Page 79 of Teacher of the Year

“Olan, I’m sorry. Truly. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

I give him a soft, gentle kiss. He opens his mouth slightly and I take that as acceptance of my apology.

“One of the reasons I moved to Portland was the strength of the recovery community here. I’ve got a fantastic sponsor, Jack. We text and chat daily. He knows all about you. I attend three meetings a week. Maybe you could come with me sometime?”

The thought of recovery, AA, it all hits a little too close to home, but I also see Olan, unguarded, and my soul sings loudly. My heart understands he’s a good man. My head worries about, well, too much.

“I’d like that. My trust issues mean I sometimes struggle with being vulnerable, but you’re starting to weasel your way into my heart. Truly. I’m going to do my best to let you in.”

“Well, I did just let you in. Pretty deeply,” he says flatly.

“Are you being filthy when I’m trying to be serious?”

He leans in and presses his lips to mine, answering me with a kiss that sends a swarm of butterflies plunging into my stomach.

“Now, can I tell you something that worries me?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“You’re such a committed teacher. You clearly love your students and take your job seriously, but sometimes, well, I worry you’re too dedicated.”

“Is this about the award?”

“Partly, yes. I know it means a lot to you and the school, but I just worry you’re not taking care of yourself.”

“I just want to be the best for the kids. I can work on balance. I’m not perfect, but I’ll keep trying.”

“Marvin, you don’t have to be perfect. Nobody is. Why do you think you need to be perfect?”

“I don’t know. Maybe if I’m perfect…” But I can’t say the rest:maybe nobody will leave me. Instead, I say, “I hear you, and I understand. Once the visit and interview are over, things should settle down some.”

“Okay, but I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“Please do,” I say and move in for another kiss, his lips wet and warm.

“We should get out. They’re going to be home soon.”

And with that, the reality of tomorrow, the visit, the interview, the award, the funding comes crashing into my head.

“I better get home,” I blurt, jumping out of the tub, sending copious amounts of water cascading onto the tile floor, sloshing everywhere.

“Marvin, slow down. Let me help you.”

Olan hops out of the bath, grabbing towels from a shelf to lend me a hand sopping up the puddles of water. We both get to work, pushing towels around in grand strokes, attempting to erase the mess I’ve made being erratic. And, for just a moment, I stop mopping up water and simply stare at him, his muscles damp from the tub, rippling and stretching as he works completely naked.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing I’ve stopped.

“Nothing, it’s just, well, distracting.” I motion to his nudeness.

He grabs one of the dry towels from the pile and wraps it around his waist.

“Better?”

“Yes. And no.”

Dressed, we stand at his front door. This afternoon unfolded in a way I would have never predicted. Leaving school early, covered in blood, being comforted by Olan, bathing with him – the ransacking of my routine would typically rattle me, but with him next to me, close, kind, and supportive, I’m leaning into the reshuffling.

“I’m going to do some reading and preparing tonight, but let’s make sure we at least text later. Sound good?”

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