“I’ll really miss all of my students,” I reply, and it’s true.
“Well, they will surely miss you as well.” She pats my shoulder and then calls for Josie. “We’ll see you next week,” she says and turns to leave. Josie attempts to wave over her shoulder while balancing a stack of books a foot high piled in her hands.
I watch them leave, the first pulse of sadness coursing through me since hearing I won’t be returning to Jefferson. I’ve been anxious of course, nervous even about where to go from here, but until now, no part of me was truly sad to be leaving the classroom.
It was only when Mrs. Wilder assured me that my students, the ones who it is all about, will feel my absence, did I realize that part of me is sad to see some of it go. Not necessarily the planning and the grading or the emails and meetings, but I’ll miss the students who looked forward to my class, who bought into my lessons, and who were eager to learn. I’ll miss the ones like Josie.
I spy the vending machine on my way to the exit and I’m suddenly hit with the overwhelming need for brown sugar stuffed in a crumbly puffed pastry — an emotional support PopTart. I grab a dollar bill from my wallet and flatten it against the side of the machine. I’m on my third attempt at getting the thing to take my money when two strong hands come from behind me and slide into the front pockets of my shorts.
I know from the smell alone that it’s Jay, besides the fact that I can see his reflection in the glass. Just for fun, I say the first name that comes to mind.
“Oh, Mark, I’m soglad you’re here.” I rest my head back onto his chest at the same time that I question why Mark’s name was the first to appear in my mind. Jay pulls me closer to him, his hands still in my pocket. Leaning over me, he puts his mouth dangerously close to my ear.
“Try again.”
My whole body tenses at his words, and I’m now craving way more than a PopTart to ease the gloom in my chest and the heat further south.
I spin around, tearing his hands from my shorts, and make a point of putting my money back in my bag just to create some space between us. I tutor here almost every day and the last thing I need is for a parent or student to see me practically panting over this man.
“Who the hell is Mark?” Jay shoves his now free hands in his own pockets and leans in closer.
“Oh, you know, just one of my many prospects…” I say and Jay folds his arms across his chest. Unable to even play along with this storyline, I add, “I’m kidding. Mark is nobody.” I pull a piece of my hair from his black v-neck. “And he’s especially not you.” Looking up at him, he smiles, his hazel eyes squinting slightly, but his arms falling to his side.
“Good,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I thought we could get lunch.”
I look back at the vending machine, the brown sugar PopTart taunting me from behind the glass.
“Well, that’s what I was trying to do,” I mumble more to the PopTart than to Jay. “But lunch sounds great.”
He eyes the machine behind me curiously and then nods to the door.
“This was a nice surprise.” We step onto the street, the sun sitting at a perfect high noon.
I look for my car, forgetting I parked down the next block because my session fell right before story time, and therefore, there was not a spot in sight within stroller-distance of the front entrance. Luckily, that let out fifteen minutes before my session ended, and it seems Jay was able to park right in front.
“I was just leaving Sean’s, and I thought I’d try to see you. I’ll drive.” He points to his truck, opening the door for me when we get there.
“How’s Sean?” I haven’t seen him since the incident, but I did see Maddie and her new man walking into Busy’s on my way here.
“He says he’s fine.” Jay starts the engine andIrisplays from the radio. “I did see the present he got Maddie on the counter though so he must have snuck that off the gift table before he drank himself into oblivion the other night.”
“No, not the earrings!” Jay told me about the gift and as a woman I can say, I was both shocked and impressed.
Jay nods, his lips pressed together. For someone who constantly talks about not getting attached to people or having no one in his life, he sure seems to have a soft spot for Sean and his rejection. I grab his hand that’s resting on the gear shift.
Gestures like this have gotten easier, and more frequent, since this weekend. We both seem to feel less unsure about touching or showing signs of affection, me more so than him, but it does lead me to wonder whatweare.
“So. where to?” I ask.
“I thought we’d go somewhere different,” he says and leaves it at that. He turns up the radio and the Goo Goo Dolls sing out about wanting just thatoneperson to know who you really are.
We pull into a parking lot about thirty minutes later. The building in front of us looks vintage. Like an old trailer covered in stainless steel panels and a green awning. The simple, bold sign reads,P.J. Diner.
“What is this place?” I look around, pretty sure Jay’s Chevy turned into a time machine somewhere between the library and now.
He chuckles and points to the sign. “This is the best foodoutof town.”
I’m a little skeptical of consuming food from here, just going off of how old the building looks, but all of that changes the second we step inside. We walk through the glass doors, a bell ringing overhead, and are hit with an oddly erotic combination of mashed potatoes and some sort of apple streusel. It’s the type of place where right at the front is a window display of desserts and pastries that were made fresh that morning. Everything from Boston creme pie to sticky buns, to fruit tarts made from whatever is seasonal. The type of place where you still bring your order slip to the register to pay, and they only take cash. The type of place where single metal stools line a breakfast bar, ripped vinyl stretched over the seats left open for regulars and solo diners. That’s where Jay leads me.
