Harley
The waitress leaves, after bringing me my fourth glass of soda, as I sit in the booth of a crowded restaurant waiting for Yaz. We agreed to meet for lunch today before her shift at the restaurant tonight and before the kids came home from school. I didn’t want to risk being late picking up the kids from school in peak-hour traffic, so we agreed on an early lunch. But I, of course, now being the extremely organized type, thanks to my job, decided to get here an hour early. I look around the restaurant and notice several couples and families with young children not yet of school age dining. I take another glance at my watch which reads a quarter to twelve. Yaz will be here in fifteen minutes. I pick up the menu for the third time since I sat down at this booth and scan the appetizers, although there’s nothing very appetizing about them at all.
The truth is, nothing has really been appetizing lately, not since that night Jasper and I spoke in his office when we were discussing what to do about Tristan’s report card. The night when supposedly everything changed. I can still hear his words as they seep into my brain. “Because I can’t trust myself to not fall in love with you.”
The sentence took me completely by surprise, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since he said it. I’m not even sure what to make of it, to be honest. Jasper had said that his feelings and emotions were getting the better of him that night, and nothing he was saying was making sense. But it was to me. And the more I wander back to that conversation, the more I can’t stop thinking about the man and what it would feel like to have his hands all over my body.
Fuck, ! He is your boss and completely off-limits. That’s one boundary you cannot cross.
I try and shake the thought out of my head by sipping on my soda, and I don’t know how long I must have been daydreaming about Jasper because the next thing I know, Yaz is calling my name with her arms wide out in front of her and leaning in to kiss me on the cheek.
“It’s great to see you,”
she says after pulling away.
“You. too.”
She places her purse on the chair, then slides into the booth before picking up the menu.
“Have you ordered yet?”
“No, I was waiting for you,”
I tell her.
We both scan the menu, and after a few moments, the waitress who stopped by my table earlier reappears.
“Are you two ready to order, or shall I give you more time?” she asks.
“No, I’m ready. I’m actually starving,”
Yaz tells the waitress. “I’ll grab a cheeseburger and fries, thank you.”
The waitress makes a note on her pad, then asks, “Anything to drink?”
“Um … I’ll have a club soda, please.”
The waitress nods in acknowledgement, then turns her head in my direction.
“I’ll have the spaghetti Bolognese, please,”
I tell her.
“Another drink for you?”
“Yes, make mine a club soda also.”
She scribbles the order on her pad, then places it into one of the pockets of her apron. She collects the menus from the table and says, “I’ll be back shortly with your order,”
before turning on her heels and wandering through the restaurant and back to the kitchen.
“So, how are you?”
Yaz asks. “How’s the job going?”
Good fucking question!
“I’m good. Real good. And the job is … great. I’m loving it.”
“You hesitated,”
she says, quickly.
“What? No, I didn’t,”
I reply, just as quickly.
“Yes, you did. What aren’t you telling me, ?”
“Nothing. Honestly. You’re being paranoid.”
“Paranoid my fat Aunt Harriett. I know you, Valentine. You’re hiding something.”
“So, how’s work?”
I ask, deflecting the question.
“I asked you first,”
she pushes.
“Yaz?” I warn.
“Don’t Yaz me. Spill. What’s going on?”
“You know you’re a bitch, right?”
“And what’s your point?” she asks.
The waitress returns with our drinks, and she places them down in the table in front of us. “I’ll be back with your meals shortly,”
he says, then turns and walks away, leaving me with no choice but to finally answer Yaz’s question because God knows the pushy bitch won’t rest until I tell her everything that’s going on. Well, maybe I can stretch the truth a little or … a lot. I take a sip of my soda and keep my eyes focused on one of the napkins resting in front of me on the table, anything to avoid looking at Yaz, who I know is loving every moment of this torture.
“You know I’m not going to give up on this, so you may as well tell me what’s going on. And make it quick because I have to work tonight and I’m heading in early.”
“Something happened a while ago. Something that has me really questioning my job,”
I tell her.
“Like what?”
“We were sitting in his office, the three of us. Jasper, Tristan, and myself, and we were discussing something personal.”
“Tristan? Remind me again, he’s the eldest? The problem child?”
“That’s partially correct. Although I wouldn’t call him the problem child anymore. We’ve worked through our differences and we’re actually really close now. He’s a good kid who just needed some guidance and reassurance.”
“Okay? So, what happened?” she asks.
“At first, nothing. It was just a conversation between a father and his son. Tristan wanted me there for support because it was a very sensitive matter, Anyway, after we all finished talking, Tristan went to his room, leaving me and Jasper alone together.”
Her eyes immediately widen, and a wide smile stretches across her face, almost reaching her ears.
“Oh my God, you two kissed, didn’t you?”
“Bitch, please!”
I answer, glaring at her. “What kind of imbecile do you take me for?”
“Well, I don’t know. The way you were describing the events was like something you would read in a romance novel or watch on the Hallmark channel, and that’s usually the way these things end.”
She does make a rather compelling argument and valid point.
“True. But that’s not what happened. Although, you wouldn’t be too far from it, though.”
At that moment, the waitress returns and places our meals down on the table in front of us, then with a wide smile, she turns on her heels again and leaves our table.
“Will you quit stalling and just tell me already,”
she demands.
Twirling the spaghetti around my fork, I say, “Jasper admitted that he was finding it increasingly difficult to control his feelings for me.”
I place the forkful of pasta in my mouth and then look at Yaz whose eyes are wide with a beaming smile.
“Wait, he said that?”
“Not in so many words …”
“What kind of words, exactly?” she asks.
“After Tristan left the room and went to bed, Jasper started acting all … weird, for a lack of a better term. He wouldn’t tell me at first, but I knew there was something playing on his mind. When I asked him to tell me what was wrong, he kept staring out his window into the darkness, not saying a single word. He kept telling me that there was nothing wrong but wouldn’t look me in the face, and when I told him to look at me and say it to my face, he told me he couldn’t.”
“Oh?”
she fishes.
“He told me that whenever he looked at me, I reminded him of his late husband, and that made it difficult for him to tell me anything, at least to my face anyway. He said that everything I did reminded me about Todd, especially the way I was around the children. I told him that perhaps it would be best if I went away for a while, you know, just so he could clear his head. But he tried to convince me that he was the problem and not me. Then he suggested that he should be the one to go on a vacation for a while, and I should stay behind and continue to look after the kids. I kept trying to convince him that there was no need. He didn’t listen and kept insisting that the only way he was going to get through this was to take a vacation.”
I place another forkful of pasta in my mouth, then afterward take another sip of my soda and finish my story. “Then, just as he was leaving the room, he said, ‘I can’t trust myself to not fall in love with you.’”
That has her lowering the burger back down on the plate. She takes the napkin and wipes her hands, then her mouth, then she takes a sip of her drink.
“Wow! Although I can’t say I’m at all surprised, really.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Come on, . The man is a widower with three children. He rescues the damsel in distress, if you’ll pardon the expression, offers you a job in his mansion, then takes you into his home with open arms and pretty much presents you with the opportunity of a lifetime. You live with this man; you see each other day and night and you’re looking after his children. This has all the ingredients of a romance waiting to happen.”
“Romance? I’d hardly say there’s anything romantic going on.”
“Oh, please. Can you honestly sit there, look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not falling head over heels for this guy?”
Silence surrounds us and I quickly shift my gaze from her to the half-eaten bowl of pasta on the table. I shovel more forkfuls into my mouth, trying anything to avoid answering her question. As I continue eating, however, I hear her say my name and snap her fingers rather loudly, and I angle my head up at her so as to not draw the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant.
“Can we please not discuss this right now?” I beg.
“No. Not until you answer my question.”
“And what question is that?”
I ask, even though I know exactly what question she is referring to.
“Are you in love with him?”
“No … yes … I don’t know. I just don’t know. I thought there were a couple of moments where I thought I was in love with him but I didn’t want to believe it. I mean, I couldn’t believe it. There were times when we would be in the same room and we’d look at each other and … I could hardly breathe.”
“Did you make it obvious about how you felt?”
“If I did, it wasn’t intentional. And I know that it’s wrong for me to let him know how I feel about him.”
I feel myself choke up at my own words, and my eyes are watery. I’ve never really realized until now just how much I care about this man. Or perhaps I myself have been in complete denial, trying to convince myself that these feelings I’m having are just temporary, and with time, will disappear. But I know in my heart, that’s not the case. At all. And I’m only kidding myself if I think otherwise.
“Then you have to find out. You have to tell him how you feel,”
Yaz tells me.
With my fork halfway up to my mouth, I stop and glare at the woman sitting opposite me.
“Find out? Are you mad? Did you not hear a word I just said? Telling this man how I feel is not in the cards right now … or ever. He’s my boss and that’s dangerous territory, not to mention all kinds of wrong.”
“There’s never anything wrong about being in love, . It’s uncontrollable. We can’t control who we love. I guess that’s what makes it so interesting sometimes because you never know what to expect. I say go in there and grab the bull by the horns.”
“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say. He’s not your boss and you’re not getting paid to look after his children.”
“, we’ve been friends for how long now? A long time, right? And I know you pretty much better than anyone else, don’t I? I’m like the sister you never had. We tell each other everything, and you know that when I’m right about something, I’m right. Even if that means kicking your ass from here to Timbuktu to prove my point.”
Once again, the know-it-all bitch is right, we have been friends for a long time, and she really is like the sister I never had. I’ve confided in her during some of the darkest moments of my life, and she’s been there for me through thick and thin. I just wish we’d known each other when I was going through all the shit with my mom. But that’s in my past, and a time that I would rather forget. The honest truth is, I don’t know what I would ever do without her.
“I can’t face him, Yaz. Not now that I know the truth about how he really feels.”
“You don’t know that, though.”
“Huh?”
I inquire.
“You said earlier that he couldn’t trust himself to not fall in love with you. That’s not the same thing.”
After placing the final forkful of pasta in my mouth, I swallow, then take another sip of my soda. When I agreed to catch up with Yaz for lunch, this wasn’t exactly the way I visioned it would turn out. I didn’t expect to be sitting here and have a conversation about my boss and the fact that he might have feelings for me, or more importantly, that I would be falling for him.
Yeah, let that reality settle in for a moment, .
Truthfully, I’ve never really had that much luck with relationships, and after catching my ex in bed with another man, I gave up all hope of ever finding love again. Jesus, what the hell am I saying? Am I actually falling for Jasper? How is that even possible? We’ve barely known one another six months. I’m already too involved in his life by taking care of his children, and the last thing I need right now is to complicate their lives, much less mine. No, I think the best thing for me to do right now is forget that this conversation ever happened and back the fuck away.
“You know what I mean,”
I answer, finally. “It’s quite obvious from his reply that he finds it difficult being in the same room as me. I think it’s best if we just keep our distance whenever and wherever we can and not let things get complicated or awkward between us.”
“How long did he say he was going to be away?” Yaz asks.
“He didn’t. He just told me he needed to take some time away and that he would be back. That was two weeks ago.”
“Wait, so he just packed up and left and hasn’t been in contact since?”
“He calls every night to speak to the kids, but he and I haven’t spoken since he left,”
I tell her.
We hardly said another word to each other for the remainder of lunch. After finishing our coffees, I bid farewell to Yaz and then head to the car. I sit inside the car for I don’t know how long, thinking about nothing in particular. Okay, so that’s a complete lie. I’m totally thinking about Jasper and our conversation before he left. Working in a restaurant had its moments, dealing with shitty customers, a shitty boss, and sometimes very shitty conditions, but hey, you do what you got to do to earn a buck, right? Then I’m presented with the job of a lifetime where I have all my expenses paid, a huge-ass mansion to live in, and a boss who is not only a billionaire, but drop-dead, handsomely gorgeous.
What makes all this so complicated is that when I first met the guy, I didn’t even know who he was and I never gave him a second look. But over the last few months, I have found myself growing increasingly attracted to him. Now that I know there’s a chance that it’s potentially not one-sided, I don’t know how to deal with that. Love can definitely be complicated—I don’t even know if that’s the right word to use right now because I can’t—won’t admit to myself that I am in love with this man who has somehow managed to change my life in only a few short months. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and continue to just stare out the windshield at nothing in particular. Then, just as I’m about to switch on the ignition, my phone rings. I look at the caller ID display and Kit’s number appears on my screen.
“Kit?” I answer.
“. I—I need you to come down to my school. I’m in the principal’s office.”
“Principal’s office? What happened?” I ask.
“I’ll explain when you get here. Can you please come?”
“I’m on my way,”
I tell him, fastening my seatbelt and then start the engine. I pull out of the parking lot and head to the school.
I could tell by the sound of his voice that he’d been crying, or that he was upset about something at the very least. As I make my way through traffic, I take a quick look at what I’m wearing; black jeans, torn at the knees, a button-down shirt, and sneakers. I’ve never had to go to a school and have a meeting with a principal before, so I don’t know if this is suitable attire or what one is supposed to wear to these things.
It takes me a little longer to get to the school even in non-peak-hour traffic. Once I’m in the parking lot, I step out of the car and make my way to the main office and walk inside. A woman behind a glass window greets me and I tell her that I’m here to see Kit and the principal. She tells me to take a seat on one of the chairs behind me, then steps out from the room where she is standing behind the window and wanders over to one of the closed doors a few feet to my left and knocks. I hear the faint sound of a woman’s voice say, “Come in,”
and the door opens.
“There’s a gentleman here to see you,”
I hear the receptionist say.
“Thank you,”
the other woman replies, her voice louder this time through the open door.
The receptionist walks past me and gives me a smile before going back to the room behind the glass window then a few seconds later, a woman appears on my left, and I get to my feet.
“Hello, I’m Chelsea Davenport, the principal of this school.”
The tall redhead, dressed in a long black dress, pearls, and heels stretches out her hand for me to shake.
“ Valentine,”
I say, taking her hand in a firm handshake.
She leads the way into her office, and when I enter the room, I see Kit sitting down on one of the chairs. Sitting in an armchair beside him is another boy around the same age. He has a bloodied towel up to his nose, and next to him is an older man, probably the child’s father or relative. I take the empty seat beside Kit as Chelsea closes the door to her office, then wanders around to the other side of her desk and takes residence in the black swivel chair.
“Mr. Valentine, I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before. Are you a distant relative of the family?”
“No, I’m the family nanny. Well, the manny as I’ve so appropriately been titled.”
“Oh, I see. And Mr. Harding wasn’t available to come down himself?”
“No. He’s away on vacation at the moment.”
Chelsea gives me a once-over, almost like she’s trying to figure out if I’m someone genuine or an imposter. Then after a moment, she slides her chair forward, then clasps her fists on the desk in front of her.
“The reason I have called you here today, Mr. Valentine—”
“, please,” I cut in.
“. Is because there was an incident on the school grounds today that involved Kit.”
I turn my head to my left where Kit has his head lowered, then my eyes shift from him to the other kid sitting beside him.
“Incident? What kind of incident?”
I inquire.
“The kid punched my son in the nose and broke it. I suggest you get your wallet out and get ready to pay up big time,”
the father of the other child finally says.
“Mr. Connors, please,”
Chelsea says, sternly, narrowing her eyes at the man.
“Earlier today, Kit and Charlie were in the yard and then all of a sudden there was a commotion. By the time the staff and I found the boys, they were fighting, and just as I approached the two of them, I witnessed Kit punch Charlie in the nose.”
“I suggest you tell this boy’s father to have his checkbook ready because we’ll be suing,”
Mr. Connors says in a rather loud tone.
“Mr. Connors, if you could please refrain from speaking out of turn, we can get to the bottom of this a lot sooner.”
“What’s there to get to the bottom of? This young man broke my son’s nose. It’s as simple as that.”
“He called me a faggot,”
Kit suddenly blurts out.
The entire room falls silent, and I hear the soft sounds of Kit sobbing beside me. He has his head lowered, and I wrap my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in toward me so that his head rests on my shoulder.
“Charlie, is this true?”
Chelsea asks, narrowing her eyes on the kid sitting beside Kit.
He says nothing at first, then his father shifts in his seat so that he’s now facing his son and then asks, “Answer the question, Charlie. Did you call Kit that?”
Charlie says nothing, instead he moves his eyes from Kit, then to me, then Chelsea and finally his father.
“Answer me, Charlie,”
Mr. Connors says.
“Well, his father is a faggot, so he’s a faggot.”
That comment has me standing out of my seat quickly.
“That’s enough!” I yell.
“Mr. Valentine,”
Chelsea says, rising out of her seat.
“I think we deserve an apology,” I say.
“We?”
Charlie looks at me and then at Kit. “Wait a minute, you’re gay too, aren’t you?”
“Charlie, I think you owe Mr. Valentine and Kit an apology, don’t you agree?”
“What for? I didn’t do anything wrong,”
Charlie replies.
“Charlie! I don’t think you realize the seriousness of what is happening here. This is a very serious matter,”
Chelsea tells him.
I turn my attention to Kit who is still sitting down on the chair, then I look at Mr. Connors, Charlie, and then finally, Chelsea. When her eyes meet mine, I can see the determination in them. All she wants is to get to the bottom of this, like I do. I inhale a deep breath, close my eyes and exhale. I have to admit this isn’t exactly what I expected when I got Kit’s phone call telling me to come down here. And I’m not only glad but also relieved that nothing more serious has come out of this.
“Charlie, I think you owe Mr. Valentine and Kit an apology,”
Mr. Connors tells his son.
“An apology?”
I ask. “I believe more than an apology is owed here, don’t you think?”
Chelsea narrows her eyes at me, and I’m not sure if she’s in agreement or denial. Then she shifts her focus to Kit. His head is down and he remains mute. This is one of those moments where I wish I could read people’s minds because I’d sure like to know what he’s thinking right now and how he’s feeling. I was openly gay when I was in high school, and while I never made it public knowledge that I was, I never denied it if I was ever asked the question. I did a very good job of keeping my sexuality a secret. But I guess society has changed a lot since then, and kids nowadays are just shallow and one-minded. Sometimes I blame the parents for the way they’re raising the child. Other times though, I believe it can also be as a result of the type of crowd kids are hanging around with. And judging by the look on Mr. Connors’ face right now. I’d say he’s just as shocked at his son, as the rest of us.
“I think it’s a start. And then he will accept any other form of punishment that is handed down to him, won’t you, Charlie?”
“But Dad—”
“Charlie! What you said is degrading, hurtful, and not to mention, disgusting. Your mother and I didn’t raise you to be that type of child. Now, you will apologize to Mr. Valentine and Kit, and then accept whatever other punishment is thrown at you. Is that understood?”
Bravo!
Mr. Connors moves his eyes to mine and keeps his gaze on me for a few long seconds. I can definitely see that this man is genuine, and this isn’t just some act to call bluff and then walk away with his son and cheer him on for what he’s done. No, it’s obvious that he strongly believes that what his son has done is wrong. He finally shifts his eyes from me to his son, who then looks over at Kit before throwing daggers and me and Chelsea.
“I’m sorry,”
he says, forcefully. His voice is barely audible.
“I beg your pardon, Charlie?”
Mr. Connors asks.
“I’m sorry,”
Charlie said again, a little louder this time.
“I want you to look them both in the eye, and say it like you mean it,”
his father orders.
After staring at me for what feels like forever, he says, “I’m sorry, Mr. Valentine.”
He then looks at Kit and says, “I’m sorry I called you a faggot, Kit.”
I feel it’s a genuine apology, and that he is finally showing remorse for his actions. I know most kids would feel too proud that they’ve done something wrong and therefore never apologize. But somehow, I think Charlie has realized that he’s overstepped and crossed a line here.
“I’m sorry I broke your nose,”
Kit replies.
“I will see to it that Mr. Harding is aware of the situation. I’m not sure when he will return but please send the bill for any medical expenses to his home, and I’ll make sure he gets it,”
I tell Mr. Connors.
“Thank you. I appreciate that,”
the man replies.
Chelsea looks at the two of us and gives a wide smile, obviously satisfied that we’ve managed to settle this without it getting too ugly.
“Good. I’m glad we’ve managed to sort this all out. Now, of course, there is still the matter of what disciplinary action is to be taken as a result of these actions.”
Mr. Connors looks at Chelsea with a rather confusing look on his face.
“Disciplinary action, Chelsea?”
“Yes, of course. Although these two boys both acknowledge what they have done and have apologized, it is still a rather serious matter. I do not tolerate violence of any sort on my school grounds. Therefore, I feel that it is only fair that they both receive punishment for their actions.”
I move my eyes around the room. I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps it’s to make sure there’s no one else around. Then I narrow in on Charlie and his father still sitting in their seats, both of them with confusing expressions on their faces.
“What kind of punishment are we talking about?”
Mr. Connors asks.
“Suspension. Charlie, while you were also a victim in this situation, given how serious and derogatory your comment was to Kit, I feel that an acceptable form of punishment is a two-week suspension, effective immediately. And Kit, although the remarks directed at you were of a serious nature, you did retaliate with violence. And as I mentioned, I will not tolerate that sort of behavior in my school. Therefore, you too will receive a suspension. One week, effective immediately.”
“Hold on just a minute,”
Mr. Connors says, standing out of his seat.
“You have a problem with my judgement, Mr. Connors?”
“Why does my son get a two-week suspension, and he only gets one? After all, he is the one who broke my son’s nose.”
“Which never would have happened in the first place, if your son hadn’t made his derogatory remark, correct? Kit was only acting out on emotions, and as I’ve already made it quite clear that I do not tolerate any form of violence whether it is warranted or not, Kit’s actions will not go unpunished. Therefore, he will also be suspended from school grounds. And considering his father is also going to have to pay for your son’s medical expenses, I would say it’s a more than reasonable punishment, wouldn’t you agree?”
The man glares at Kit, then at me, before zeroing his eyes at his son. After a few moments, he lets out a sigh.
“Agreed,”
he replies, accepting his son’s fate.
“You will still be required to complete all your schoolwork, so I will see to it that everything is emailed to your parents later this evening. Mr. Valentine, with Kit’s father away, is there somewhere else we can send his work?”
“Yes, you can send it to me,” I reply.
“Perfect. If there are no further questions, you are all free to leave.”
Mr. Connors and Charlie are the first to rise out of their seats. The boy’s father shakes Chelsea’s hand, then he turns his head in my direction, and with an acknowledging nod at me, the two of them walk out of the room. Kit gets out of his chair and I do the same. As the two of us are about to leave, Chelsea calls out to me.
“Yes?”
I reply, turning around to face her.
“I truly am sorry about all of this. I know how difficult things have been for Mr. Harding and his family lately. The last thing he needs is this on his mind also.”
“Thank you,”
I tell her. “I’m just glad we managed to get it sorted before things got more out of line. Please feel free to contact me if there is anything you need to discuss regarding the children until Mr. Harding returns.”
“And when might that be?”
Chelsea asks.
“I’m not sure. I actually expected him to return by now.”
With a wide smile and a final wave, Kit and I exit her office, then make our way to the car.