* * *
Katy twirls her fork on her empty plate, and I smile at the simplicity of her fidget. It took us an hour and a half and two microwave heat-ups to get through our plates between conversation, and I don’t know that I’ve ever had a more interesting night.
Given the time to loosen up and get a different impression of me, Katy’s turned quite the corner. Her smiles come easily, and her laughter rings off in peals of chest-seizing melodies. I take a quick swig of the beer I picked up at the liquor store earlier and pause for her reaction to my explanation of my family dynamic.
“Wait…so you’re only a few years older than me, but your parents could basically be my parents’ parents?”
I laugh. “Well…if I followed that sentence correctly, then I think yes. They had me fifteen years after they had my sister. Unexpectedly.”
“Wow.”
“It was great, honestly. I never knew a time when I didn’t have someone interested in what I was doing. My family is supportive in a way that made me want to be supportive of other kids who maybe didn’t get such a lucky draw.”
“The reason you became a teacher.”
I nod. “What about you? What sent you down this path?”
She shrugs. “I’ve always been driven to help people. To set them up for success. My parents had me at sixteen, and a lot of people turned their backs on them. They had a couple of teachers, though, who made it their mission to make sure the three of us had a chance. They tutored them for free to complete their GEDs and even helped set them up with first jobs that could accommodate a kid.”
I smile. I can’t help it. Stories like Katy’s are the kind I live for. “That’s incredible.”
She nods. “It was what they needed to make it. And they worked hard. I can’t thank my parents enough for the life they gave me. But out of the three of us, I’ve always been the old soul.”
“And I’m the good-time guy,” I add with a teasing grin. “No wonder you can’t stand me.”
“I never said I couldn’t stand you.”
I chuckle. “You didn’t have to say it, Katy Cat.”
“You’re just…”
“What? Horrible?”
“N-no. I…” she stammers for a moment and a guilty grin covers her mouth. “I was going to say you’re somewhat of a thorn in my side. But, hey. The more I think about it, it’s probably the school’s fault for putting our classrooms where they did.”
“You don’t have to try to make me feel better.”
“No, really,” she answers, and her voice rings out with raw honesty. “Most of my issues are noise-related, and well, I guess you are a music teacher. It’s never going to be quiet. I just wish you weren’t right next door. I mean, you have to understand that teaching things like geometry and calculus with a live concert echoing inside my classroom isn’t exactly easy.”
Damn, I guess I never really thought about it like that.
“Maybe I can petition the school board to start a foreign classroom exchange program,” I joke, making Katy laugh outright for possibly the first time ever. She’s beautiful always, but cackling like a hyena? Her infectious joy just about makes my heart stop.
“Sounds like a plan,” she eventually says once she catches her breath. “I’ll apply for one in the east wing.”
“Only problem then is that I wouldn’t see you every day.”
“Yeah, and?”
The truth is too close to the tip of my tongue to hold it back. Katy Dayton is, without a doubt, the bright spot of every one of my days.
“And then I’d have to miss you.”
Even when she’s stalking into my classroom, flashing the stink-eye and ready to read me the riot act over volume level, I’m still happy to see her.
Fuck. I’m always happy to see her.
7
Katy
Setting my plate in the sink, I take a deep breath and try to get my head right.
My body buzzes, and my stomach turns over on itself with an unexpected wave of emotions. Mack Houston would miss me if he didn’t see me?
My brain reels as I try to make sense of the reality I’ve known for the last five years teaching at Savannah High School versus the experience of today. It’s been enjoyable—companionable, even. And Mack Houston has been a far bigger part of my day’s fun than I’d ever have imagined possible.
Is he actually likable? Like, have I just been the crazy one all this time?
The me who’s spent so many years teaching beside him thinks it’s impossible, but the me who’s stuffed full of homemade spaghetti and garlic bread, compliments of him, thinks differently.
I turn from the sink and lean my hips into it, conscious of just how fast my head is spinning and the very real danger that I might not stay up without the assistance.
“Well…thanks again for dinner. It was really delicious, and surprisingly enough, really nice not to have to cook for myself for once.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he replies, brushing my arm with his as he sets his dish in the sink on top of mine.
“Do you want me to help with the dishes?” I ask in the name of being polite. The truth is, I’m pretty sure they’ll all end up broken if I try to handle them right now.
“No way, Katy Cat. I’ve got it covered.”
I nod, scooting away from the sink to put some space between us but carefully keeping the support of the counter. “And you’re really okay sleeping in the second bedroom?”
“Oh yeah. I put a sheet up over the Kimmie Shrine, so I think I’ll be safe from nightmares.”
“It’s…something…isn’t it?” I giggle, and his eyes go wide in amusement.
“Oh yeah.”
I shift my feet from side to side, chewing at my cheek and tucking my thumbs into my pockets. It’s awkward heading to bed with Mack Houston, of all people, in the house, but I’m just about on sensory overload for the day. My body feels like a live wire, zapping and surging with the conflict-waging war inside.
I started the day thinking Mack Houston was a huge pain in my ass, but I’m now ending the day feeling like the world is topsy-turvy and I’ve been wrong about him the whole time.
“I-I guess I’m going to head to bed, then.”
Mack nods, smiles, and then jumps from his spot at the sink, holding up a finger. “Oh, wait! Just one thing I almost forgot.” He runs into the pantry mysteriously, and I can’t help but watch his ass as he goes. His casual shorts look a hell of a lot better on him than those awful khaki pants he wears to school every day.
He digs around in there, I can tell by the sound, and when he pops back out, he’s holding out a bottle of wine—a very specific bottle of wine. As he emerges, he hoists it up to show it to me, and my heart trips over itself like a clumsy kid over their shoelace.
“I ran out before, while you were cleaning up from the beach. I’m pretty sure it’s exactly the same one you had, but you should double-check it just to be sure. I’ll get another if it’s not right.”