.”

“October.”

“October now?” I say with a sinking heart. “October?”

“It was the best she could do, she said. The building owner said he can’t let it for any longer than that. He said he could let them have it for a few more months, but that’s it.” Gloria pulls a face. Drops a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bryn. I told Gran not to tell you.”

“Why?”

“We talked and . . . she heard that you were back and . . . well, we agreed that it would be best to wait a little while. Recover from one blow before you get hit with another.”

“And if . . . and if all the teachers leave before then? If they find other jobs now?”

Gloria shrugs. “You know Gran. She told everyone to take care of their families. Themselves. She understands if anyone finds somewhere else they can go and goes there. Actually, she’s already started writing recommendation letters.”

“And if enough teachers go?”

“Then I guess The Bridge will have to shut down early.” She sees my blanched face and throws out a hand. “Or I don’t know. Knowing you, you’ll end up trying to one-room schoolhouse it and take all the students under your wing.”

An image of two hundred students stuffed inside one classroom, every level from the 1a, fresh-off-the-boat newbies, to the 5b, GED-prep students working on their essays, all listening to my words—some with zero comprehension, the others bored. I’d have to work overtime, triple, maybe quadruple on the lesson plans. I could do it.

I could make that work.

For the semester.

But then . . .

I shake my head with fresh determination. Return my attention to the email I’m almost ready to send to Florence.

Delete the final, fuzzy words and switch to a new plan. A simple question.

What luck! I’m in the city. Are you free this afternoon?

I press Send.

My hands are sweaty.

Heart racing even as I try to calm myself down.

This. Means. Nothing.

So what if Gran demonstrated her thoughtfulness by making sure all the staff got themselves as prepped as possible for the changes to come?

So what if the deadline for a miracle is now pretty much immediately instead of almost immediately.

So what if things have gone from almost impossible to exactly .00001 percent chance away from impossible?

There’s still time.

She can just . . . eat her words if my plan turns out.

That’s all.

And she’d be thrilled to do so at that.