Page 40 of Kiss-Fist
But while I can hold a grudge like no one else, Rhett is my other half at work, and I can’t afford to keep icing him out.We have late-afternoon classes, and whatever’s going on in this meeting is probably enough to give me a migraine before I have to stand in front of a room of barely legal adults and teach them about the Fertile Crescent.
‘Forgiven?’ he asks after a moment.
I don’t answer directly, stuffing more of my sandwich into my mouth, but I do jerk my chin at the chair to the side of my desk, which will give him a view of both Fayid and me. He takes it as the olive branch it is and sits.
A moment passes, then another. Fayid primly sips the Korean coffee in a can he’s been addicted to ever since the school started stocking the vending machines with them, and then his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh.
‘The meeting we have is about the college’s overall budget and where they can cut corners. And one of the things on the chopping block might be the interpreting department. So I want you both prepared for what could be coming.’
And so it starts. For the first time since Thom put his mouth on mine, I’m able to stop thinking about him entirely.
After the meeting were my two classes back-to-back starting at 4:00 p.m. I don’t hate them because most of the students in those classes are older and more serious. The community college crowd is…diverse, to say the least.
Like I’ve said, there are few to no groups of snobby frat boys with their sockless boat shoes and Ralph Laurenbackpacks. And no sororities trying to masquerade wet T-shirt contests as some sort of philanthropy.
Therearesingle moms trying to squeeze in classes between work shifts. There are retired people looking for something to do to keep their brains from turning to mush. There are former convicts trying to find a way to better their lives. Veterans trying to decide what to do after a life in service. People so far below the poverty level that college, for them, had once been a pipe dream.
I don’t see all of them, of course. My classes are specialized for people transferring into history programs at universities. Half the time, when people see Western Civilization or History of Western Philosophy, they think it’s going to be an easy-A class full of Wikipedia study sheets and multiple-choice tests. At least, until they realize how much writing and research is involved. Then they quickly drop me like a bad habit before the add/drop period is over.
But despite that, I have about a seventy-percent pass rate, which isn’t bad…but it could be better. I’m working on it. The quadrennial report I have to do every four years is coming up, and I want to make sure the program and, more specifically, my classes are good enough for transfer. Which is yet one more thing on my plate that makes me want to fling myself into the sun.
But I’m still feeling better today because while I’d rather be in bed jerking myself raw thinking about the next time I’m going to see Thom, I’m also getting some much-needed space from him.
Rhett and I spent our free time going over what we wanted to say in the meeting, and now we’re prepared withour defense of his salary. The all-hands budget meeting didn’t directly say the interpreting jobs were at risk, but like Fayid, I’m not willing to drop my guard.
Especially since I’ve gotten snide comments about whether or not our “little program” is necessary. But dealing with the stupidity of the board is just one more thing in the pile of shit that I have going on in my life.
Sometimes it’s exhausting having to justify my existence and that of those who support me.
On top of that, I’m also still trying to deal with the fact that I’m losing my apartment to their condo transfer, and I’m dragging my feet on trying to get a Realtor. I have six months left to figure out what the fuck I’m going to do, and my gut is telling me it’s time to settle down somewhere I can call my own.
I’d been holding off on some wild idea that before finding a forever home, I was going to…I don’t know, travel? Be invited to teach at the Boston Theological Institute or Duke—like any of those places would hire a Deaf teacher to lecture about ancient history. It’s an absurd hope, but deciding to settle in the place where I grew up has been a horse-sized pill to swallow.
Only…now it feels less painful. Now, I can close my eyes and think about Thom, and something in me is weirdly settled. It also kind of annoyed me because fuck this damn hearing guy for making me feel my feelings.
I want to ignore the problem until I’m backed into a corner, but a text comes through right before the last class ended, and now I’m staring at an email from a Realtor who’sinviting me to lunch to talk about what I’m looking for and possibly sign a contract.
Christ, it’s getting very real.
Can I just go back to the gym and get my brains sucked out through my dick instead?
That would be much easier and a lot more fun.
I feel a rumble under my fingers and look up to see Rhett staring at me. He’s still not entirely off the hook, but his small talk has allowed me to avoid Thom for most of the day, so I drop my guard a little.
‘That Thom?’
I narrow my eyes.
‘I know it’s not my business, but you look like you want to put your fist through the wall.’
Fuck, I need to manage myself better. Taking a breath, I pass a hand down my face. ‘I’m fine. It’s not Thom. A Realtor wants to meet up to talk about the houses I want to see.’
His brows lift. ‘You need me?’
I do, yes. It’s not the guy Rhett originally suggested, but there’s still a next to zero percent chance the Realtor is going to be Deaf or know any ASL. At the time, I looked for one who could easily communicate with me because there are plenty of Deafies in the area, but sadly, there was not one real estate agent to be found.
Still Rhett’s been working his ass off all week, and I’m sure he’d rather be at home with Mellie doing…whatever it is they do. I don’t really want to know the details.
