“Aidan—” my mom starts, but I cut her off.
“Not now, Mom.”
“But Aidan,” she tries again.
“I mean it, Mom. I don’t want to start.”
The line goes quiet. Glancing down at my phone, I see that she’s still on the line. I feel guilty for talking to her like that. Sometimes it’s hard to keep deep-seated irritation down in the depths.
“I’m almost to work. I’ll ask Natalie if she can make it up for Thanksgiving.”
“And the weekend,” my mom adds. “You should both stay the weekend if you’re going to come up.”
“And the weekend,” I echo.
“I love you, Aidan.”
“I love you too,” I say, hanging up.
A voice comes from behind. “Mr. Costa, was that your girlfriend?”
I start to turn, but Katy Simmons falls into step with me. If we weren’t fifty feet from the entrance to the school, I’d make an excuse to hang back and let her walk in on her own. As a young, single male teacher, everything I do around the female students is under scrutiny. I get why, but it still sucks.
Looking down at Katy, I say, “Anyone ever told you it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?”
She rolls her eyesandher head, a feat only a teenager is capable of. “You’re the one having a conversation with your girlfriend in public. It’s not my fault I have working ears.”
I nod and tuck my hands in my pockets. I’ve learned it’s better not to answer my students’ questions about my personal life. Keeps things cleaner that way. Katy spots a group of her friends and hurries after them. Briefly I consider reminding her that she better not be late to first period but decide against it. Natural consequences, and all that jazz. I make my way to the teacher’s lounge to refill my thermos, then on to my classroom. Natalie’s text comes through just as the first bell rings.
Someone sent me a message.
I type out a quick response.Text? Email? Hedwig?
Natalie: From the dating app. Where’s the annoyed best friend emoji? Love the Harry Potter reference.
My classroom door opens and three boys walk in as I finish typing out my text.The annoyed best friend emoji can be found to the left of the whale and above the cactus.
Looking up, I say, “Hey guys, good morning.” My greeting is met with grumbles and bleary eyes.
Natalie: Very funny. I’m freaking out. What do I say?
I have about ten more seconds to devote to Natalie’s non-crisis, and then I need to put my phone in my desk. Quickly, I tell her to act normal and do not mention her recent divorce.
Katy scoots in just as the last bell rings. She smirks and says, “Bet you thought I was going to be late.” Shaking my head, I set my phone in my desk and tell my students to get out their textbooks. They groan, like always, and like always, this baffles me. They know what’s coming. Every day we go through the lesson, they come to the board, and I assign homework. Why bother complaining when they know exactly what’s going to happen?
* * *
“What doyou do for exercise? You seem so fit.” Her voice travels across the table at the same time as her hand. Her fingers graze the top of my hand and linger, curling over my skin with a feather-light touch.
“I run, mostly, and use an app.” I know Allison doesn’t really care about my response.
Leaning forward across the small table, I ask, “What do you do for exercise?”
Allison smiles, sex dripping from the slightly upturned corners of her mouth. “Oh, this and that,” she says, in a voice meant to take me to wherever it is she doesthis and that.
“Interesting,” I say, finishing my scotch. “I’ve never heard of that type of exercise.
Allison’s fingers slip from my hand and up my forearm. Licking her lips, she says, “I could show you.”
