Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Still, there were so many times all night where I picked up my phone, scrolled to my messages and hovered over his name. I could text him, the anxious part of my brain insisted. I could text him and just see if he texts back.
But I knew that would only make it worse. So finally, I turned the phone completely off just so I wouldn’t check it anymore, made sure the alarm was set on the digital clock I had next to the bed, and lay down.
I lay there and stared at the ceiling. Eventually, I got about fifteen or twenty minutes of actual sleep before the alarm went off. Begrudgingly, I got up, turned on the phone, and checked the messages one last time, then got ready for work.
Running into him at work was a real possibility, but I tried to force the thought out of my mind. I had students to focus on and things to do. But as soon as I got into the building, it was all I could think about, wondering if he was going to show up at the door of the classroom or stick his head into the theater when I was there. I felt like I was constantly looking over my shoulder, and I couldn’t escape the question that lay in the pit of my stomach. Was I dreading seeing him, or excited?
Either way, I was distracted. Tamara would have labeled my actions as “hot mess adjacent” at the very least. I didn’t want the awkwardness of running into him at lunch, though, so I decided to take my food into the classroom to eat.
I put my phone on its side and turned on an episode of a show that I usually missed because I went to bed early and ate by myself. When I was done, I opened the door of the classroom, peeked around to make sure no one was looking, and took my trash to the cafeteria to toss. I thought I caught a glimpse of Graham in the distance and ducked out of the way, but it turned out to be the gym teacher. He had taken to dressing like Graham already.
After school finally ended and the bell signaled my freedom from the uncomfortable game of ‘hide from my baby daddy,’ I grabbed a bunch of art supplies and headed for my car. I rounded the corner from the theater and ran headlong into someone, dropping paint and supplies everywhere.
“Damn, sorry,” I said, holding my head up over my head in apology as I tried to gather the paint with the other. “I was coming around the corner too fa—ast.”
The last word came out in two distinct pieces because my brain short-circuited in the middle of it.
Graham was standing in front of me, a slight half-smile on his face.
“This feels familiar,” he said and knelt down to help me.
I huffed a laugh and shook my head. I couldn’t believe I’d done it again.
He helped me gather my things, and as we stood up, he looked around before stepping a little closer and speaking low.
“We need to talk.”
“Sure,” I said. “But not here. In the hallway, I mean.” I turned and saw the door of the auditorium. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. “Come with me.”
He followed me as I walked into the auditorium, holding the door for me so I could get through with all the supplies. I strolled down the aisle until I reached the stage and then sat everything on the edge of it before hopping up and sitting on it myself, my legs kicking in the air. Graham followed and sat in the front row in the middle seat, right in front of me.
“Here?” he asked.
I hedged a bit. I didn’t want any of the students catching this, nor any of the other teachers. The stage was my safe place, but at that moment, it felt too personal to be there. Too much on display. I shook my head and swung my feet up onto the wood and motioned for him to follow. He stood up and climbed onto the stage and followed me as we walked behind the curtains and into the darkened area off to stage right.
There was a couch there, often used in productions and more often used by students as they hung out in the stage area.
“Look, first, I wanted to apologize again. I should have told you. I know I made the wrong decision, and it hurts me to know how much I upset you. It also hurts more than I can possibly tell you when Owen asks questions about his father.”
“He asks about me?”
“Sometimes,” I said. “He wonders why he doesn’t know who his daddy is. He wonders why he doesn’t have a family like his friends do. I feel so guilty when he asks that. I always told him that his daddy was a good man, he just wasn’t in our lives. He’s been young enough to accept that up until now, but recently… it’s gotten harder.”