Chapter 22
The Sunday scaries have never felt, well, scarier. Not only have I not texted Olan, but my phone has sat untouched all day. I haven’t replied to the three messages he’s sent nor picked up any of his calls. And he’s called four times. Not that I’m counting. Except I’m totally counting.
The revelation of Olan Stone in recovery and having a relapse only a year ago, and him keeping that information from me, along with the fact I’m most definitely catching feelings for a recovering alcoholic, makes my head swell like a tick. How did I get myself in such a mess?
Gonzo, ever attuned to his dad, has been extra cuddly. After peeling off my clothes, silencing my phone, and taking a scalding shower, I crawled into bed and haven’t moved since. Imagined music in my head feels inadequate, so I fire up an actual playlist and when “Damaged” by the gone-too-soon Danity Kane comes on, I play it on repeat for longer than probably recommended by medical professionals. Warning: This song may cause severe desolation. The lyrics and message match my mood, and with apologies to Taylor Swift, I prefer my sad music to have some punch to it. Even the blasting bass and dance beat don’t faze Gonzo as we cuddle together under my thick comforter and I try to process what this all means.
I’m desperate to reach out to Jill. Keeping everything from her has forced a silent wedge between us I loathe. She’s finally expecting, and instead of celebrating and being there for her, I’ve retreated into a shell with Olan. Olan, who kept this from me. Olan, who knew why I don’t drink.
Tomorrow morning, Illona will prance into the classroom, and what if she says something? Asks me what happened. What do I say? How do I act? What about pickup? We agreed to keep our “hanging out” under wraps, but would Olan say or do something at pickup if he felt it was his only recourse? My stomach churns in knots, and bile trickles up my throat.
Of course, the Teacher of the Year visit would be this week. Thursday morning, a pair of educators will come to spend the morning with my class and have a one-on-one interview over lunch. With everything at stake, I should be reading, preparing, and focusing. My head feels dizzy thinking about what this means. It’s not just about me winning a silly award. How did I manage to end up with this burden on my shoulders? In my typical ADHD fashion, I push the worry away and ignore it. For now.
By bedtime, I resolve to tell Jill everything in the morning. I can’t keep this from her. She’ll see it all over my face. If I arrive before her and set up for the day, we’ll have as much time as possible. It’s better than texting. I need to talk to her in person.
Around seven, my phone vibrates. Olan’s persistent, I’ll give him that. I look at the phone and my mother’s, not Olan’s, name and number flash. I don’t have the energy for her right now, but I feel lost, close to slipping out to sea, and she’s calling, reaching out. Hesitantly, I pick up.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Marvy, you’re home!”
“Yes, mother, it’s Sunday evening. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Right, it’s night there. Oy. What are you up to?”
“I’m trying to relax with Gonzo. He’s lying next to me.”
“He’s such a sweet boy. Give my grand-kitty a kiss from me.”
She loves Gonzo as much as a passive-aggressive dig at her lack of grandchildren. Time to shift the subject.
“I will, Mom. What’s up with you?”
“Oh, you know, nothing new here. Oh wait, I started a new aerobics class at the Y, and that has been kicking my tuchus.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re getting out and staying busy.”
“The ladies are nice, I think I might make some new friends.”
“New friends are always good.”
“How about you? How are things with that man you’re seeing?”
And here we go.
“Things are fine,” I lie because it’s easier.
“Good. Good. I don’t like thinking about you alone.”
“I’m not alone, Mom. I have Gonzo.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know. But I’m okay, Mom. I have school,” I contend, trying to convince myself as much as her.
“Marvin, people aren’t meant to be alone. You’re not a bear in the arctic. I just want you to have someone. Somebody to look after and care for you.”
The irony smacks me upside the head. My mother wants for me what she couldn’t give me herself when I was a child. But I don’t need anyone to take care of me. Besides occasionally forgetting to eat and tempting fate by driving my car with an almost empty tank most of the time, I’m doing fine.
“I know, Mom, but I have friends too. Friends are like found family.”
I think of Jill and close my eyes. Why have I pushed her away these last few weeks? In my heart, I know she’d be overjoyed for me. She has so much happening with the pregnancy, and she must be scared. God, I feel like an ass. Every friendship has bumps, but family powers through obstacles. I need to make things right with her.
“You have nice friends who care about you, I know, but a partner, a spouse, that’s something different.”
And knowing she’s right stabs a schmear knife right into my bagel heart.
“Okay, Mom, I have to get ready for school tomorrow,” I fib. There’s a plethora of tasks I could engage in, but tonight, Gonzo and I will stay in bed, eat spicy Doritos, leave crumbs in places there should be no crumbs, and blast pop songs about broken hearts.
* * *
Pulling into the school parking lot, I’m relieved I’ve beat Jill here. I need to prepare for the day and know once we begin chatting, my brain won’t be in the place to do so. The heavy school door slams hard behind me, creating an echo of noise through the hallway that trails me to my room. I toss my backpack on my chair and scribble the morning message as quickly as possible.
As I pinball around the room, placing papers and moving bins, I listen for Jill’s arrival, ready to leap out into the hallway and pounce on her. But as it gets closer to eight, Jill’s still not here. Typically, when one of us calls out sick, we text the other and email sub plans. Even though there’s been this space between us, I hope she’d still feel comfortable doing that. I pull out my phone to ensure I haven’t missed anything and debate texting her as Kristi pops her head into my room.
“Good morning,” Kristi says with something else brewing underneath her smile.
“Hey, how are you?”
“I’m good, Marvin.” She shuts the door. The guidance counselor shutting your door to chat is never a good sign. She walks over to a table closer to the easel where I’m standing and sits on it. Her usually cheerful face looks ominous, and I’m starting to worry.
“Marvin, Jill’s in the hospital. I just found out this morning. I’m not sure what’s wrong, but…”
The baby. Fuck. Tears begin to sting the corner of my eyes as I grab my coat and keys and dart for the door. I’m not sure if Kristi even knows Jill’s pregnant, and it’s not my place to tell her, so I just blurt, “I’ve got to go. Which hospital?”
“Maine Med, but Marvin, you can’t leave. The kids will be here in twenty minutes. We don’t have a sub for you.”
“Kristi, please watch my class. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
* * *
“Marvin, hey buddy. She’s going to be okay.” Nick grabs me by the reception desk and gathers me in his arms, squeezing tightly, not letting go. Disinfectant and bleach blanket the area and the whoosh of automatic doors underscores Nick’s voice.
“What happened?”
“She had some cramping this morning. They’ve run tests and the doctor says the baby is fine. This happens sometimes.”
“She’s okay? The baby’s okay?” I let out a huge sigh, and the tears bridled all morning begin to stream down my face. Nick pulls away and gives me a soft smile, and I grab him again because I feel like he might need it, and I absolutely do. With my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, he squeezes me tightly and mutters, “Yes, they’re both fine.”
Jill lies in a bed, hooked up to monitoring equipment. In this bare, sterile room, attached to tubes and beeping machines, the noises and disinfectant swirling in the air, she appears smaller, something I’m not used to with her.
“You trying to steal my husband?” she says with a gravelly voice.
“Oh no, this guy only has eyes for you. I’ve tried.” I pat Nick’s arm.
I walk over to her bed, and more tears cascade from my eyes. I’m crying about Jill, the baby, the secrets I’ve been keeping, Olan, all of it.
“Oh honey, it’s going to be okay. Sit down.”
“I was so worried about you.”
“Marvin, look at me. I’m fine. The baby is healthy. We’re okay.”
I lean over and bury my face into her chest, and the tears morph into a slow sob.
“Buddy, what is going on? There’s something else. What is it?”
I don’t want to talk about Olan. Or myself. Not here, not now. But Jill knows me better than almost anyone, and it’s impossible to fool her.
“These tears. What’s this about?”
“We’ll talk later. Not now, not here.” I motion to the hospital room.
“Marvin, now you’re scaring me. Tell me. Now.”
The time and place aren’t ideal, but I can’t contain it any longer.
“I have to tell you something, but I don’t want to upset you. Not now.”
“Unless you actually are running away with Nick, I promise I won’t be.”
“Noted!” Nick shouts from a chair across the room where he’s engrossed on his phone.
With a needle poking out the top of her hand, for the first time since I’ve arrived she moves her palm from her belly and takes mine in hers, looks at me, and says, “Spill it.”
“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, and it’s been eating me up because I know it’s created distance between us, and I hate that. I’ve been seeing someone, and I didn’t tell you because, well, it’s Olan, and I wanted to tell you, but he asked me not to say anything, and I agreed. With him being a parent in my class, and Teacher of the Year, and he’s never been with a man, and things were amazing, like beyond amazing, but he told me he’s an alcoholic, well in recovery, but still technically an alcoholic, and he had a relapse last year, but it was only one drink, and he actually does appear sober, but I ran out and haven’t called or texted him since he told me and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you…”
“Okay, first breathe.”
I close my eyes and inhale, attempting to make the air flow down to my diaphragm and releasing it slowly through my nose.
“Wait, Olan, the hot, rich dad?” Nick asks.
“Yes, very hot. Very rich,” Jill says. “First, thank you for telling me. I knew something was up but didn’t want to push you. Remember, you can always tell me anything. This” – she moves her hands between us – “is a judgment-free zone.”
“I know. I’m sorry. So sorry. We agreed not to tell anyone, and I absolutely hated keeping it from you. Things were going so well. Or I thought they were. And now I’ve fucked it all up. Oh my god, sorry for saying fuck. In front of the baby.” I gesture to her belly.
“For fuck’s sake, you’re good,” she says with a sigh. “First of all, why didn’t he tell you he was in recovery?”
“I mean, we’re not super serious yet. Maybe because of my mom? Maybe because he knew I’d freak out? Which I did. So actually, maybe he was smart to keep it from me. I ran out of there like a nincompoop.”
“Wait, ran out of where?”
“He rented a cottage on Peaks, and I went for a few days.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I know! I’m so sorry. I felt awful keeping things from you. I wanted to tell you, I almost did, but then didn’t, and things were, well, moving along with us.”
“Wait, have you had sex with him?”
I glance over at Nick and back at Jill and give her my are-we-really-talking-about-this-in-front-of-the-straight-guy? look.
“Dude, it’s all good,” Nick says. “Actually, I’m about to go look for some breakfast.” And he slips out.
“Spill it.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve had sex. A few times.”
“Marvin, you had sex with that gorgeous specimen of a man?”
“Um, hello, your husband isn’t chopped liver either.”
“Valid. Now tell me everything.”
“We’ve had sex, all of it. I mean, one of the times was after his parent conference.”
I give a wide-showing-all-my-teeth-oops smile.
“You fucking harlot! I love it. Wait, where were you?”
“In the printer closet.”
“That’s so hot.”
“It was, actually.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
“I mean if I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking you. I have no clue. I’m without a clue. I’m Alicia-Silverstone-level clueless.” I sigh heavily and hope Jill has some words of wisdom.
“I mean he did tell you. Maybe not as quickly as you’d like, but you said he’s sober now?”
“Yeah, for almost a year.”
Jill shrugs and says, “Marvin, I know you have all these issues around drinking because of your mom, and I’m not trying to downplay that, but maybe this guy is worth working through them. Maybe Olan is an opportunity to face and overcome some of this. Or maybe not. He did tell you. And he’s sober. I don’t know. I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Um, hello, that’s literally our thing. You tell me what to do all the time.”
“Well, I can’t. Not with this. I know what recovery means to you. But also, you haven’t dated anyone seriously since Adam. I see your eyes when you talk about him. Do you love him?”
Love? Why did she have to bring up the L-word? My feelings for Olan are growing, but why does it feel difficult for me to admit it, even to myself? Is this because Adam betrayed me? My father abandoning me? I’m not sure.
“Do I love him?”
“Listen, I’m lying in a hospital bed. Don’t do Fiddler with me.”
“I don’t know. I love being with him. I love the idea of him. Maybe I love him? Is that enough?”
“You have to decide that.”
“You’ve been extremely helpful,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“I love you, too.”
Jill squeezes my hand, and I’m overwhelmed with affection for her and our friendship but still incredibly perplexed about Olan. I started to really let my guard down, and this reaction came from my gut. I’m supposed to listen to my gut, right? But then there’s Olan and how incredibly wonderful he’s been. Why can’t someone simply make all my tough life decisions for me?