Chapter 36 Claire
Claire
Ismile reading Jay’s text, checking my phone on my way out of the tutoring center.
JAY: Hope you’re having a good day.
Ever since our “date” the other night, we’ve hung out or at least talked every day. It’s completely unexpected that Jay and I have gotten so close, especially so quickly, but it’s a welcomed surprise.
“Hey, Claire!” I hear my name whisper-yelled from across the library. When I find the source, I see it’s Mrs. Wilder, the mother of the fifth grader, Josie, I just tutored in English.
“Ooh, sorry, I meant Ms. Dawson.” She gives an apologetic smile, looking to the Young Adult section where Josie’s scanning the graphic novels.
“Claire is fine,” I say.
Normally I would insist on parents calling me Ms. Dawson, for professional reasons, but being that I no longer have any of those, I don’t really have a preference.
Mrs. Wilder flashes a quick grin and then continues. “I heard you’re not coming back next year.” She creases her brow, looking to me for something — clarification or an explanation maybe. I feel my cheeks grow warm, the topic still not comfortable, especially after dinner with my parents.
“Unfortunately, no. I’m not.” I readjust my bag on my shoulder looking for something to occupy both my hands and my mind.
“That’s such a shame,” Mrs. Wilder states. “Josie absolutely loved your English class last year. I have never seen that girl more interested in reading than when it was a book you chose.” She turns back to Josie. "And that's saying something."
My heart swells from the praise. This is why I want to write novels kids will love. Because although teaching ended up not being for me, there are so many other ways to help grow a child’s world and love of reading.
“I’ll really miss all of my students,” I reply, and it’s true.
“Well, they will surely miss you as well.” She pats my shoulder and then calls for Josie. “We’ll see you next week,” she says and turns to leave. Josie attempts to wave over her shoulder while balancing a stack of books a foot high piled in her hands.
I watch them leave, the first pulse of sadness coursing through me since hearing I won’t be returning to Jefferson. I’ve been anxious of course, nervous even about where to go from here, but until now, no part of me was truly sad to be leaving the classroom.
It was only when Mrs. Wilder assured me that my students, the ones who it is all about, will feel my absence, did I realize that part of me is sad to see some of it go.
Not necessarily the planning and the grading or the emails and meetings, but I’ll miss the students who looked forward to my class, who bought into my lessons, and who were eager to learn. I’ll miss the ones like Josie.
I spy the vending machine on my way to the exit and I’m suddenly hit with the overwhelming need for brown sugar stuffed in a crumbly puffed pastry — an emotional support PopTart.
I grab a dollar bill from my wallet and flatten it against the side of the machine.
I’m on my third attempt at getting the thing to take my money when two strong hands come from behind me and slide into the front pockets of my shorts.
I know from the smell alone that it’s Jay, besides the fact that I can see his reflection in the glass. Just for fun, I say the first name that comes to mind.
“Oh, Mark, I’m so glad you’re here.” I rest my head back onto his chest at the same time that I question why Mark’s name was the first to appear in my mind. Jay pulls me closer to him, his hands still in my pocket. Leaning over me, he puts his mouth dangerously close to my ear.
“Try again.”
My whole body tenses at his words, and I’m now craving way more than a PopTart to ease the gloom in my chest and the heat further south.
I spin around, tearing his hands from my shorts, and make a point of putting my money back in my bag just to create some space between us. I tutor here almost every day and the last thing I need is for a parent or student to see me practically panting over this man.
“Who the hell is Mark?” Jay shoves his now free hands in his own pockets and leans in closer.
“Oh, you know, just one of my many prospects…” I say and Jay folds his arms across his chest. Unable to even play along with this storyline, I add, “I’m kidding.
Mark is nobody.” I pull a piece of my hair from his black v-neck.
“And he’s especially not you.” Looking up at him, he smiles, his hazel eyes squinting slightly, but his arms falling to his side.
“Good,” he says, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “I thought we could get lunch.”
I look back at the vending machine, the brown sugar PopTart taunting me from behind the glass.
“Well, that’s what I was trying to do,” I mumble more to the PopTart than to Jay. “But lunch sounds great.”
He eyes the machine behind me curiously and then nods to the door.
“This was a nice surprise.” We step onto the street, the sun sitting at a perfect high noon.
I look for my car, forgetting I parked down the next block because my session fell right before story time, and therefore, there was not a spot in sight within stroller-distance of the front entrance.
Luckily, that let out fifteen minutes before my session ended, and it seems Jay was able to park right in front.
“I was just leaving Sean’s, and I thought I’d try to see you. I’ll drive.” He points to his truck, opening the door for me when we get there.
“How’s Sean?” I haven’t seen him since the incident, but I did see Maddie and her new man walking into Busy’s on my way here.
“He says he’s fine.” Jay starts the engine and Iris plays from the radio. “I did see the present he got Maddie on the counter though so he must have snuck that off the gift table before he drank himself into oblivion the other night.”
“No, not the earrings!” Jay told me about the gift and as a woman I can say, I was both shocked and impressed.
Jay nods, his lips pressed together. For someone who constantly talks about not getting attached to people or having no one in his life, he sure seems to have a soft spot for Sean and his rejection. I grab his hand that’s resting on the gear shift.
Gestures like this have gotten easier, and more frequent, since this weekend. We both seem to feel less unsure about touching or showing signs of affection, me more so than him, but it does lead me to wonder what we are.
“So. where to?” I ask.
“I thought we’d go somewhere different,” he says and leaves it at that. He turns up the radio and the Goo Goo Dolls sing out about wanting just that one person to know who you really are.
We pull into a parking lot about thirty minutes later. The building in front of us looks vintage. Like an old trailer covered in stainless steel panels and a green awning. The simple, bold sign reads, P.J. Diner.
“What is this place?” I look around, pretty sure Jay’s Chevy turned into a time machine somewhere between the library and now.
He chuckles and points to the sign. “This is the best food out of town.”
I’m a little skeptical of consuming food from here, just going off of how old the building looks, but all of that changes the second we step inside.
We walk through the glass doors, a bell ringing overhead, and are hit with an oddly erotic combination of mashed potatoes and some sort of apple streusel.
It’s the type of place where right at the front is a window display of desserts and pastries that were made fresh that morning.
Everything from Boston creme pie to sticky buns, to fruit tarts made from whatever is seasonal.
The type of place where you still bring your order slip to the register to pay, and they only take cash.
The type of place where single metal stools line a breakfast bar, ripped vinyl stretched over the seats left open for regulars and solo diners. That’s where Jay leads me.
He gestures for me to sit on the corner stool and then takes the seat right next to it. An older woman with curly red hair and bright pink lipstick on both her mouth and her cheeks comes over to us smiling cheerfully.
“Jamison Errington,” she says, placing her hands on top of Jay’s that he has resting on the counter. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long,” Jay says. “Paula, this is Claire. Claire, this is Paula. She makes the best monkey bread pancakes I’ve ever had.”
My mouth starts to water just thinking about whatever monkey bread pancakes are when Paula corrects him. “They are the only ones you’ve had, and I don’t make them, my husband does.”
“Well it’s your recipe,” Jay says and Paula winks in my direction.
“So, what are you doing here without Mel?” Paula questions as she wipes up the space in front of us. Immediately my heart drops into my stomach. Is Mel an ex? Did he bring me somewhere he’s brought all of his other girls?
“I just thought I’d bring Claire this time.” Paula smiles, but all I can think is, will someone please tell me who Mel is?
“Two regulars then?” Paula asks looking only at Jay.
“Please,” Jay says. Then to me, he adds, “What do you want to drink?”
I stutter, still thrown off by the Mel comment. “Just a coffee,” I answer. And because my mouth is suddenly the Sahara, I add, “And a water, please.”
Paula nods sweetly. “You got it.” She turns to the beverage station and grabs two plastic cups and a coffee mug. When she returns, she puts a mug of black coffee and a cup of water in front of me and a fizzy soda in front of Jay — root beer.
Jay opens one straw wrapper and sticks it in my water, then another for his soda.
“So, are you a regular everywhere you eat or just the places you take me?” I joke.
He chuckles as he takes a long sip of his drink.
“If you haven’t noticed, I don’t love being social.
So, I go places where the people know me and act accordingly.
No one here or at Enzo’s is going to try to small-talk me to death while I eat my meal.
Plus, I know the routine — the menu, the parking situation…
” He looks at me sideways, smirking around his straw. “You know, no surprises.”
I reach for cream and sugar for my coffee as I try to sound nonchalant.
“So was Mel part of your diner routine?” I avoid looking at him because I know how it sounds. He spins his stool so his feet rest on the bottom of mine.
“Mel was a part of my life routine. She was my case manager while I was in foster care.” I look up and see he’s biting at his bottom lip. “Every time I moved houses, she would bring me here first. Her way of softening the blow I guess. It became our…twisted tradition you could say.”
“Oh, Jay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine, Claire.” He puts his hand on my knee. “I like that you ask questions. That you care.” He brushes his thumb back and forth and goosebumps shoot up my leg.
“I do,” I say almost too quickly. “Care.” My eyes shift from him to the counter. “Just so you know.” He inhales deeply, staring off to the side.
After a few seconds that feel like hours, he finally looks back at me. My eyes meet his and it’s like he’s piercing into my soul like he has so many times before.
“Me too, Claire.” He holds my gaze, only breaking it when Paula returns holding two large plates.
“Jack says you better not leave without stopping back to see him first.”
She puts one plate in front of each of us with three fluffy pancakes covered in ooey-gooey cinnamon goodness, powdered sugar, and banana slices. Next to the pancakes is a cup of syrup, a pad of butter, and a pile of…french fries?
I look at Jay who is already cutting into the pancakes.
“Just trust me,” he says.
And I do.
A terrifying amount I do.