Chapter 5 Jake
Chapter five
Jake
“You’re being quiet.”
I looked over at Becca, Emerson’s mom. She was there to pick up Emerson for the weekend, and as always, our daughter was taking her sweet time getting her stuff together.
Today, she couldn’t find her favorite stuffed animal, and she insisted she couldn’t go to her mom’s house without it.
Sometimes, I wondered if she did it to make me and her mother spend time together.
Other times, I knew that my daughter was just that way.
She was always losing things and insisting they were needs, only to barely touch the thing she needed so badly the entire time she was gone.
Usually, Becca and I made small talk while we waited for our daughter.
She caught me up on her relationship with her boyfriend and her job.
I updated her on things going on with our daughter and with my work, and I always ended up rolling my eyes at least three times when she’d ask if I had met anyone yet.
There was always the underlying implication that my life was somehow less full because I didn’t share it with anyone.
It wasn’t as if I had a lot of time to dedicate to a relationship between working full time and raising Emerson.
It was another reason I shouldn’t be thinking about Mateo as often as I had been since he’d come over. I didn’t have anything to offer him. I put it on the mental list of reasons why nothing could ever happen between the two of us, right under the very obvious one of him being Emerson’s teacher.
“Jake?” Becca’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I shook my head, like my thoughts were written on an Etch-A-Sketch, and I could focus better by clearing them that way. “Sorry, I’ve just been thinking about some stuff.”
“That’s vague,” Becca muttered. I glowered at her, and she let out a melodic laugh. “What kind of things?”
I looked toward the door of the living room, checking that Emerson wasn’t lurking, before turning my attention back to my daughter’s mother.
“Emerson’s dojo is having some problems,” I told her quietly.
“I’ve been helping Mat figure out ways to save it, and it’s been taking a lot of my mental resources. ”
It was a partial truth. The project did take up a lot of my head space but not nearly as much as the man himself did.
Ever since that night at my house, the way his leg felt pressed against mine, he’d been lurking in the back of my thoughts almost constantly.
It had gotten to the point where he’d infiltrated my dreams, but those weren’t anything I planned on talking to Becca about.
She knew that I was bisexual, but there were some lines I did not feel comfortable crossing with her.
One of those being that we didn’t talk about our physical relationships or attractions unless they would affect Emerson.
And since I wasn’t allowing myself to travel down that road with Mateo, it wasn’t going to affect Emerson.
Becca didn’t read beneath the surface. I was grateful that she took what I said at face value.
She didn’t question why I cared so much about this particular project aside from its significance to our daughter.
It meant I could continue living in denial, continue trying to convince myself that the only reason I cared so much was because Emerson would be devastated if her dojo closed.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“We’re going to hold an event. There’s going to be a silent auction, so if you want to donate anything?”
“When is it?” Becca whipped out her cell phone.
I knew that she was pulling up her calendar app.
She lived and breathed by that thing. We even had a shared calendar for all of Emerson’s events, and she was always getting on me about not programming in things that Emerson had going on.
Her organizational style and mine had clashed in our short marriage, and time and a child hadn’t changed that.
“Date to be determined,” I answered. “Mat’s gotta check with the rest of his staff.”
“Any other information? What kinds of things are you wanting donated? Is there anything I can give out at work? Maybe I can get more people involved.” Becca’s eyes were alight with the glow of a woman on a mission.
That had been one of the things we’d both shared when we’d been together.
We were problem solvers, and there was nothing that got either of us going like a goal to work toward.
I felt a surge of affection toward my ex-wife as she began asking questions about the event.
Before long, my computer was open between us, and she was sharing her thoughts.
When Emerson finally came downstairs with her backpack and stuffed animal, it took her at least five minutes to finally get her mom out the door.
When they left, I pulled out my phone and texted Mat.
Becca had given me a lot of great ideas, and I needed to meet up with him again to share them.
Mat wasn’t able to meet over the weekend.
He was out of town for a tournament, but he was able to call me so we could discuss the things Becca had suggested.
The third pair of eyes had really helped get the ball moving.
Mat was also able to get me a date. Two weeks before Christmas.
It would give parents enough advance notice, and it would give us a full month to plan it.
It also meant that some of the auction lots could be Christmas presents for the children.
I spent the weekend texting Mat, grinning wildly when he sent me a selfie with a first prize medal around his neck.
I caught myself looking at it too much, studying the little flyaways from his ponytail and the way his skin glistened with sweat.
I memorized the pride in his eyes as he held the medal toward the camera.
I was enamored with the dimple in his cheek that showed up in that picture, a dimple I’d not noticed any other time he smiled.
But then, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever seen him smile that big in the dojo.
He sent me a second picture the next day, holding a trophy with Sophia.
The two of them were both glowing as they looked at the person who took the picture.
I made a mental note to show that picture to Emerson.
She would love seeing it, and she was young enough that she might not question why her sensei was sending me pictures of his accomplishments.
I had a few questions about it, but I didn’t let myself ponder them too long.
Instead, I distracted myself with the event.
I created a few different variations of fliers now that we had the dates.
I drafted up social media posts and created graphics for them as well.
I created the form and the spreadsheet for parents to make their donations.
By the time Emerson got home on Sunday, I had marked off most of the things we’d discussed from the list.
I’d also more than tripled the length of my text thread with Mat and spent too long studying the pictures he’d sent me. It was a slippery slope, and I was afraid that I was already going full speed down it.
Emerson and I arrived at the dojo early again.
Emerson ran into the small practice room and began stretching while I showed Mat everything I’d come up with.
The problem with doing it before class instead of after was that other parents began to come in.
The first parent that came in saw the form but didn’t say anything.
Another parent saw one of the fliers I’d created and had questions.
Mat floundered before looking at me with wild eyes, silently begging me for help. “We’re working on an event for the dojo,” I explained smoothly, my training in front of board rooms kicking in. “Mat will be making an announcement about it once everything is organized.”
“Is there a reason?”
“Unity,” I answered without missing a beat. “Getting more people involved in the dojo. Making it into something more than just somewhere we all bring our kids a few times a week. There are a few other things that we’re working on as well to really drive that home.”
When the parent walked away, I felt Mat’s hand grab mine and squeeze. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach.
I was definitely sliding down that slippery slope—right on my ass toward disaster.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his hand still caught on mine.
“Yeah,” I exhaled. I couldn’t think. It was ridiculous. I wasn’t a kid with a schoolboy crush. I’d done a lot more than hold hands, so why was I having such a visceral reaction to this?
And why did my hand feel so much colder when he finally let go?
I could barely pay attention when he taught class, but everything sharpened later when he texted me with questions about announcing the event.
He wanted to let everyone know the dojo’s situation without the sheen of marketing.
He wanted the truth to be out there, even if it meant taking a hit to his pride. I admired that about him.
And I continued slipping and sliding down that slope.
By Wednesday, the fliers had been printed.
I brought them with me to the dojo and waited for Mat to tell me where to put them.
I had also drafted up a newsletter for him, one that went over the issues the dojo was having and outlined the actions we were planning to solve the crisis.
Buddy Week was mentioned in it, as were additional classes that students could take.
Inspired by his tournament performance and Emerson’s reaction to the picture of Mat and Sophia holding the trophy, Mat decided to start a competition team.
They would have an extra day of class where they worked on advanced techniques with hopes of entering some of the kids’ competitions in the area.
I’d already signed Emerson up. It was an extra twenty-five dollars a month, but I knew Emerson would be begging to join the moment she heard about it. Besides, what kind of an impression would it leave on the other parents if I wasn’t willing to sign up for some of the things I’d helped create?
At the end of class, Mat clapped his hands to get the attention of everyone in the room.
He announced the event and Buddy Week, and he told the parents to stop by the desk for newsletters that would go into more detail on all upcoming dojo events and changes.
He didn’t tell them that the reason for the events would be included.
I knew that this was hard on him, and I didn’t judge him for not wanting to admit the dojo’s struggles to a room full of children that looked at him like he was a superhero.
I didn’t stick around to watch parents read the fliers or the newsletter.
I wasn’t sure that it’d be helpful to Mat, and I knew that a lot of other parents and children would be vying for his attention.
I was, however, surprised when he called me later that night. He was a texter. He’d told me over the weekend that the worst part about being a small business owner was the fact that he had to answer the phone. It wasn’t lost on me that this was the second time he’d called me in a week.
“You would not believe the number of parents who have reached out since class ended,” he gushed into the phone, skipping all the normal phone pleasantries.
I laughed. “Hello to you, too.”
“Oh shit, did I not say that part?” His voice was rushed and almost breathless.
“Hi. You would not believe the number of people who’ve reached out.
We already have ten kids signed up for competition team.
Another parent made a few suggestions for Buddy Week.
Like giving discounts to students who bring someone who signs up or a prize for the kid who brings the most buddies during the week.
” It took me a moment to recognize the emotion in his voice: giddy.
He was giddy. I didn’t know why this realization made me so happy, but it did.
I loved hearing how excited he was about all of this.
“And have you looked at the donation list yet? I was worried we wouldn’t get anything, but there’s already stuff on it. ”
“I haven’t. I was getting Em ready for bed.”
“Right. Parenthood stuff. You do have more to do than just watch a spreadsheet and obsess over my problems. I’m sorry.”
His voice deflated a little, and I wanted that giddiness back.
It sounded good on him. I could almost imagine the way he looked right then, manic energy radiating from him as his eyes glittered and that damn dimple looking deeper than the Grand Canyon.
In my head, he looked… like something I shouldn’t be imagining.
Fuck, I was so far gone.
“I’ll check it now,” I told him, pulling my laptop out of its bag. “I was about to get on the computer anyway. I have a west coast client, and he almost always emails at the end of his day.”
“Oh?”
He sounded genuinely interested, so I told him a little more about the work I did at night while I pulled up the spreadsheet.
He was right. There was already a small list of donations, and while I watched, another one populated.
My jaw dropped as I read what was being offered.
“Holy shit. Look at what Brendan’s dad just donated. ”
Mat was quiet for a moment and then I heard him gasp. “Did you know Jack was a travel agent?”
“No.” I looked at the line on the spreadsheet again.
A weekend trip to a little tourist town an hour away, complete with hotel stay and a complimentary dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in the small beach front town.
“That’s going to pull in some good money.
I already know Becca’s going to bid on it. ”
“Becca?” Mat questioned. I swore there was an edge to the way he said her name.
Maybe it was just wishful thinking.
“Emerson’s mom. She and her boyfriend go down there a few times a year. She loves the antique stores.”
“Then I hope they win.” His voice sounded a little more upbeat. “I can’t believe Jack donated that. I can’t believe some of the things people are already donating. A tablet?”
It was pretty amazing. “People love your dojo; their kids love it. Of course they’re going to help, Mat.”
He let out a small hum of happiness, and we talked a little longer. My computer sat abandoned on the table as I leaned back into the couch. By the time we hung up, my cheeks hurt from how much I was smiling.
I wasn’t just slipping and sliding down the slope. I was skiing toward the edge.