Hope This Helps #5
Also? Good grief. I can’t believe they let us dance to this when we were kids.
I find Kaylee in the crowd and become disoriented when Ludacris begins to wax lyrical about getting a woman into her birthday suit.
I would be a total hypocrite to start sniffing my smelling salts over this, as my friends and I danced to the exact same song when I was a teen.
But it was different! Somehow. I don’t know how.
I am both too young and too old for all of this.
When I sidle back into my punch zone, I chance a quick peek at Gladwin and find that he is standing somewhat defensively, with his arms crossed over his chest, gazing out over the crowd, angled ever so slightly away from me.
The gym floor has finally filled up, kids straying from the safety of their beloved walls.
I think all the Mountain Dew has emboldened them.
I swallow and mentally yell at my hands to stop being so jittery. I am in control here, hands! You will do as I command.
It’s too warm in this gym. I keep pulling out my phone and swiping the home screen as if expecting a new notification every thirty seconds.
All I get is my Ring camera at home letting me know that some trash is blowing through my yard.
This is so awkward and uncomfortable, I cannot stand it. I yearn for a wall.
The beat changes. Sabrina Carpenter’s voice filters out of the speakers, blowing directly into Gladwin’s face. Every girl in the room, and at least half the boys, begins singing along to “Espresso” at top volume.
An ungodly sound burbles up my throat.
I can’t help it. I look at him, and he looks at me at the same time. We both burst out laughing.
“Did you request this?” he asks, voice high-pitched.
I hold up a hand. “I didn’t. I swear.”
Mr. Gladwin hangs his head.
“Well,” he says with a theatrical sigh.
“Well.” It’s my turn to be smug.
“To be fair…” He can’t even spit the words out without laughing. “To be fair, some of her songs are pretty explicit, you’ve got to admit.”
“Oh? I’m sorry, Gladwin, I did not realize you were familiar with Sabrina’s game.”
“Hey!” He draws himself up to his full height and straightens his collar. “I know ‘Juno’!”
I wolf-whistle. “Look at you.”
His smile twists as he watches me laugh, his eyes dark and sparkling. “Look at you.”
I lay a palm over my heart. Ba-boom-ba-boom-ba-boom. “Me?”
Gladwin nods. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
The opportunity to scrape compliments out of this man has me perking up like an antenna. Oh, but I am vain. “Tell me.”
He shakes his head and looks away. His throat is flushed. My horrible grin is going to give me jaw problems.
“Go on.” I can barely believe my own eyes when I see my hand reach toward him and tap him playfully on the arm.
I know what a playful tap means. If I were one of the chaperones monitoring the balloon children and I was looking at me right now, I would tsk-tsk-tsk and say, Girl, get ahold of yourself. You’re in public.
“All right,” he acquiesces. “Have you ever, uh… Have you ever seen Judge Judy?”
“What!” I struggle to tamp down my squeal. “You pictured Judy?”
“You had a very no-nonsense vibe going on!” he exclaims. Then his gaze slides to mine, sidelong. “I mean, I didn’t hate it.”
I laugh again. “Wow. Wow.”
“And me?” he prompts once he’s collected himself. “Am I what you pictured?”
I bite the corner of my lip. “Not exactly. I kind of pictured a fence post with glasses.”
“Flattering.”
“I was wrong about the glasses.”
Not too far away from us, a kid is crab-walking while his friends rain dollar bills onto his head, and a boy and girl are fully making out. A particularly evil-looking child is gleefully mixing all of the chip flavors together. Gladwin and I pretend we do not see it.
“You’re all right,” he tells me approvingly.
“Yeah?” I instruct myself not to elbow him flirtatiously, but my elbow still twitches in his direction. “You too. You’re an all right teacher, I guess. Even if you don’t allow test retakes.”
“And you’re an all right mom, according to Kaylee’s extra credit essay this week.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Did she say that?” My eyelashes flutter. “Me? She called me ‘all right’? High praise!”
“She said you definitely need to get out more and start going on dates because you spend your weekends making your daughter do homework, and that you pretend you’ve read The Great Gatsby but one hundred percent have not.”
“I have too!”
“But yeah. She said you’re a good mom.” His eyes are warm when they find mine again. “I think you can relax, Audrey. Kaylee’s gonna be just fine. You’re doing your best.”
I let out a slow, shaky breath, and it feels like a boulder that has been pressing me down begins to ease up and away, until I can stand again for the first time in a good long while.
“Thanks,” I say softly.
He nods. “You’re very welcome, Miss Audrey Thorn.”
Hours later, after Kaylee and I have trooped back home and kicked our shoes off, and heated up leftover Chinese food because chips and cookies were not sufficiently satisfying, I get a bzz bzz from my phone and I open it to find a new email.
Dear Audrey,
Care to join me for an espresso one of these days?
Yours,
Fence Post