Chapter 19
The first half of spring break, the weather’s been on the warmer side, for Maine anyway. Besides nesting with Gonzo, I’ve been able to get out and take a few walks. After Olan’s conference and what we now refer to as the “closet incident,” we’ve been texting even more. A lot more.
When I arrived home that evening, my mind raced about how inappropriate and risky it was to do, well, that, there. At school. But my blood sang, as I reminisced about how damn hot it was. As if Olan knew where my mind had gone, a text from him popped up the moment I got home.
Olan: That was incredible. You are incredible. Now stop worrying.
Even though it was challenging for me, I made a conscious decision not to worry. Or at least to try really hard. These first days of spring break have been delightful, and I’m excited to take the ferry over to Peaks this afternoon to spend the last few days with Olan and Illona.
“Mom, hey, how are you?”
Sarah and I haven’t spoken in a few weeks and calling her now will eliminate the chance of her potentially reaching out while I’m on the island. A preemptive strike.
“Marvin, I’m good. How are you? Calling on a Thursday? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Mom. It’s spring break. I’m not working. I’m home.”
“Why didn’t you come visit?”
And here we go.
“Mom, honestly, there’s so much to do with Teacher of the Year. My interview is next week, and I need to prepare.”
“Prepare? Prepare what?”
“It’s more about being primed for the visit and interview. Plan my lessons for the day, read over questions and interviews with previous winners, that type of thing.”
“And you couldn’t do that here?”
“No, not really. Anyway, how are you?”
“Good. Hot. I did my errands early before it gets ridiculously hot, because you know how I hate the heat. But things are good. Nothing new. How about you? Teacher of the year, very exciting, very nice. What else is going on?”
Now I have a choice to make. If I’m smart, I’ll say, “not much else” and talk about school and Gonzo and Jill being pregnant, and we’ll have a lovely safe conversation. If I’m a blockhead, I’ll tell her about Olan.
“Well, I’m sort of seeing someone.” I wince as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I’m a complete nebach.
“A boy?”
“Well, technically, a man, but yeah.”
“Tell me about him. Tell me everything.”
I have no intention of telling her anything close to everything, so I think of safe topics.
“Well, he’s an engineer.”
“An engineer, that’s a good job. He must do well for himself.”
“I mean, I guess so. And he’s a dad, a single dad.”
“A father?” This excites her. “How old is the child, wait is it a boy or a girl, or one of those no gender people, non-finery? And where is this child’s mother?”
Deep breath.
“His child is five, Mom, and she’s a girl. And it’s nonbinary. We’ve talked about this. And his ex lives in California.”
“You know I never remember things. Wait, California, so far away, the poor child never sees her mother?”
To the best of my knowledge, Illona has not seen her mother other than on FaceTime since they moved, and since I don’t have a good answer to this, I simply say, “She sees her mom.”
“How did you meet him? Was it online? I’ve read those dating apps are very dangerous, Marvin. Are you being careful? Do you need me to hire a private investigator? What else? Tell me something else about him?”
There’s no way I’m telling Sarah how we actually met. To halt this line of questioning, I simply say, “Mom, he’s amazing.”
“Amazing? You never said that about Adam.”
“Well, I guess he wasn’t. Isn’t. Or not to me.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. About Adam, I mean. Not Mr. Amazing. And he’s nice to you?”
“Beyond nice. And, actually, I need to run because I’m meeting him now.”
“Okay, call me next weekend. I have more questions!”
“Bye, Mom.”
“I love you, honey.”
“Love you too.”
Oy.
* * *
March in Maine means spinning the weather roulette wheel. You never know what you’ll get. We’ve had full-on nor’easter snowstorms and days warm enough to require a fan. Spending spring break on Peaks Island was a crapshoot, but the island’s magic beckoned. Strolling to the ferry, my light jacket on but not zipped, I’m slightly nervous about spending three whole nights with Olan and Illona. There have been zero sleepovers since the night I stayed in the guest room. The night I knelt before him and went wild on his gorgeous cock. I can’t stop thinking about it. In my hand. My lips wrapped around it. Oy. We haven’t talked about the sleeping arrangements, and I just hope I can keep it in my pants.
“She knows you’re a close friend,” Olan told me.
“Okay. But what about the kids at school?”
“I told her she could tell them we’re friends. I mean, we are friends.”
“True, but…”
“But nothing. She adores you. I adore you. And well, try to relax.”
“You adore me?”
“Of course I do. Can’t you tell? Now try to relax,” he repeated.
“Relax. Maybe you could help me with that?”
Worrying about Illona seems fruitless. Other teachers spend time with students’ families they’re friends with. We’re not doing anything inappropriate in front of her. Deep breaths. I’m going to enjoy this mini-break. Olan found an off-season rental online, which will be my lodging for the long weekend.
I stand outside, ticket in hand, waiting for the noon boat. The breeze carries the smell of fish and salt water, and various boats surround me, awaiting their cargo. As the ferry arrives from the island, less than a third full, a small group of people gathers near the dock.
Typically, in warmer weather, I would climb the stairs and head to the boat’s top level – the cozy sun shining down and a cool breeze off the water attempting to blow my hair every which way. But today, barely fifty degrees, I find a seat on the upper inside deck by a window. As the booming horn blasts our departure, the boat picks up speed, and I watch Portland slowly shrink in the distance.
Of all the islands accessible by ferry, Peaks provides the largest variety of shops and restaurants. Cars are allowed on the ferry and island, but most people putter about in golf carts or bikes, adding to the quaint charm.
A short twenty-five-minute ride, and the boat softly collides with the dock. Once the few cars on board depart, I walk off, the island emitting its own quiet, peaceful energy. Immediately off the dock, a few restaurants dot the road, along with a golf cart kiosk. The air feels fresher, calmer, and more nautical. As I’m looking around and wondering if I should text Olan, he and Illona pull up in a darling golf cart. Illona leans over and beeps the horn, waves, and calls, “Marvin! Marvin!”
From the moment I spot him, Olan appears more relaxed than I’ve seen him. He’s wearing a chunky deep blue sweater and jeans. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wearing denim, and they look good on him. Very good. I approach the cart and they jump off to hug me. Having them embrace me simultaneously, we become a tangle of arms and squeezing. I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and take in the comforting feeling in my chest.
“You’re here! For three whole days!” Illona says, still latched on to my waist.
“How was the ferry?” Olan asks.
“Perfect. I always forget how little time it takes, and boom, it feels like an entirely different world.”
“Well, technically, it’s still Portland,” he says.
“I know, but it feels like a different universe.”
The quietness and immediacy of the island create a tranquilness folks love. It’s no wonder Peaks has become a desirable summer destination.
I throw my bag in the back of the cart, and we squeeze into the front together, with Illona sandwiched between us.
“Are you hungry?” Olan asks.
“I’m always hungry.”
“Me too!” Illona chimes in.
“Well, we acquired a picnic,” he says, and I grin at his choice of words. Even on the island, in his sexy jeans, he’s still a nerd.
Olan puts his foot down on the gas, and the little golf cart does the best it can to accelerate with two adults, a child, and my bag in the back.
As we drive through the island, the trees have begun to bloom, and everything smells like sweet blossoms and green and ocean and blue, and I’m eager to spend the next few days here. We curve around a winding road, with homes varying in size, and end up on a small dirt road headed toward the water.
Olan pulls over and parks the cart on the grass near the road, and we tumble out and head down a short pebble path. We turn the corner, and the entire bay comes into view, reminding me why there’s nothing like living in Maine. Portland looms in the distance but seems so far, almost like seeing it from an airplane. The calm waves splash more than crash, and right now, we are the only people here.
“Well, this couldn’t be more gorgeous,” I say.
“It’s actually called Picnic Point,” Olan says.
“Let’s picnic!” Illona sings.
We find a small clearing not far from the entrance and roll out the flannel blanket Olan carries under his arm. Olan and Illona stopped at the café near the ferry and bought, no, acquired , various sandwiches, chips, and water. Placing the food out for us, Olan works to make the spread visually appealing by carefully placing sandwiches and bags of chips on a large platter with a giant rooster on it, which I assume he’s brought from the rental.
“Turkey, roast beef, or peanut butter and jelly?” He motions to each one doing his best sandwich spokesmodel impression.
“I’ll take the PB&J. Anyone want to share it with me?” I say because I’ve seen how much Illona loves PB&J at school.
“Me!” she shouts.
We sit, eat, chat about the weather and what animal shapes we spot in the clouds. While watching for wildlife in the water, Illona thinks she spots a seal. Although I’m almost certain a fish has merely surfaced momentarily, I’m not spoiling it for her. We finish eating, and Olan suggests, “Let’s take a little walk. Down this way, ducks gather. We can bring them our leftovers. Princess, let me fix your hair first.”
Illona has removed the tie from her hair, and her long tresses wave wildly in the ocean breeze. She hops over to me and takes my hand.
“Marvin, can you do it?”
“Um, sure,” I say, glancing at Olan with an I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing look.
Olan grabs a fresh hair tie from his bag and hands it to me with a wink. I wrap the tie around my wrist as Illona positions herself in front of me, her back to me, and says, “Ready!”
Once again, my wide, ignorant eyes find Olan’s face. He smiles gently, puts a hand on my shoulder, and whispers, “You got this. I’ll talk you through it.”
I rest my hands on Illona’s shoulders, waiting for instructions. Her hair flies in every direction, making me wonder if Mother Nature is about to make this already challenging task exasperating.
“Okay, since we don’t have any supplies but the tie, use your hands to finger comb and gather her hair into a ponytail.”
“Like this?” I ask, running my hands through her beautiful long curls. I’m attempting to gather them, but they aren’t cooperating.
“Sort of. You’ve got to put some muscle into it.”
“Um, hello. I don’t have any muscle.”
Illona giggles at this and says, “Marvin, you’re being too gentle. My hair has a mind of its own. You won’t hurt me.”
I tense my arms and hands to grab tighter, pulling my fingers through until I have something resembling a ponytail. “Okay?” I ask.
“Yup. Daddy does it much rougher.”
“Does he?” I ask, shooting Olan a look with raised eyebrows.
“Now, twist the elastic around the ponytail two times. That will be tight enough,” Olan says.
I follow his directions, and while nothing fancy, Illona’s hair is out of her face.
“How’d I do?” I ask.
Illona reaches up and feels the new ponytail.
“Amazing!” she shouts and throws her arms around my waist. Olan places his hand back on my shoulder, and being touched by both of them, I suddenly feel a little verklempt.
“You did a magnificent job,” he says.
“Now, to the ducks!” Illona yells.
Leaving our blanket and items, Illona grabs Olan’s hand, and we walk with her between us. Without warning, she leans over and grabs my hand so she’s holding on to both of us, and cue a warm glow overtaking my entire body.
She giggles. “Now it’s an Illona sandwich!”
Olan and I begin swinging our arms, and Illona levitates just the smallest amount. She tilts her head back, laughing with such joy. I genuinely hope she’s as delighted I’m here as she appears to be. As we turn a bend, a small inlet comes into view, and a faint quacking beckons in the distance. This must be where the ducks gather.
“Daddy, can I?”
Olan nods, and she lets go of our hands. She darts off but stops a few feet in front of us, turns around, runs back, and takes both our hands again. She forcefully places my hand in Olan’s like a factory line worker inserting a cog into its gear.
“There.” She nods and darts off.
Olan and I stop walking and look at each other.
“Well, that conveys how she feels about you being here. And about us.” He motions between the two of us with his free hand.
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her we’re friends and I care about you. She said, ‘Daddy, Kevin says Mr. Block needs a boyfriend. Maybe you could be his boyfriend?’”
“She did not.”
“She did.”
I sigh and briefly shake my head. “Why do my students all think I need someone?”
“Well, maybe because they see how hard you work. And they care and worry about you.”
“Well, teaching is not for the faint of heart. Everyone thinks teaching kindergarten is all fun and games. I mean, it is fun, and we do play games, but there’s nothing easy about it.”
“And the award. That seems to add a lot to your plate.”
“It does, but it’s important.”
“Of course. Let’s make sure this weekend you get to relax. No pressure to do anything. You can sleep in. Nap if you want. We’ll leave you alone.”
“Um, I came to see you. Please don’t leave me alone. But speaking of sleep, where am I sleeping?” I ask with a sheepish grin.
“Well, the house only has two bedrooms. I intended to give you my bed and take the couch, but when Illona asked me where you were sleeping, and I told her my plan, she asked, ‘Daddy, your bed is so big. Why can’t Marvin sleep with you?’”
Illona, wading near the ducks, looks at us with her huge, gorgeous smile, and we both wave to her.
“Really?”
“Yup. I told her I’d be amenable to the idea, if you were, and she smiled. She clearly knows…” And he doesn’t need to say more.
I squeeze his hand, and he returns the gesture.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” he says.
His eyes bore into me and his desire to close the gap between our lips becomes palpable.
“Later. We have all night. Let’s go feed the ducks.”
Back at the rental, I’m surprised at the modesty of the place. I mean, it’s still massive compared to my apartment, but compared to what Olan and Illona are used to, it’s quaint. The first floor has one great room with an unassuming kitchen and a living room with a leather sofa. There’s a half bathroom off the back of the room near the stairs. On the second floor, two bedrooms lie on either side, with the bathroom in the middle. Way more my style in size and decor, I instantly feel comfortable.
We spend the evening cooking, eating tacos, and playing Uno until the sun has almost set. Olan peers at his watch, and Illona groans. “Not yet. Please. We’re on vacation, and Marvin’s here.”
“Princess, you were up before six this morning. It’s time for bed.”
“How about I come up and read you a story?” I offer.
“Yes!” She bolts up the stairs, and the water rushes from the faucet.
“You don’t have to,” Olan says.
“I know. I want to.”
Once Illona’s had her story, a drink, a hug from me, a check under the bed for monsters, another drink, and a kiss from Olan, we head downstairs for the sofa and hopefully some snuggle time.