Page 67 of Teacher of the Year

“Of course. Shoot.”

“What happened with Illona’s mom?”

Olan lets out a sigh. I realize I’ve hit a sore spot, but I’ve told him about Adam, and want to know more about him and Illona. She hasn’t seen her mother in person since they moved.

“Okay. Let me start by saying Isabella is a wonderful person. We’re working on being friends, and it’s an adjustment, but I do care for her. Isabella and I met in high school. She saw something in me I don’t think I knew myself. I mean, I knew I was intelligent, but I didn’t recognize my potential. I never even considered AP classes until she suggested them. And when the time came, she helped me with my Stanford application process. I’d never really been interested in dating, and she knew that. We took things slow. Our relationship slowly developed. Everyone thought we were the ideal couple, which put pressure on us. Well, me.”

My head rests on his shoulder as he fiddles with my curls.

“At college, a different kind of pressure surfaced. Being the only Black person in my program, my family’s expectations, I made some harmful decisions. All my life, I’ve never fit in. At Stanford, I finally started to believe I could. Desperate to belong, I let some of the guys in my dorm influence me. Before college, I’d only had one beer. Ever. My father actually gave it to me at my graduation party. I hated it.”

My lips curl up thinking about Olan’s face after a sip of warm, bitter beer.

“But with these guys, there was liquor. Seemingly, unlimited. The partying got out of hand quickly. Isabella would visit, and, well, I guess I didn’t realize just how bad I had gotten until she came. She was worried. Scared. I knew she was right, but the stress kept intensifying. Within a year of my parents dropping me off, I had a problem I didn’t know how to fix. Apparently, drinking more was not the solution. I ended up in an outpatient facility, and even though it was challenging, I know it was essential. I was finally sober and part of a twelve-step recovery program, and Isabella and I married soon after graduation and started Stone Aerospace. It took a few years to get our bearings, but once Illona was born, the business really exploded. We spent so much time together working that we forgot to be a couple. I channeled all my energy into work. It wasn’t healthy. We just, well, people grow apart. It happens. I still love her, but I’m notinlove with her. Isabella stuck with me through those tough years, so even when our relationship shifted a couple of years ago, I didn’t want to abandon her. Now I understand she’s a strong woman. Thinking of her that way was actually silly of me. We’re much better off as friends. The truth was, I didn’t know how to be sober and alone.”

As Olan recounts his story, tension starts building in my head. I’m listening and trying to remain calm, but my heart begins to sprint. Flashbacks to my childhood, stepping over my mother on the floor, the smoke detectors blaring over food left on the stove, my Aunt Helen taking me for an entire summer because my mother went to rehab. These images spark in my head, making me dizzy, and my ears begin ringing. I keep my head planted on his shoulder because I can’t hide the advancing panic on my face. Taking deep breaths, in and out through my nose, willing myself unflustered.

“So you’re sober? That’s why you don’t drink?”

“Yes. Completely sober.”

Wetness dots the corners of my eyes. I do not fancy crying in front of Olan right now. More deep breaths.

“Last year, things started coming to a head with Isabella and the business. I had a slip up. One drink. One time. I called my sponsor, and he came right away. I upped my meetings. It hasn’t happened since. That was almost a year ago. It’s part of why we moved. I needed a fresh start, and Portland has an amazing recovery community. Things have been going extraordinarily well. You’re a significant part of that, too.”

He gives a soft, hesitant smile, and I lift my head to examine him and wonder what else he hasn’t told me. I swore – with what I went through with my mother, watching her struggle and how it impacted our relationship and my life – I would never be with an alcoholic, recovering or not. And yet here I am, lying on Olan, his daughter in the room down the hall, things feeling more and more like hanging out is morphing into something deeper. I need to speak, but I’m afraid of what might fumble out.

“I’m not sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he replied. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I was, well, uncertain about it. And honestly, afraid. I took bumping into Ralph yesterday as a sign. He’s in the program with me. He’s a stand-up guy. We sit together at meetings every Tuesday. He’s not my sponsor, but he checks up on me. Bumping into him was a sign for me to talk to you.”

“But, Olan. My mom, I’m not sure you understand. My mother is an alcoholic. Yes, she’s sober now, but growing up, with a parent like that, it does things and, and, that’s why I, I, I…”

Olan sits up and takes my face in his strong hands. I want to pull away, but he holds me firm and turns my head so we’re only inches apart.

“Marvin. I’m so sorry. And that’s why I take it so seriously. I never want Illona to experience that. Before my relapse last year, and it was one drink, one drink, I hadn’t had a sip since college, twelve years. And it was literally one drink, and I knew. I stopped. I called Isabella and my sponsor immediately.”

“Is that why you split up?”

“It was a long time coming. A lot of it had to do with running a business together. And my working too much. It wasn’t healthy. Marrying the first and only person you’ve ever dated complicated things, too.”

“Wait, so you’ve never been with anyone but her? Not even a hook up?”

“No, I told you. Hooking up isn’t for me. Only Isabella and now, you.”

I try to take this in and process it. I’m a few years younger than him, but even with a six-year relationship, I’ve dated and slept with my share of men. I know Olan’s seriousness and nerdiness might make him, or even others, hesitant, but he’s so damn attractive. It’s hard to believe I’m only the second person on the planet to be intimate with him.

“And why doesn’t Isabella see Illona?”

“They chat and video call. I’ve urged her to visit. I know it’s far, and we’re working on being just friends, but Illona needs her mother, too. We’re approaching a better place, and I hope that will change soon. Isabella knows she’s welcome.”

I’m sitting in bed without clothes and I’ve never felt more naked. My head feels milky, thick, foggy. Images from my childhood careen toward me like a train. Lying on my back is the only reason I haven’t passed out. Throwing clothes on, grabbing my bag, and running out feels a tad dramatic, but my urge to flee overtakes me, and keeping this bottled in makes it worse.

“Listen, I probably should go.”

“Marvin, please don’t. Let’s make breakfast. We can talk some more once Illona gets up. She can play in her room.”

“No. I really need to go. I’m sorry.”

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