That’s not what grabs my attention, though, not what hooks my gaze and won’t let go.
Inside the container is a sticky note with two words in bold letters.
GOOD BOY.
My skin flushes in a welcome way, my heart slowly accelerating. I shut down all the doubt, frustration, or any of the negative thoughts trying to fight me on doing this, and eat the lunch. When I finish, I fold the paper and put it in my briefcase before preparing for my meeting and then my final class of the day.
I think about the note too often—while driving home, while making dinner for Nash and Sadie, while checking over assignments.
“Do either of you have homework to do?” I ask the kids after dinner.
“I already did mine,” Sadie replies, while Nash ignores me.
“Okay. I can look over it if you need me to. Or if you ever need help, I’m here. I always loved school.”
Nash huffs out a sound of annoyance.
“I like it too,” Sadie says. “And thank you. We never had help before.”
I bite back the words I want to say—that that’s not how it’s supposed to be; that Sandra was a shitty mom who had no business having kids, and that there’s not a part of me thatisn’t glad she’s gone. But I can’t say that. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ve never been around children. This is all new to me, but I’m trying, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s school. We’ll figure it out.”
Sadie nods before going back to drawing. She’s very good for her age, and I’ve noticed she’s often sketching or doodling.
Even though Nash doesn’t respond, I feel a little lighter after my conversation with Sadie. I clean the kitchen, and then we all go to our rooms.
Once I’m in bed, I pull out the sticky note, studying those two words again.
Stop this. Stop looking at the note.
But instead of throwing it away, I fold it up, put it back in my briefcase, and sleep better than I have in days.
*
I have noclasses on Friday, but I always go in in the mornings to deal with assignments, appointments, or my duties as department head. I frown when there’s a knock on my office door.
“Come in,” I call out, the door slowly opening before Silvia, one of the teachers who uses the same classroom as me, comes in.
“Hey, James. You left your lunch bag in the room. I thought I’d bring it to you real quick.” She holds out a brown paper sack this time, the top folded over and my name written on it.
My stomach gets strangely fluttery as I walk over and take it from her. “Sorry. I started bringing lunch, and I keep forgetting it.”
“No problem.” Silvia smiles, then ducks out of my office. I immediately open the bag, which was stapled closed,breathing out a sigh of relief that she couldn’t have gotten into it.
This time it’s a stir-fry with rice in a warming container. At the bottom of the bag is another sticky note.
I’m so proud of you.
It’s absolutely ridiculous. He’s proud of me for eating? For all he knows, I could be throwing the food away…but I haven’t, and I won’t today either.
As I fold the paper, putting it in my briefcase with the other one, no matter how much I try to stop it, I smile.
CHAPTER NINE
Colton
Ihave noidea what the fuck I’m doing with James.
All my experiences with subs over the years have involved sex and a scene. Sure, I tell them what I want them to do before I see them, when and where to meet me, what to wear and things like that, but the whole making or buying meals for someone and expecting them to eat because I said so is new.
