Page 66 of Napkins and Other Distractions
“I know Sheldon doesn’t have a relationship with his parents,” I say. “It’s going to take some time for him to adjust to the doting. Jewish parents are next level.”
“They can be a lot.”
“They’re a lot for us. And we’re Jewish.” I touch Theo’s shoulder. “Give him some time. Talk about it. I promise communication will only help.”
Theo pastes a smile on and nods.
“Thanks, Mr. Lester.”
I smile, knowing Theo’s use of my honorific and last name in this private conversation is his way of expressing gratitude.
He leaves for the cafeteria, and my nose twitches from the aroma of bacon and eggs traveling down the hallway. Today’s hot breakfast item is Delores’s famous English muffin sandwich. Made of identical ingredients as McDonald’s, it magically tastes a million times better. And Delores knows it. Her cooking motivates the children to make healthy food choices. Relatively speaking.
As I move my bag to the seat Theo vacated, he and Sheldon return to my mind. Their relationship is progressing nicely. Theo seems much happier, but dating a ray of sunshine probably has that effect on you. Most of the staff know, and Sheldon’s students couldn’t be more supportive. But even when everything appears shiny and pleasant on the outside, there are often tiny tremors below the surface.
“Mr. Lester.”
Vincent walks in, wielding a massive smile on his beautiful face. He’s wearing a slight variation of his button-down and khakis uniform—a short-sleeved polo. Thank you, warmer-than-usual late-March weather. There are three buttons at the collar, and he left them undone. Way to live dangerously. My gaze lingers on the area, wondering if, from the right angle, I might get a glimpse at his firm chest and perky nipples.
“Mr. Manda, how are you?”
He sets his bag down, darts to close the door, and gives me a soft kiss on the lips. No teeth brushing. No gum. No mints.
“That good, eh?”
“I missed you.”
“You did?”
Vincent nods and pulls me into an embrace. Not for another kiss, simply to hug. As he squeezes my torso, I breathe in his comforting aroma of orange and honey. Holding him here, in the relative privacy of my office, my body so connected to his, I wish I could stop the world and let us remain locked this way forever. There’s an urgency in the way he clutches me and I relish being needed. He pulls away, lingering near my face. “Maybe you could come to my place again … soon.”
“Maybe.” I kiss his neck, and the chime of the arrival bell reminds me we have work to do.
Vincent sits at the table and begins his setting-up ritual. Laptop. Water bottle. Wipes. And then he begins cleaning. The table, keyboard, screen, chair, everything gets a generous rubbing with disinfectant.
I open the office door and take a moment to watch him. A large, savoring breath enters my nostrils, and a silly grin overtakes my face. I’m falling for this man. When Corrine and I split, I was pretty sure that was it for me. Forty-five isn’t the ideal age to reenter the dating pool, so … I didn’t. Each year, I thought, maybe now, but then, meh. Nope. Too busy. Too much effort. Too many distractions. Corrine convinced me to try SWISH, and I agreed mainly to get her off my back. But there was a curiosity deep down, and well, Vincent scratched it like a nagging summer mosquito bite on your ankle.
“Mr. Lester.” Helen stands near my door, holding a stack of papers.
“Helen, good morning. How are you?”
“The Bruins won last night so I’m fantastic.” She’s wearing her black, yellow, and white team sweatshirt. “These need your signatures,” she says, handing the papers over. “Everything’s highlighted.”
“Awesome. About the Bruins, and I’ll get these signed right away.”
“Shreya was looking for you,” Helen says. “When your door was closed.” Helen’s smirk hints she has a clue what’s brewing.
“Oh, well, if you see her, please send her, or I can call her.” I move back into my office and trip on the carpet. Catching myself on the door, I stammer, “Heh, all good.”
When the Hopscotch logo flashes on Vincent’s screen, an animated pebble skipping down numbered boxes, I’m reminded why he’s here. To work. To help me show Dr. Cutler and the board that Lear’s test scores aren’t an accurate representation of the impact that happens here.
“Kent, we have a problem.”
Shreya’s face pokes in, her brow wrinkled. This isn’t a social visit.
“Ms. Shaan, I was about to call you. Come in.” I pull a chair out at the table for her. “What’s wrong?”
“I was up until three this morning fixing code. This damn game isn’t going to build itself and the compute quotient and remainder had a bug in it … ” I nod, trying to catch slivers of understanding.
