I lean my head against the cupboard while I watch West and wonder if this is what we would have had if he’d come to New York with me. And if we had spent Sunday mornings making breakfast together, would it have lasted, or would his self-esteem and my career have blown it all up anyway?
“You’re ruminating,” West says.
“A little.”
“What about?”
“I haven’t seen any gaming consoles in your house.”
“That’swhat you’re thinking about?”
“That and the stack of papers on your table.” The pile of papers with a red pen sitting on top has been in my peripheral vision since I entered the kitchen. “What are they?” I hop off the counter and scoop oatmeal and brown sugar into a bowl.
“Student essays.” West serves himself eggs and toast before sitting across from me.
“What students?”
“Mine.”
I choke on my oatmeal. “Hit men have students?”
“First assignment: ten thousand words on how to hide a body.”
“What’s the second assignment?”
This stumps him. “Assassination?”
“Practical.”
He laughs. “I’m a high school English teacher, Mars. These are essays I need to grade.”
“I was kidding when I called you a sexy English professor.”
He arches a brow. “When did you call me that?”
Oops. Must have been in my head.
“So, high school, huh?” I ask.
“Kinda crazy, right?”
I feel a welcome rush of irritation. “As in teenagers?”
“Yes,” he says slowly, perhaps sensing a trap.
“For how long?”
“This is my second year. I moved back here to get my teaching certificate and have a more stable job, as fun as it was having four roommates and no money in New York.”
“Do you like it?” My mind sketches a portrait of West with reading glasses perched on his nose, chalk dust in his hair, and elbow patches on his tweed jacket. It fits.
“I do. I mean, no one wants to need two jobs, but until I’m making real money from writing, this isn’t a bad gig. Dr.B wants me to get a master’s degree and teach in his department, so that’s an option, too. The kids are awesome, but every single day they come to school and say the most unhinged things I’ve ever heard in my life. Last week, one of them looked me in the eyes and said I’ll never get a girlfriend because I dress like his dead grandpa. They givezerofucks.”
“You don’t terrorize them into respecting you?”
“You can’t terrorize this generation into respecting shit.”
“Well, there goes my last theory.”
