Chapter 15
AIDAN
Well, if there was any doubt that we’d be able to sell this whole story to our families, showing up to Thanksgiving dinner wearing Covey’s clothes will do it. Could I have gone back to my house to change this morning? Absolutely. But I had no desire to leave, and Covey offered.
We might also have been running a little short on time after our… escapades.
And yes, I’m very much aware that whatever crush I’m developing on Covey is not made better by frotting and dressing myself in his clothes.
Even if I’m enjoying smelling a bit like him, it’s a combination of his laundry detergent and body wash.
Maybe I’m still a little off-center from yesterday, searching for comfort wherever I’m able to find it.
And let me tell you, it’s not in Covey’s family’s sitting room. His relatives are… loud.
“Aidan, tell us more about what it’s like to teach kindergarten,” his cousin, Marina, asks.
I hate answering those kinds of questions.
There’s no good answer to them, and they typically end with people either saying how they’d never be able to do it or how it’s so lovely that I get to play with kids all day. There’s no in between.
“It’s great. I love the school that I’m at, so that’s a big help.” Do I like every aspect? Of course not, but no one loves everything about their job. It’s been my dream since I was a kid, and I’m grateful every day that I get to live it out. A little less on the days when there’s vomit, but still.
“Are the kids terrible?” She leans in like I’m about to spill some serious tea. Well, she’s mistaken. I like the children, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t say anything to break their trust. That’s between me, other teachers, and the drinks at Eddie’s.
“The students are fantastic and work really hard in class.”
“But aren’t they five?” She wrinkles up her nose at the thought.
“Five and six, but they still work hard. There’s a lot they’re expected to learn before they’re ready for first grade.” People forget how challenging all these skills are when they’re first taught.
“What, like coloring?” Covey’s aunt, Kerry, butts into the conversation, and I hold back a groan.
I could give a long lecture about how coloring is essential for motor skill development and that it helps them learn colors, sharing, and a whole bunch of other things, but it’s a holiday, and I’m supposed to be on my best behavior.
“That’s one thing we work on,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Isn’t teaching usually a woman’s job?” And Covey’s uncle, Paul’s, question is my least favorite in the whole world.
I know there are very real issues that concern people, but the assumption under that question is that there are only negative reasons that I would want to be a teacher.
Add to that my queer identity, and well, it’s a recipe for being under a microscope for no good reason.
I might not win any awards, but I’m good at my job, and calling that into question on the morning after one of my students went missing is repulsive.
I’m about to answer the question when Covey’s aunt chimes in again. “Do the parents know you’re gay?”
I swear, I actually see red. “I’ll have you know—” Covey comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“Schatje,” he says barely loud enough for anyone but me to hear. “Could you help me in the kitchen for a few minutes?”
God, he smells good. His proximity draws me back from my anger.
All I want to do is wrap myself around him and breathe in his scent.
“Sure, baby.” I hate the endearment as soon as it leaves my lips.
It’s not right, but in all our preparations—including the extracurricular piece this morning—we didn’t cover what we’d call each other.
He’s started using some word I don’t know to refer to me, but I keep forgetting to ask what it means.
The whole room stares at us, silent, including my mother, who’d been engaged in a side conversation that seems to have died off.
I swear there aren’t that many people here, but suddenly the room feels crowded.
Covey grabs my hand and pulls me through the house, weaving between various people, before tugging me up the stairs.
“You okay?” he asks, tugging me into his bedroom.
“Are they going to wonder why we aren’t in the kitchen?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “But you could use a break.”
“Thanks.” I sink onto his childhood bed. It reminds me of all the times I slept over when we were kids, sometimes sharing the bed, sometimes pulling out our sleeping bags and camping on his floor. Back then, it all seemed so innocent, the exact opposite of this morning.
He sits down next to me, a little closer than I expect, his thigh brushing up against mine. “They can be a bit much.”
I snort. That’s the understatement of the day. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.” I stare at the place where our bodies are connected.
“That doesn’t make it right.”
I nod, unsure how to respond. He’s right, of course, but his family is only saying the same things I’ve heard again and again since the first time I told someone I wanted to teach elementary school.
Even in college, I was pulled aside by professors who kindly double-checked that I wanted to go into the field.
Complete bullshit, and one of the reasons why less than ten percent of the teachers at my school are men.
“We can hide out in here until it’s time to eat.” His face lights up at the idea.
“They’ll all talk.”
“Why?”
I cock my head and give him a stern look. As if we haven’t already caused enough of a show for the day.
“Oh.” With the number of times we slink away, they’re going to think we’re insatiable.
Not that I wouldn’t give anything to strip Covey down and have a repeat of this morning, slower so I can savor it this time.
It was over so fast, I didn’t get to commit every minute to memory.
Now I’m terrified I’ll never get another chance.
“We could stay here anyway. Play video games.” He leans over and grabs the remote from the bedside table.
Covey’s face is so serious, and I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not.
Getting out of bed this morning, as the afterglow faded, I worried things between us would change.
I underestimated Covey, a mistake I should’ve learned years ago not to make.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. The whole group will be talking downstairs, likely sending his cousin as a scout to spy on us. It’ll lead to an awkward and embarrassing dinner, but right now, I don’t care. I want to be here, beating Covey at Mario Kart.
COVEY
I should be a ball of stress, wound up so tight I might snap apart at any moment.
What with today being a full day of family fun—heavy sarcasm on that statement—and tonight being the first of many Nutcracker performances.
That’s enough to drive anyone crazy. Instead, as Aidan and I race our go-karts around the virtual track, I’m entirely at peace.
I’d never tell him, but having him spend the night helped. If he hadn’t been there, I would’ve stayed up half the night worrying about today. Instead, I focused all my energy on taking care of him. While I don’t love the circumstances that brought us there, the results are pretty damn good.
“Covey? You up here?” my mom calls over the peppy music. I hit the pause button and look at Aidan. Our refuge is about to come to an end. “I’m coming in.” She opens the door—apparently, knocking isn’t a thing anymore—eyes shielded with her hand. “It’s time to come eat dinner.”
“Okay, coming.” I stare at her. Poor word choice?
Maybe, but I’m enjoying this, and I deserve a little fun.
Did she think she’d be walking in on the two of us naked?
Even I’m not that shameless. Even as a teenager, I was never brazen enough to bring someone home for sex.
Not that I’m going to volunteer that information.
It raises far too many questions about where I did take them.
“Are you two… playing video games? When you have family downstairs?”
“Just needed a bit of a break,” Aidan says.
I give him a thankful look for answering the question. I’m sure my answer would’ve been much snarkier.
She turns and shakes her head. “Some things never change.”
“I guess we’re done?” I’m not ready to rejoin the family.
This little bubble we’ve created is perfect.
It’s the version of us that I like best, the one that doesn’t include everyone else poking and prodding.
Whatever this is between us feels fragile.
I’m afraid that if everyone gets involved and has their say, it’ll burst, and it’ll all be over.
“Time for the main event.”
I flop over on the floor, stretching out, and groan. Sitting in that position for so long was not great for my muscles. “I like this better,” I whine. Maybe no one will notice if we sneak out? They’ve already got the pies.
“Yeah, me, too,” he says softly. “But the whole dinner thing is why we’re doing this in the first place, right? All the work to make sure we were ready?”
I swallow hard. I almost forgot that this isn’t real.
At some point, our real friendship and the fake relationship blended in my mind.
But of course, the whole thing is made up.
“Right.” Those thoughts are enough to get me moving.
I press up and reach out a hand for Aidan.
He takes it easily and lets me pull him to his feet.
There’s silence between us as we rejoin the rest of the group. We get a lot of strange looks from people, a few strained smiles, and one high-five from my uncle, which feels wrong.
In typical mom fashion, the table is arranged with name cards at every seat. I make my way around the table, reading them and looking for my spot. My heart stops when I see Aidan’s name, but not mine. “Mom, shouldn’t I be next to Aidan?”
“Oh, you get him all the time. I put you across from him.” That’s not part of the plan, but I don’t make a big deal about it. Aidan gets to sit next to his mom, which I’m sure he appreciates. I’m not sure why Marina gets the other side. That part seems less fair.
I find my spot—across the table—and sink into the seat. It’s so far away. The same way I felt when they tried to put our desks on the opposite sides of the classroom to keep us from chatting—a good effort by a teacher who underestimated my chatterbox tendencies.
Mere seconds after we’re seated, my mom has food on the table, and everyone is busy shoveling food onto their plates like it’s a contest. Someone watching would think that we’d run out in previous years. Hint: we’ve never run out of food at Thanksgiving.
If anything, there’s usually enough to provide leftovers for a week. And then, it’s only gone because it’s a threat to our gastrointestinal health.
Sure, I haven’t been here in a few years, but looking around at the heaps of food, not much has changed—same serving plates, same traditional dishes, same friends and family.
For a while, no one speaks unless they’re asking for something to be passed. It’s a trap designed to lull me into a feeling of safety.
“Covey tells us that you don’t have summer plans yet.
” I nearly drop my fork full of mashed potatoes.
When she called earlier this week and casually inquired about our summer plans, I blew it off.
It’s still November, and I haven’t even thought about summer yet.
My lack of planning is about to come back to bite me in the ass.
“What?” Aidan is as confused as I am.
“He says you don’t have summer plans yet. Don’t you usually go somewhere?” My mom is not going to give up on this.
“Well, I haven’t gotten that far yet…” I give Aidan a grateful look. We still have some work to do in the getting-acquainted department.
“Maybe Covey can take you to Europe. He knows his way around pretty well at this point.” All that’s true, but I’m not sure it’s what Aidan has in mind.
“Don’t you and Silas already have that big camping trip planned?” Aidan’s mom asks.
I swear, six sets of eyes all turn slowly to look at Aidan. “It’s a hiking trip, but yes, we’re spending a week in Acadia National Park.”
I swallow hard, trying not to let the envy in my system get the best of me.
Silas is his friend. They’re allowed to do stuff together—even weeklong trips to hang out together in a tent.
Sleep next to each other at night, probably in nothing but their underwear, given how warm it will be.
And that’s after a full day on the trails together, laughing and creating memories.
I could do all that, too. Except, I can’t.
Hiking poses a significant risk of injury, and I can’t jeopardize my career.
If I sprained an ankle, it could keep me from dancing for months, not to mention the amount of rehabilitation it would take.
Plus, tents are not my style. I prefer cozy hotels, preferably with soaking tubs.
“Covey?”
“Yes?” Clearly, I’ve been lost in my jealous thoughts for a while. “Aidan’s trip? Right, I knew about that. I meant I didn’t know what we might do together.”
No one looks convinced. If I had a mirror, I’d be able to include myself in that statement.
“Well, don’t wait too long. I know summer stuff books up quickly.”
Is it wrong that I’m thinking of planning a vacation for the two of us?
A little friends-with-benefits get away?
Assuming we’re still doing that by then.
We probably need to talk about this a bit more.
Right now, neither of us can date anyone, so it’s convenient to hook up with one another.
What happens in January? He might want to go back to being friends, that way, he can find someone else.
Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.
“Pass the turkey,” Uncle Paul says, which is a welcome distraction.
I breathe a sigh of relief and catch Aidan’s eye.
He mouths sorry at me. I’m not sure which part he’s apologizing for, but it doesn’t matter.
I give him a smile that hopefully conveys that I don’t want him to worry.
I fear what he gets is closer to a murderous clown.
Where’s a big distraction when you need one?