Chapter 7
AIDAN
The slow march toward winter vacation gets worse every year. People warned me—repeatedly—but I didn’t believe them. After a whole three and a half years of teaching, I not only believe them, but I take it upon myself to warn every new teacher. They probably don’t believe me either.
“Mr. Matthews! Are you even listening?”
The answer is no, but I can’t say that. “I’m sorry, Becca. I didn’t understand what you said. Can you try again?”
She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders.
“Can I puh-lease take Goldie home this weekend?” Goldie is our class pet.
She’s the seventh in a string of goldfish who’ve held that title—and name.
Keeping a goldfish alive is hard. It’s even harder when it’s mostly being done by a group of students who like to attempt to pet her.
If I had a quarter for every time I’ve asked someone to take their hand out of the bowl, I’d be able to retire.
“I don’t think it’s your turn this weekend. Did you check the calendar?” Oh, and because I’m a complete sucker, I let the students rotate taking Goldie home for a few days at a time. I know, stupid.
“But I love Goldie.” The whine in her voice is almost enough to convince me. Almost.
“I know, but you get to see her in the classroom every day, and when it’s your turn, you’ll get to take her to your house and introduce her to your family.”
“I guess.” Not the best answer, but I’ll take it.
“Why don’t you head outside? I bet your dad is waiting for you.” At least I hope he is. I don’t want to deal with those pleading eyes any more than I have to. By tomorrow, Becca won’t even remember she asked.
“Oh, we’re getting ice cream!” And…we’re done. One good thing about five-year-olds is that they’re easily distractible. Usually.
As the students file out to the bus and pickup area, I start the clean-up process, grabbing stray items from the ground, wiping them down with sanitizer, and putting them away.
Luckily, the room isn’t too much of a disaster.
They had music class this afternoon, so they were away long enough for me to do some damage control.
“Hey, you want to get a drink?” Silas peeks his head into my classroom. It’s a standard routine at the end of a tough day. The dark look in his eyes tells me his day was worse than mine.
“Sure, give me an hour to finish up here and get some grading done?”
“Perfect. Usual place?”
“Yep.” There’s a great pub down the street, Eddie’s, that’s been there for decades. Nothing fancy, but they have great burgers and a decent beer list. Plus, we usually get out of here fast enough to make it there in time to grab a good table.
Once my classroom is clean, I focus on getting through a stack of worksheets. Deciphering study handwriting is always an exercise in imagination, but thankfully, it’s only a few words and not a whole essay.
An hour later, I’m sitting in a booth, sipping a local IPA.
“So, rough day?” I ask once we’ve both had a few sips.
“Ugh. I hate this time of year. It’s like every single one of them takes a shot of sugar and caffeine on the way in the door.”
“Yours, too, huh?” Silas teaches fifth grade, which sometimes sounds nice until I remember how sassy his kids are. They’re also figuring out that adults are not all-powerful.
“Yeah, today was particularly bad.” He takes a long drink of his beer, and I wait for him to elaborate. “You know Eric Rogers?”
I nod. I didn’t have him, but I had his younger brother last year. Super smart kid with lots of questions. Lots and lots of questions.
“His parents are getting a divorce, and he’s not taking it very well.”
“Really? I always thought they looked so happy.” That’s a standard refrain muttered behind closed doors throughout the school.
It’s always the ones we don’t expect. I shouldn’t be surprised.
My parents divorced when I was a teenager, and I never saw it coming.
If someone asked, I’d have told them that they were as happy as could be right up until the day they sat me down and broke the news.
“I know. I saw them together at the open house in September, and they looked like a model family. His mom called me last week to let me know.”
At least they gave him a heads-up. “Eric’s misbehaving?”
“Yeah, pushing other kids around, talking during class. Today, he ripped up another student’s worksheet.”
“Yikes. Looking for attention?” I took one class worth of child psychology, but some things are easy to work out.
“Probably. I’m trying, but you know how it is.
” Silas shrugs, and I give him a knowing nod.
Our classrooms are packed with students, and as much as focusing on a single struggling kid is appealing, we have to make sure the other twenty-seven also get the attention they need.
“I don’t want to think about it. Tell me about your fake boyfriend. ”
I wince a little. Silas doesn’t know our families, but I didn’t ask Covey if I could tell Silas the truth. He probably wouldn’t care, but I probably should’ve asked first. “It’s… rough.”
“Trouble in fake paradise?”
“No, we get along fine. It’s more that we know everything about each other, right up until the age of about fourteen.” As much as I sometimes like to believe that I’m still young, I’ve outgrown some things in that time.
“Called that one.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not, but I don’t want to see how smug he gets if I tell him that he got the whole thing right.
“Is it?” Ugh. It’s as if he can look into my mind.
“It will be. We’re going to hang out a bit so we can get to know each other.”
“So, dating?”
“Not dating. Hanging out, like us.” I point back and forth between us. As far as I know, Silas is one hundred percent straight. Even if he wasn’t, I’m not sure I’d ever want to date him. We’re great friends, but there’s no chemistry.
“If you say so.” He takes a large gulp of his dark beer.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Aidan, I know you. You’re going to get attached to him. And then what? The fake breakup will break your heart.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Yes, I have a reputation for falling fast and hard, but that’s with people I’m in a relationship with. The thing Covey and I are doing doesn't qualify as a relationship. If we were going to get together, surely it would’ve happened long before now.
It’s taking us a little time to find our rhythm. That’s the only reason I’ve been nervous around him. We’ve been apart a long time, so it’s expected that it would take us a little time to reconnect.
“Is it?”
“You’ll see. When you meet him, you’ll get the whole picture and understand.” And if he doesn’t meet Covey until this whole thing is over, even better.
“And when is that?”
“What?”
“My chance to meet the infamous Covey.” I can’t help but laugh. Covey would love to know that someone describes him as infamous.
“He’s swamped—” My phone buzzes on the table, and we both stare at Covey’s name lighting up the screen. He’s calling me—an actual phone call. Before I can finish processing, Silas reaches over and hits the answer button, followed by the speaker key.
“Hi, Aidan.”
“Hey,” Silas says. There’s a long silence on the other side. “This is Aidan’s friend. He’s here, too.” Sure, make me the afterthought in this escapade.
“Sorry to interrupt. My schedule got pushed around, and I ended up having the night free. I wanted to see if you wanted to get together, but you’re already busy, so forget it.”
“Sorry,” I say.
At the same time, Silas says, “Join us.”
“What was that?”
“Come join us. We’re hanging out at Eddie’s. You know where that is?”
“Suuuure.” Covey draws out the word like he’s trying to think of a reason not to agree to this idea. For both our sakes, I’m hoping he figures it out. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Thanks a lot, Covey.
“Can’t wait.” Silas ends the call with a massive grin on his face.
I put every ounce of energy into glaring at him, as if it could somehow turn back time and change the circumstances.
“What? You said I could meet him.”
I play back the conversation in my head. I’m pretty sure that’s not quite what I said. Well, at least the night will be interesting.
COVEY
This is a stupid idea. I keep telling myself that, but somehow that stupid idea drove me across town and parked in the lot across from Eddie’s. Now I either need to go home or go inside. Sitting in my car, scrolling through social media, is accomplishing nothing.
Hanging out with Aidan is easy. His friend, maybe not so much.
As much as I adore people, it’s been a long ass day full of rehearsal.
And by rehearsal, I mostly mean me trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Given that I’ve been dancing this long, some people think I have every part of The Nutcracker memorized.
I might, if it wasn’t for the fact that every ballet company has its own choreography.
While my last company tended to be traditional, Green Mountain is more contemporary.
They’ve revised some of the more problematic sections and added a touch of local flair.
All good things. I only wish it didn’t mean cramming so many new combinations into my head.
Of course, I have a lot of tricks for remembering, but it’s never quick or easy.
This year, one of my primary roles is as the male lead in the Hot Chocolate dance.
Despite my best effort, that one seems to be refusing to stick.
Okay, I’m doing it. I make my way across the street and push open the heavy door to Eddie’s, where loud voices immediately overtake me.
For a Wednesday night, it’s crowded. The place is essentially the same as I remember it, but the new owners have added their touch.
They’ve taken away a bit of the rustic Vermont vibe and replaced it with something more sophisticated.
They’ve also added a few pride flags around the space.
It’s always been queer friendly, but now they’re more open about it, both with the sticker on the door and the decorations.
It doesn’t take long to spot Aidan and his friend—whose name I already forgot—at a table near the wall. I give them a quick wave and make my way over, pushing past a few people standing around the edges of the room.
“Hey, sorry to crash your night.” A few empty glasses sit on the table, as well as a half-eaten basket of fries. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. It looks like they’ve got a good thing going.
“You aren’t crashing anything. Hi, I’m Silas, Aidan’s favorite friend and personal secretary.” He sticks his hand out to me.
“Covey. Nice to meet you.” He grips my hand a little too tightly when he shakes it. Am I in the middle of something? Aidan would’ve mentioned if he had a boyfriend, right? That’s the kind of thing that would come up in a discussion of fake dating.
“Knock it off, Silas,” Aidan admonishes. “Ignore him,” he says, pulling a chair out for me. “His students are annoying him, which means he needs someone to annoy back. Tonight it’s me.”
I’m still unclear on the dynamic, so I nod quietly.
“So, I hear you’re fake fucking my friend.” It’s a good thing I don’t have a drink in my mouth, because if I did, it would be all over the table right now.
“Jiminy.” Aidan looks around the place, like he’s afraid someone heard that little outburst. Which is hilarious because it’s likely the least offensive exclamation I’ve heard anyone make in a bar. “Fake dating. Nothing else.”
Silas shrugs. “Call it what you want. I wouldn’t date anyone, real or otherwise, without the sex part.”
“Which is exactly why you don’t have a real or imaginary girlfriend.” Silas looks wounded for a second before he steels his expression. There’s something there, but I’m not about to put my foot in it. I think I’ve done enough damage for one holiday season.
Hearing that his friend likely isn’t interested in him makes me like Silas a whole lot more.
I don’t know what that means exactly, but it’s a thought I’m willing to ignore in favor of thinking about other things.
“Aidan’s doing me a favor. My family’s been on my ass about settling down, so he’s my holiday date.
No fucking.” I added that last part to be crystal clear.
“Exactly,” Aidan adds, though his words seem to come with a little bit of apprehension.
“Not that I wouldn’t,” I say quickly. “It’s not part of the arrangement.” I look at Aidan, whose face has gone from stoic to bewildered. “Not that it couldn’t be or anything, it’s just not.” These are the times when I wish I had a drink in my hand. At least I could use it to shut myself up.
“So, you would fuck him?” Silas asks, learning into the table. “Or is it the other way around?”
“Do. Not. Answer,” Aidan tells me, holding up a hand.
“No fun.” Silas pouts and tries to take a sip of his drink, only to find the glass empty. He signals the waitress, who comes over to check on us.
“Two more of these beers, and…” He points toward me.
“Water, please,” I say. As much as this conversation might make me want a drink, what I need right now is hydration and sleep, not sugar and alcohol.
“Covey, this might not have been the best idea. Maybe we should catch up another night.” Aidan sighs and slumps over the table.
“No, this is perfect. Now I’ve met one of your friends—”
“Only friend,” Silas says, grinning.
“One of your friends and learned more about your drink choices.”
“How’s that going to help?” Aidan asks.
It’s a good question. I don’t necessarily have the answer yet.
“Expect the unexpected?” With my family, that’s always a good mantra.
“With you, Covey, I always do.”
His response fills me with warmth. For the first time since we started this, it’s starting to feel like Aidan and I are on the same page again. Or at the very least, in the same book.