24. Birdie

Confession: I read smutty romance.

Mara and I sat in folding chairs behind a table at a craft fair. She was trying something new—selling her romance novels in person as well as online and in bookstores—and I'd agreed to come along because if I was alone, I'd call Cohen in a second and let him kiss me breathless like I'd so desperately wanted to do Friday night.

We'd gotten to the fair early Sunday morning, and there was basically no one there aside from other vendors who took one look at Mara's man-chest covers and turned their noses in the air. As though their existence wasn't a product of sex.

"How did you not kiss him?" Mara said. "Do you have a will of steel or did you swear off men after Dax?"

"Mara, I could get fired."

"And?" she argued, looking perplexed. "Do you really want to work for a school that polices your private life?"

"I like working there. I love my students, I have great resources, I'm making good connections with colleges. My whole life is at that school."

Mara shook her head. "But at what cost, B? Your heart?"

I let out a sigh. She was only saying everything I had been thinking. But I'd also been arguing with myself and had plenty of rebuttals. Argument number one? "My heart's led me astray before."

She gave me a look. "Tell me truly. Did you love Dax?"

I looked ahead at the jars of salsa atop the table across from us. "I think I loved the idea of him."

"What do you mean?" she said.

"I liked that he was a rebel at heart. You know I spent my whole life living the way my parents wanted me to, going on diets to please them, touring the colleges they wanted me to attend. But he didn't worry about what anyone else thought. Part of me wishes I could be that way too."

"Look at you!" Mara cried. "You are that way! You went to the college of your choice, no matter how much it cost you. I haven't seen you buy diet food since the first year we lived together. You're working the job you always wanted to, to hell with what your parents thought."

I lifted a corner of my lips. "I think part of me felt like maybe Dax was the best I could do. He wouldn't even keep the lights on, Mara. If my own fiancé didn't want to see me, who am I to think that anyone else would?"

Mara gave me a side hug, and I hugged her back, wishing I could undo all the years of dieting my mother had put me through, all the times I'd accepted Dax's silent dismissal of my size.

"What does it say about me that I'd rather be with someone I felt lukewarm about than be by myself?" I asked. I knew it couldn't be anything good.

"Um, maybe that you grew up with frigid WASPy parents and you're trying to make up for lost time and affection?"

"Okay." I held up a hand. "When did you get your therapy degree?"

"I write romance; it's basically the same thing."

I giggled, feeling a little bit lighter, and took a sip of my coffee.

"So are you going to see him again?" she asked.

With a small smile, I took another sip and said, "Of course."

How could I not?

Soon, the crowd picked up and Mara chatted with guests while I ran the cashbox and helped them purchase books. By the end of the day, she'd sold a couple dozen copies (and handmade book sleeves to go with them) and I was completely exhausted.

The evening passed by quickly after that, with a visit to Ralphie and another couple apartment tours that turned out to be busts as well. One was well over my budget with all the added fees, and the other had clearly falsely advertised on their website. I hated it when apartment complexes showed off pictures of the "clubhouse" and forgot to show that the actual units looked like they had been inhabited by squatters for the last five years.

On Monday, I went to school, ready to spend some more time with Ralphie and get to the bottom of what was going on with Ollie. Between first and second period, I caught him in the hallway and asked him to come to my office.

Ollie was a sweet kid, with a pile of curly hair atop his head and wide green eyes that looked so much like his father's. But I noticed the shadows under his eyes and the way his shoulders seemed to hunch forward dejectedly.

When we reached my office, he sat in the open chair and said, "I thought my planning meeting wasn't until next semester."

He was right. We spoke to juniors in the spring semester about their plans for the fall so they could get a jump-start over the summer. "Actually, I called you in to talk about something else."

He looked toward the ground. "My mom made me work on my missing assignments over the weekend, and my dad set a homework time for when I get home every day. It won't happen again."

"I'm glad to hear that," I said, waiting for him to meet my eyes. When he didn't, I said, "Ollie?"

He looked at me, and said, "Yeah?"

"Is everything okay? Is there anything I can help you with?"

He blinked slowly, looking down again. "I'm fine. Can I get back to class?"

Clearly, he wasn't fine, but prodding him would only make him throw up his walls even harder. And he needed to talk to someone—withdraw from social life and schoolwork for no apparent reason could indicate any number of scary things to come.

So instead, I stood with him and said, "Sure. But I want you to know, this office is a safe place. And I'm here for you, no matter what it is."

With a nod, he pushed the door open and left.

I sighed and shut the door behind him, then got my cell out of my purse. I pulled up Cohen's number and sent him a text.

Birdie: I talked to Ollie today. He said he's all caught up on homework, but still no word about what is going on.

Cohen: Thanks for checking in on him. It means a lot.

Birdie: Of course... but I'm wondering if speaking with a therapist in a private setting might be helpful for him? I can give you some referrals if you want.

I cringed, waiting for his response. My parents thought therapy was self-indulgent—an excuse to sit around for an hour a week and cry when you could easily replace that time with work or cocktails. I hoped Cohen was different, because whatever was causing Ollie's behavior wasn't likely to go away on its own.

Cohen: Please. I'm at a loss.

My heart melted, and I immediately reached into my file where I kept business cards of the best therapists I knew in the area. Over the last couple of years, I'd gotten feedback from students on which counselors were the best and which should be avoided at all costs.

I snapped photos of a few of the ones I knew did well with LGBTQ+ teens and set my phone down.

Shortly after, another message came.

Cohen: Thank you.

Birdie: Of course.

A student knocked on the door for a scheduled planning meeting, and we sat and explored her options for the next hour. It was one of my favorite parts of my jobs—talking to students about what they hoped for their lives and finding a strategy to make their dreams come true.

When she walked out of my office, I took my coffee cup to the teachers' lounge for an afternoon pick-me-up.

The videography teacher, Mr. Davis, had just replaced the pot and said, "How's it going?"

"Good," I said with a shrug. "You?"

"Just got in some new equipment. Feels like Christmas."

I chuckled. "I feel the same way when recruiters bring all their tchotchkes. Is it bad that I save the best ones for myself?"

"Considering the work you do? I'd say you earned it." He smiled and lifted his cup. "I started a new pot, by the way. Enjoy."

I smiled and looked down at my own cup. Mr. Davis was probably one of my favorite teachers to work with. Dax had always thought double dates were lame, but I wondered if someday, when I had someone to take me, I could ask Mr. Davis and his wife out to dinner.

Thinking of the only person I wanted to date, I checked my phone and found a new message.

Cohen: How's Ralphie?

I smiled at the text and sent him a picture of Ralphie I'd taken this morning.

Birdie: Chipper, as always.

Cohen: He's adorable.

Birdie: I think so.

I filled my cup with coffee and walked toward the door, nudging it open with my hip.

Cohen: I found something I think you'd enjoy. Are you free Saturday?

Before I could talk myself out of it, I sent my reply.

Birdie: I am. What do you have planned?