Page 57 of Teacher of the Year

“What about her? She adores you almost as much as I do. Almost.” He leans over and carefully pulls my pants up, buttons, zips, and buckles to completion. Moving his mouth over mine, he seals the deal with a searing kiss. I’m not sure what just happened, but was that even me? Doing that. At school. Who am I? Olan brings something out in me I didn’t know existed. Something primal and raw, and I’m fairly certain I love it.

Chapter19

The first half of spring break, the weather’s been on the warmer side, for Maine anyway. Besides nesting with Gonzo, I’ve been able to get out and take a few walks. After Olan’s conference and what we now refer to as the “closet incident,” we’ve been texting even more. A lot more.

When I arrived home that evening, my mind raced about how inappropriate and risky it was to do, well, that, there. At school. But my blood sang, as I reminisced about how damn hot it was. As if Olan knew where my mind had gone, a text from him popped up the moment I got home.

Olan: That was incredible. You are incredible. Now stop worrying.

Even though it was challenging for me, I made a conscious decision not to worry. Or at least to try really hard. These first days of spring break have been delightful, and I’m excited to take the ferry over to Peaks this afternoon to spend the last few days with Olan and Illona.

“Mom, hey, how are you?”

Sarah and I haven’t spoken in a few weeks and calling her now will eliminate the chance of her potentially reaching out while I’m on the island. A preemptive strike.

“Marvin, I’m good. How are you? Calling on a Thursday? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. It’s spring break. I’m not working. I’m home.”

“Why didn’t you come visit?”

And here we go.

“Mom, honestly, there’s so much to do with Teacher of the Year. My interview is next week, and I need to prepare.”

“Prepare? Prepare what?”

“It’s more about being primed for the visit and interview. Plan my lessons for the day, read over questions and interviews with previous winners, that type of thing.”

“And you couldn’t do that here?”

“No, not really. Anyway, how are you?”

“Good. Hot. I did my errands early before it gets ridiculously hot, because you know how I hate the heat. But things are good. Nothing new. How about you? Teacher of the year, very exciting, very nice. What else is going on?”

Now I have a choice to make. If I’m smart, I’ll say, “not much else” and talk about school and Gonzo and Jill being pregnant, and we’ll have a lovely safe conversation. If I’m a blockhead, I’ll tell her about Olan.

“Well, I’m sort of seeing someone.” I wince as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I’m a complete nebach.

“A boy?”

“Well, technically, a man, but yeah.”

“Tell me about him. Tell me everything.”

I have no intention of telling her anything close to everything, so I think of safe topics.

“Well, he’s an engineer.”

“An engineer, that’s a good job. He must do well for himself.”

“I mean, I guess so. And he’s a dad, a single dad.”

“A father?” This excites her. “How old is the child, wait is it a boy or a girl, or one of those no gender people, non-finery? And where is this child’s mother?”

Deep breath.

“His child is five, Mom, and she’s a girl. And it’s nonbinary. We’ve talked about this. And his ex lives in California.”

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