Chapter 4 Learning Curve toward June #3
“I don’t know,” Isaac said, sighing and falling back into the hard patio chair.
“I met Todd, and he was… well, he was solid. He was steady. He… well, he treated drug use with disdain, which was funny because I met him in a club. I wondered sometimes if he was there twink-fishing so he could have someone young and pliable, you know? Somebody to form in his own image.” His mouth hardened, turning down at the corners, which was too bad—he had a mouth for smiling, or kissing, or giving…
uhm. Never mind. Luca veered away from the crude sexuality.
Isaac was cute—oh God, was he—but he was still a “mess,” as he put it.
But a mess worth knowing.
“Obviously he didn’t know how to cook a twink,” Luca said, keeping his face straight.
Isaac’s eyes lit up, and then that mouth—that puffy-lipped, mobile mouth—widened into a joyous smile. “Lightly pan-fried so he’s still a little flaky,” he said, and the angry moment, the bitter moment, eased.
Their eyes locked, and Luca knew what was in his own face—he’d never been particularly mysterious, but for a moment, he saw the softness he’d been hoping for. He saw recognition.
He saw want.
As if surprised by his own emotions, Isaac jerked his head, breaking contact before he closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun.
“You are so cute,” he said after a breath. “And I could like you so much. But right now I’m so very angry. That wouldn’t be fair to you.”
Luca’s heart skipped, and he tried not to be afraid. “Hey, buddy—don’t worry about me. I’m just here for the yarn.”
Isaac smiled, still scenting the breeze. “Okay,” he said softly.
“Okay what?” Luca asked suspiciously.
“That’s what we’ll be for now. I’ll teach you yarn, and you teach me….”
“Acceptance,” Luca said, thinking about all the things Isaac needed to overcome for them to be a couple.
Isaac opened his eyes, and Luca got a glimpse of how intense they could be when he focused. “You… you’re a lot smarter than you pretend to be,” he said, cocking his head.
Luca gave him a lazy grin. “Dumb and hung. You’re not the only one who’s spent time being stupid and getting laid.”
Isaac’s laughter—both wicked and understanding—burbled up. “Good,” he said, turning back to his sandwich with gusto. “One of the things Roxy and I have learned over the years is we cannot stand the kid without flaws. Straight A students are great. Straight A kissbutts are the worst.”
“Let me guess,” Luca said, going back to his own sandwich with relief. “You guys are the C and B students’ best friends.”
Isaac’s attractive mouth made an attractive moue.
“I have actually grown really fond of some kids who never did end up passing my class. Some teachers take that personally, but you look at kids, and some of them have so much going on in their own lives. Foster homes, abusive parents, good parents who can’t make ends meet, boyfriend or girlfriend trauma, gang pressure, cyberbullying—so much bad shit.
And I get them a grand total of four hours a week, with twenty to forty other students—if they can show up that often, because sometimes they just fucking can’t.
The fact that they do show up, do the occasional assignment, and are civil and kind and often funny—that shows more character than most teachers give them credit for.
My department head, for one, assumes they’re doing it because they hate her.
I mean, not that I haven’t bailed on some meetings because I hate her, but these kids, they’ve got too much going on to think that much about her at all.
If they show up and say, ‘I’m sorry I’m failing—you’re a nice guy but this semester is the worst,’ that’s…
that’s some consideration right there. A lot of kids say, ‘Fuckin’ class, fuckin’ teacher, fuck off. ’”
“Still not personal?” Luca hazarded.
“Still not personal,” Isaac confirmed before taking another bite. He let out a blissful breath. “You,” he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin, “are really easy to talk to. You have to do me a favor and not tell your nonna how much I swear.”
Luca’s laughter surprised even him. “I promise,” he said, after he’d covered his mouth and made sure he hadn’t done anything embarrassing with his food when he’d opened it.
But inside he was thinking that this—this was it. This was the day he determined that, as much of a mess as Isaac was, he could wait. There was just… just… so much potential there.
Isaac was apparently his own basket of yarn. Some of it was a little bit frayed and angry, and like most people, some of it turned brown and sad with age, but with a little work and some care, he had all the potential in the world.
BACK AT Isaac’s house, the first thing they did was put away the yarn, and Luca derived a lot of satisfaction from watching Isaac, hands on hips, admiring his seventh box.
“Isn’t it pretty?” he asked, with no irony whatsoever, and Luca glanced from the big clear plastic box with all of that “potential” inside to Isaac’s shining eyes and agreed that it was beautiful.
Then they sat back down on the couch, and Isaac—patient and funny—taught Luca how to move his big work-roughened hands with gentle poetry so he could make things with a hook and colorful string.
When he left, he had a sturdy canvas bag with his yarn, his hook, and a little pouch with scissors and big-eyed metal needles in it, and strict instructions to keep working on it in the quiet hours so he had questions for Isaac next weekend.
“Yeah?” Luca asked. “Next weekend?”
Isaac’s fair complexion washed a sweet pink as they were standing at the door. “Uhm… if you still want to—”
And Luca made his move, swooped in, and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course I want to,” he said. “You want to plan for lunch next week too?”
Isaac stared at him with big eyes, touched his cheek like a teenager, and nodded wordlessly.
“Awesome.”
And then Luca left, whistling, with plans to bring his work in the evenings too so he and Isaac could sit and yarn and watch the neighborhood as the sun went down.