Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Chesteria
Love, Lecture Halls we recommitted.
Officially.
There were mornings when I made coffee in his T-shirts, and late nights that we watched movie marathons and had heated debates over who made the best fried fish. It was laughter, healing and love all in one. Our love story wasn’t perfect, but it was ours.
Bryce glanced at the screen, then paused. “That’s what you wearing to work?”
I turned sideways, giving him the full look.
My attire for that day was a long-sleeve, black knit sweater tucked into a high-waisted plaid pencil skirt that hit mid-calf, thick tights, and knee-high boots.
My hair was pinned half-up, half-down… cozy but cute…
professional, but flattering. The boots with heels were unnecessary, but there was something about returning to campus that made me want to show up loud.
“Yes,” I replied, brushing a curl behind my ear. “You like it? Is it too much?” I asked innocently, twirling slowly.
“I like it, yeah. But baby, you got a man now. Ain’t no need to be too sexy for them freshmen and them campus roamers who still don’t know their major. You going there to teach, not to tempt.”
I raised an eyebrow, amused. “Tempt, huh?”
Bryce crossed his arms and gave me that signature, serious-but-playful look. “I’m just saying, wrap it up like a final exam. Leave the extra credit at home.”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. “Let me find out you’re jealous of some 19-year-olds now?”
“I’m territorial,” he corrected. “That’s different.
And let’s not act like it’s just 19-year-olds on campus.
You got freshmen still smelling like Similac, mid-twenties niggas thinkin’ they’re philosophers, them washed-up thirty-somethings going back for a second degree, and them forty-year-old men who call you ‘professor’ like it’s foreplay.
Even granddaddies be lurking in the hallway talkin’ ‘bout some ‘I love a woman with a mind.’ Nah, ain’t nobody exempt. I’m watching all them niggas.”
“Bryce…” I lowered my voice, leaning closer to the camera to emphasize my sincerity. “I only have eyes for you. You know that.”
He let my words hang in the air for a moment, a softening of his expression breaking through his bravado. “Yeah, I know. I still like hearing you say it, though.”
I couldn't help but smirk, feeling a rush of affection. “Get used to it then, Captain Frost.”
He scoffed. “You better not be calling me that on purpose just to turn me on before I gotta go deal with TSA.”
“You love it.”
“I do. But I also love knowing everybody at your job gon’ see you walk in fine and walk out untouched.”
“Possessive much?” I teased.
“Proud,” he stated firmly, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection. “Now go educate the youth. I’ll call you when I land.”
I blew him a heartfelt kiss. “Safe flight, love.”
“Stay warm, Professor Hollis."
***
The brisk breeze nipped at the edges of my coat as I ascended the worn stone steps to the humanity building, the familiar rhythm of campus life buzzing in the background—students chattering and laughing, the sharp click of heels striking the pavement, backpacks swinging with a comforting sway, and steaming coffee cups cradled in hands.
“Ms. Hollis!”
I turned and spotted Laila, the insightful sophomore who once told me, “You gon’ have a good Christmas, I feel it.”
“Laila!” I shrieked, my heart lifting at her familiar presence. “How was your break?”
“Mine was chill,” Laila replied, her bright smile contagious as she walked alongside me, her braids swaying with each step. “But what about yours? You were positively glowing before break started. Now you’re out here sparkling.”
I laughed softly, the warmth of memory washing over me. “Actually, it was one of the best Christmases I’ve had in years.”
Laila gasped, clapping. “I told you! I told you it was gonna be good!”
“You did,” I admitted, nodding appreciatively. “I should’ve placed a bet on you.”
“See? You gotta listen to the prophets on this campus!” she joked, brushing her braids behind her shoulder with a flourish. “Have you seen any of your other students yet?”
“Nope… just you.” I leaned in closer. “But I swear, if I see Jason before lunch, I might just fake a nosebleed and make a discreet exit. I’m hoping to survive the whole semester without enduring another unsolicited TED Talk about the psychology of cereal choices.”
Laila giggled, a light, airy sound that brightened the dull corridor. “He did make that lecture about Fruity Pebbles weirdly deep.”
We both shared a hearty laugh, a brief reprieve from the seriousness of academia.
We finally reached the hallway that led to my classroom.
“Alright, well, I’ll let you get to it,” Laila said. “Wishing you a semester full of sane students and working coffee machines.”
I nodded, a grin spreading across my face. “And I’m wishing you a semester of peace, minimal group projects, and A’s across the board.”
We hugged briefly, a moment of warmth before parting ways.
Just as I reached for the door handle, a familiar, teasing voice pierced through the air behind me.
“Daaang, Ms. Hollywood… you done got a lil’ thick over the break.”
I turned, already smirking.
Deondre stood there, leaning casually against the wall, exuding a swagger that was both charming and infuriating.
“Deondre,” I sighed, giving him a thorough once-over. "It's nice to see you haven’t changed.”
Deondre grinned, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his slightly tight jeans. “Actually, I have... a little. I got a girlfriend now," he revealed, taking me by surprise.
I raised one eyebrow, genuinely intrigued. “A girlfriend? Is that so?”
“Yup. Going two weeks strong. But she ain’t got nothing on you, though,” he added quickly, a grin still plastered on his face, “but she’s a good girl.”
I shot him the classic professor look. It combined concern and authority; the kind that conveyed I cared while firmly refusing to entertain nonsense.
“Well, if she’s a good girl, then your job is to protect that. Stay faithful, keep her smiling, and please stop flirting with your professors… especially the ones who got men bigger than you."
Deondre laughed lightly as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I hear you, Ms. Hollywood. You know it’s all love with you, though.”
I softened my expression, hoping to reach the core of him. “Seriously, Deondre, you have potential; don’t waste it trying to be slick. Be the kind of man she can brag about to her friends.”
He nodded, the sincerity in his eyes making me believe he heard me.
"Well, I have to get going. It was nice seeing you. Take care, Deondre, and please stay out of trouble."
"Yes, ma'am."
Deondre walked off and called over his shoulder, “And you stay beautiful!”
I paused for a moment, exhaling the tension of the interaction, before stepping into my classroom with my shoulders back and head high.
New semester… new peace… and the kind of love that didn’t need proving; just nurturing.
***
I should’ve known something was off when the cafeteria’s meatloaf smell turned my stomach before I even saw it.
I clutched my belly as I walked past the line, trying to smile at the lunch lady, Ms. Penny, who’d been serving with love for over two decades and always greeted everyone with a warm smile and an extra scoop.
“You alright, baby?” she asked, genuinely concerned.
“Yes… just feeling a little queasy,” I waved it off and kept walking.
I figured it was just the adjustment of being back after a long break, and my stomach was staging a full-on rebellion against the cafeteria’s meatloaf.
Cute.
But as the day progressed, things took a turn for the worse.
I stood before the class, nerves dancing in my stomach, trying to introduce myself.
Just as I began to share my excitement about the new semester, a wave of nausea crashed over me.
My mouth watered in a truly alarming way; a hot, acidic warning shot that screamed, “Run or suffer.”
“I’ll be right back,” I blurted out, tossing the whiteboard marker down like it was a hot potato, sprinted toward the staff bathroom, heart racing.
I barely made it through the door before I was hugging the toilet.
It was bad. My eyes watered, my throat burned like I’d swallowed fire, and my stomach flipped and twisted in a full Simone Biles–level routine.
When I finally came up for air, I wiped my tear-streaked face, flushed the toilet, and braced myself to inspect the damage in the mirror.
“Girl… what the hell?” I murmured to my reflection, half-expecting the universe to give me a sign.
By the time I dragged myself home, utterly exhausted, I collapsed onto the couch, seeking solace in the familiarity of my living room. I grabbed my phone and called Klarissa, knowing her mouth would be the first to run and the last to close.
“Heyyy, boo!” she answered, her voice bright and sing-songy, a stark contrast to my frazzled state. “How was your first day back, Professor Hollis?”
“Ghetto,” I sighed with a tired chuckle. “My feet hurt, my throat is sore from explaining the syllabus a thousand times, and to top it off, I threw up halfway through the last class.”
There was a pause. Then, with alarming nonchalance, Klarissa stated, “You’re pregnant.”
I shot up from the couch. “Girl, what?!”
“You’re pregnant, sis,” she declared matter-of-factly.
I let out a weak laugh, trying to shake off the absurdity of it. “Klarissa, no. It was that damn meatloaf. I’m sure of it."