11. Nathan
eleven
I can’t decidewhich is higher: my anxiety, or the mountain of financial paperwork I have yet to sift through.
My brother, Cal, and I have never wanted for anything. My parents were both doctors. Even after their tragic death, even after my brother’s cancer treatments, they still left us both with college funds, inheritance, and enough to maintain our childhood home.
Until now.
The house is all I have left of them. All we have left. And I can’t take that away from Callahan.
Especially when their accident was my fault.
He can’t know that, and he can’t lose his childhood home—despite the fact that he moved out last year to room in the city for his oncology residency. He should always have our home to return to.
But the taxes on our childhood home are outstanding. After fifteen years of using their life insurance policy as my cover, those funds have run dry. Which is why I’m sitting here—as the assistant principal—hands in my head, the Red Sea parted between my monthly bank statements and the property tax bill that seems to be laughing at me.
I never wanted to be in charge—I’ve been “in charge” since the tragic death of our parents. I simply wanted to translate my love of learning into the hands of young minds. I never wanted to be the one calling parents for disciplinary issues, or commanding a staff of folks much older than I am who couldn’t care less what I have to say.
I never wanted this position in the first place. But the job came with more money—nearly double my salary as a teacher. And so, I face the hill of my demon in the form of a stack of envelopes.
The worst part is the guilt.
I am so immensely proud of all that Cal has achieved. Valedictorian at his high school graduation. Dean’s List and Summa Cum Laude for undergrad. He never once complained about the rigorousness that accompanied him through school, because Cal was born for success. And he has never once boasted about it. The true golden child. Completely unblemished. And our parents never got to see it.
But guilt racks me every single time I so much as think about putting any part of myself first. I could have gone to university on the other side of the country to escape the demons that came with the sudden death of our parents and having to raise my younger brother.
Realistically, I could take the inheritance that was promised to me at eighteen, and has been racking up interest in the bank ever since, to do with it whatever I wish. Instead, I let guilt consume me. The small number that rests for me every month after my paycheck bleeds first to the house, and then to my own needs, and pokes at me.
Just do it, Nathan. Use it. They died because of you, anyway. Take what they gave you and make sure Cal gets to keep what’s left of them.
My eyes flit between the two piles, darting like a tennis ball in a heated match. As soon as I’m about to tip to one side, a knock on my office door interrupts that train of thought. I sigh, sweep all of the paperwork into my top desk drawer, and tell my saving grace to come in.
“Hey, Nate. Bad time?”
Aaron Russo pokes his head into my office, and Sam Ford’s head stacks on top, like some sort of Three Stooges bit.
“Come on in, gentlemen.” Once they’re seated, I ask, “What can I do for you?”
“We just wanted to check in, my guy!” Aaron says, a smile erupting his already cheerful expression.
“You…” I fold my hands on top of my desk and peer at them warily.
“How’s it going in the big leagues? Is everyone treating you okay? Listen, Drake used to wrestle. We can tag team any of these old geezers for you.”
Did I trip into the twilight zone?
“What Aaron is trying to say is…” Sam interjects, eyeing his friend with a look that says, Would you shut up and speak English please? “We know what it feels like to be the new guy. And as teachers, we all got a new building mentor to kind of carry us through the first year or two. Hell, I’m still close with my mentor, even though he retired.”
“And since Don is probably your mentor, I can guarantee he isn’t doing squat to help.”
“We just figured, with us all being around the same age, with the same years of service, we’d check in on you. See how the transition from classroom to admin is treating you.”
My heart climbs into my throat unexpectedly.
“Oh. That was…” I clear my throat, scratching at it subtly. “Kind of you. Thank you. It’s been…”
All of my friendships were foregone conclusions the second I became Cal’s guardian. He was my one and only priority. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have camaraderie. In a snap, these two men transform from my subordinates to humans, something I’ve tried to completely separate in my head.
My heart doesn’t know how to respond to this—compassion and empathy. I’m sure it was there in the aftermath of my parents’ death, but by that point, I’d built up walls so tall to protect myself from the pity, that I never allowed myself to see past the barbed wire at the top.
“Hell in a hand-basket?” Aaron supplies.
I don’t realize how long I’ve been inside my head until he does. I raise my brows slightly, my lips curling up just a bit.
“Kind of. The administrator position is new. Despite being Don’s shadow last year, it’s all just so… different than being in the classroom.”
I shrug. I’m typically the picture of collect, but apparently in the face of compassion, my insecurities are willing to claw themselves outward.
“I can’t even imagine,” Sam says, leaning forward to clasp his hands between his spread knees. “I got into this job for the kids, you know? More power to you, my man. I have a love/hate relationship with sending them down here for discipline.”
Sam rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, as if he’s apologizing for asking me to handle discipline when it’s my job.
“I…”
I am not the speechless type. I choose to be quiet. I dole out my words carefully and with intention. And yet, I can’t seem to let them out, because suddenly, the words that want to escape are confessions. It’s as if ten minutes of staring at bills and one show of empathy is cracking my heart at the foundation, as if my walls of trauma suddenly want someone to dump it all on.
“You taught history before, right?” Aaron asks. “What was your focus?”
“I taught early American history, but my favorite was a specialty class that I taught about Greek and Roman mythology.”
The edges of my bruised and unused heart start to lighten.
“Oh, sweet! Like Percy Jackson?”
I huff a short laugh.
“We did spend a week analyzing that text and its inaccuracies.”
“I’ll bet Juliet’s students would eat that up. You ever think about starting a club?” Sam smiles.
“Maybe someday,” I say, still not sure where this conversation spurred from, or which direction I even want it to go. It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess just how much I miss simply being a teacher when twin buzzes sound on their watches. When they both look down and smile, it reminds me of that sense of does not belong. That I am other.
“Well, the ladies call,” Aaron says. “We have a biweekly meet-up for drinks and apps.”
He stands and claps Sam on the shoulder as he does.
“But hey, you’re more than welcome to join us. We’re heading to Twisted Pineapple tonight, but we really don’t have a rhyme or reason—it all kind of depends on when everyone’s schedules line up,” Sam says.
“Don’t lose yourself in this office,” Aaron adds.
I nod. “I’ll let you know.”
The two move to leave, and as my heart debates between settling to calm, and beating rapidly at the newness, it decides on the latter. Because Aaron flicks his watch face up, and says, Oh, sweet! Claire can make it tonight too, and my heart doesn’t give me a choice otherwise.