“Are you sure about hiring him, given his history?” Evan repeats aloud a conversation we’ve had so many times over the last few weeks online, shooting a glare in one of the boys’ directions. The boy scowls back. They match—nearly identically—save for the lack of facial hair on the younger Waters and the lack of a facial piercing in favor of nautical-themed knuckle tattoos on the elder of the two.
That particular boy must be Colton Waters, I realize, finally putting two-and-two together. The other must be Nikolas Petropolous.
Then, my embarrassment gives way to a feeling of annoyance. Annoyance, because the communication I’ve had with Evan Waters, so far, has been—I don’t know—problematic, I guess.
In the weeks leading up to today, I’ve received numerous emails from other parents who are, naturally, inquisitive about the program and what the job entails. This wasn’t the case with Evan, however. While he did ask about CHW, his initial emails almost sounded like an advertisement about all his son’s ‘red flags’ and whether or not I ‘could handle having a kid like him’ working here. It didn’t sit well with me, that he felt his son needed to come with a warning label.
It actually made me want to hire Colton more, if I’m being honest, and that’s saying a lot, given my initial reservations about hiring kids his age.
It seemed to me like Colton himself could benefit from a summer here. So, I went in with an open mind and extended an offer to bothColton and his friend, Nikolas. From what I understand, Colton has been struggling with staying out of legal trouble. From the emails, I gather that Evan is struggling too—struggling with how to connect with his son—but I know what a man who’s too prideful to admit when he needs help looks like—and the man standing in front of me now sounded an awful lot like the poster child—er, posterman?—for that.
Evan here looks like the exact definition of a man’s man, the type I expected to see from his tone in the emails. I’d bet he’s like 92% toxic masculinity, the type that doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, becausehe’s the man and he’s right. The other 8% probably knows he’s hot as asphalt on a scorching summer's day, and can get any woman he even winks at—and yes, let’s face it, he’sunfortunatelystraight.
He’s not even registering as a blip on my gaydar right now.
Not that it matters, because he’s only here to drop off his son. And I’m not here to pick up a date, nor am I interested in trying to convince someone to take a deep dive into their sexuality.Ain’t nobody got time for that.I know what the rumors are about Camp Healing Waters—that because Kai and I are both gay, we must run a queer camp—and I don’t need to add more fuel to the fire.
Mental sigh. I know I shouldn’t be judgmental and assume things. Ma did always warn me not to judge a book by its cover, but I’ve been known to pick up a novel or two just based on the ripped abs and bitten lower lips I see on the cover model. It’s human nature. Besides, I can’t be wrong; I’ve always prided myself on being a decent judge of character.
I offer Colton a warm smile. “Of course, I’m sure I want him working here. Sometimes, all we need is a chance to be understood, right?”
I don’t even look at Evan to see if the barb sticks, the triumphant smile that morphs on his teenager’s formerly scowling face is enough of a victory for me as well.
The two boys heft a couple of totes of clothing and gear out of the bed of Evan’s truck and wait for instruction. Just then, I hear giggling behind me. Morgan and Aspyn are trudging up the hill, laughing about something that had been carved into the wall of their cabin that I didn’t catch, by the sounds of it.
Colton’s expression changes again, once he lays eyes on Morgs, and I realize that hiring a bunch of teenagers might be problematic after all. I may be thirty-two now, but I was once a teenager… I recognize that look. I have way too much on my plate already, without having to worry about keeping things purely platonic between hormonal teens.
The look she’s giving him right back isn’t doing anything to subdue my unease either.
“Dad,” Morgan huffs, finally peeling her eyes off Colton, “did we ever have anyone here named Stacy?”
My brows furrow. “I don’t think so…”
“Well, her mom’s got it going on, apparently,” Aspyn giggles. “We’re going to get some sandpaper and scrape it off.”
I roll my eyes, and before they can break into song and scamper off, I ask if they can show Colton and Nikolas to their cabin. They requested to be buddied up together.
Today is going to be a low-key meet and greet day. Tomorrow, the work begins: cleaning out the campers’ cabins, getting the kayaks, canoes, and paddle boards out of storage, setting swim buoys out, and prepping activities for the first round of campers to come early next week. Basically, I’m delegating work to them that I should have gotten done long before now, but here we are. Now we’re down to one long weekend to get everything done, yikes.
I watch the four of them descend the hill, Morgan chattering their ears off already, and spin to catch Evan giving me another appraising sweep of his gaze. I pluck at my shirt. “Sorry about, ya know, this,” I apologize, gesturing at my car. “Was up all night with a couple of giggling teenagers, and then this thing decided turning over wasn’t a thing it wanted to do anymore, so yeah… lost track of time.”
Evan looks over his shoulder to my rust bucket and it’s popped hood. “S’not starting?” he asks, taking in my appearance once more and shaking his head.
Yeah, I know. I look dreadful. Thanks for the subtle reminder.
I shake my head. “And despite the many troubleshooting videos I’ve watched, I can’t determine if it’s the battery or the alternator. Not a graduate of the YouTube Academy of Mechanics yet, I guess.”
He snorts. “Wouldn’t recommend turning to YouTube to try to save a buck.”
“Yeah, well, I really have no choice. I’ve had it since I was eighteen. First and only car I’ve ever bought right off the lot. I know I’m probably due for something newer, but…” I trail off shrugging, like it needed some sort of explanation. “Up until this morning, it was still driving, so why add another bill? You’re raising a teenager; you know what those grocery bills alone are like. Yikes, right?” I chuckle nervously.
His lips thin and tip up marginally into a slight grin, and he nods but still doesn’t say anything.
“I promise you that smell isn’t me, by the way. I’m pretty sure it’s Morgan’s softball cleats. I think the odor is practically branded into the upholstery by now. Well, you must know. You told me in your emails that Colton plays football. I’ve heard the horror stories. I will keep your washing machine—and your olfactories—in my thoughts and prayers.”
His response is just standing there, blinking at me. His lips twitch again though, so I know he heard me. I feel myself shrinking back under the oppressiveness of his silence and the weight of his appraising gaze on me. First impressions can tell you a lot about a person, and his first impression of me must be that I’m a complete trainwreck.
Ugh, I am such a fool. Why the heck am I babbling to a complete stranger?
