Andrea took another big swig of her coffee. “I run this blog/support group thing. For people transitioning.” Again, she gestured to herself, shrugging. “Or anyone dealing with micro-aggressions, actually. It’s not limited to just one group of people.”

Lauren looked intrigued. “Does mom-shaming about how I should love breastfeeding even though my nipples still feel like they’re going to fall off count as a micro-aggression?”

“Absolutely. You’re welcome to chat anytime.”

Lauren smiled. Then Ronnie raised her cup. “Well, cheers! Nice to meet some normal people.”

They toasted and smiled at one another. From across the room, they noticed Carson, the assistant, looking their way. “Think he knows what we’re drinking?” Lauren whispered, stifling a giggle.

“Maybe he needs some,” Andrea said. “The kid needs to lighten up.”

Then Piper clapped her hands. “Everyone? Can we gather around?” She stood in front of the loft’s massive stone fireplace. Everyone dutifully quieted down and turned to her.

“I just want to say, welcome—or welcome back—to Silver Swans Academy.” Piper’s voice was honeyed and regal. “I’m glad we’re all back on track and here together.” She laced her hands together like she was doing a cat’s cradle. “For those of you who are new, I want to give you our origin story. Our birth story, if you will. Though don’t worry, it doesn’t involve eating the placenta.”

A few men chuckled uncomfortably.

“So. Once upon a time, I had recently moved to Raisin Beach after a very difficult relationship. And I was walking with my son down this very block, and I passed this very building.” Piper waved her arms about the space. “Back then, it was called Glory Be Nursery School. Maybe some of you knew it?”

Most faces were blank. Five years ago, when Piper had started as director, was a long time in the parent world. Most of those who had preschool children at Glory Be were long gone. And even though many parents had grown up in this town, it wasn’t like they kept tabs on the preschools until it was a necessity to do so.

“And it . . . well, it was beautiful . . . but it needed TLC. And I just felt . . . called. I wanted to teach, but I didn’t want to teach just anywhere. I wanted to make a difference. I thought about working where my son went to school—he was in elementary school by then—but I thought, Oh, North, he’ll be okay. But I remembered him as a younger child. He wasn’t fine then—the separation from his father was hard on him. And I thought, That’s the age group that needs me. Such formative years, you know? So much can go wrong.”