Page 21 of Yours, Unexpectedly

“Honey, I’m home!” My voice bounces through the uninviting space.

I guess no one is here.

Bardot family dinner was everything I wanted it to be. I’ve been avoiding it so I wouldn’t have to see Bex, but it feels good to be somewhere surrounded by so much love and familial affection. Bullshitting and sarcasm too, but mostly a genuine enjoyment of all of the people in the room.

I’m quiet on the way home with Gabe, but I don’t think he notices. He’s too busy doing some daydreaming of his own—I’ll have to pry into that a little bit later. Right now I’m focused on what I’m going to do about that curly headed menace that took me by honest to goodness surprise tonight when she revealed her reading preferences.

Though, I’m not sure why I’m so surprised. Bex has a tendency to get a wild gleam in her eye, she’s just not usually outspoken about it. I’m hoping her honesty means she’s getting more comfortable around me.

Gabe breaks me out of my thoughts when he asks, “So how has it actually been with Bex in your class?”

Well seeing her three times a week is an absolute dream, and I’m actively seeking out ways that I can see her more, is what I want to say.

I settle on, “Good. Good. Pretty good, yeah…” Cool.

“It’s not weird? They don’t have, like, rules against it?” He runs his hand through his hair before looking over at me.

I’m frozen trying to figure out what he’s implying. “Rules against what exactly?”

He tips his head side to side.

“I don’t know. You guys know each other, you know? I mean it’s not like you’re going to go easy on her or anything but she’s your best friend’s little sister. Isn’t there a concern about favoritism or some shit?”

Fuck. I honestly hadn’t thought about that. I was so fixated on Bex being back in my life, I kind of forgot about the implications of that. My career and responsibilities. I do that often, though I’ve realized it’s not totally on purpose. I tend to form a singular focus and right now that focus is spending more time with Bex.

“That hadn’t crossed my mind,” I reply. “I did offer to transfer sections if it made her more comfortable, but I guess I should bring it up to Professor Callahan, too.”

“You offered to move sections? Damn, that's… nice.” He quirks a smile and I shove his arm as best I can while driving.

“Fuck you! I am a nice guy!”

“You are. You just haven’t always been super considerate of people’s feelings.” And I can’t lie, that stings a little bit.

“Shit, I don’t mean that in a bad way. I know you’ve changed a lot,” he continues after seeing my expression. “You aren’t the man you used to be and I’m proud of you for that. You also tend to be forgetful and I don’t want an honest mistake to hold you or Bex back when you are both in your last semesters.”

I just nod. He’s right. I’m not the man I used to be, but I still have a lot of work to do.

“I’ll text Callahan tonight and see if we can meet up. Keep everything above board and all that.”

“Good. I know I’m not usually the one to take things too seriously. I just care a lot about Bex. And as much as I don’t want her to go, I know she’s ready to get the hell out of Sassafras.”

“Me too, man.” Especially if I can convince Bex to let me follow her wherever she goes.

Callahan was able to meet with me before my 9 a.m., so that’s where I’m headed now after tossing and turning most of the night.

Worst case scenario, Callahan tells me I can’t teach the section anymore. Which would suck. I mean, I need the money, as measly as it is, but I also know Gabe would let me crash rent free with him. My pride is the only thing that holds me back from doing that now. Gabe has a fancy bank job that he hates, but it pays damn well.

What would really suck would be not seeing Bex as often.

That thought alone means it’s probably good that I’m having this conversation.

I get to Callahan’s office and knock on the door frame. He looks up from his computer and a warm smile spreads across his face.

Professor Edward Callahan was one of my favorite professors in undergrad. He’s exactly what you imagine when you think of a college professor—white beard, glasses, Mr. Rogers sweater, the whole nine yards. He always saw potential in me, even when I was squandering it away. He welcomed me with open arms when I reached out about coming back to Hawthorne, and I appreciated that more than he’ll ever know. He’s taken me under his wing in many ways, and I trust him implicitly.

“Good morning, Professor. Thanks for meeting with me.” I’m more nervous for this meeting than I thought I would be.

“I know you never will, but I really wish you’d call me Ed. Professor Callahan sounds so uppity.” He scoffs as if he doesn’t look like the most refined gentleman.

---