Chapter 32 Daddy Shamus

Shamus flipped over in bed to face Miguel. He feared the end of summer would bring the end of their relationship. What if Miguel wanted to focus on his classes and end their summer relationship when they returned to Princeton? He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without him at his side. He wanted to see him in the bright light of day and the soft glow of night. That would be impossible unless he agreed to live with him here. He mentioned he lived in a dorm. How would living with him work if Miguel were on a scholarship? He didn't know what the school's policy was about that. He kissed Miguel while he was sleeping and left him to sleep in like he'd said he wanted. After he showered quietly and had a quick cup of coffee, he drove to the campus and waked to the Financial Aid department. Inside, he went up to the desk.

"I have a question about a student on a scholarship. He'll be a senior this year. Does he have to live on campus in the dorm, or can he live off campus?" Shamus asked the clerk.

"Junior and senior students with full scholarships may opt not to live in the dormitory. Only freshman and sophomore students must live on campus. It's part of the university's housing policy."

"Thank you." He left the building and walked towards the Faculty Room in Nassau Hall.

Shamus intended to have a conversation with Miguel during the week, hoping that he would be open to the idea of living together in his Princeton home. Miguel had grown more comfortable in Shamus's home over the weekend. His decision might have more to do with his mother's approval than anything else. Before the meeting, he stopped at his office to pick up his favorite pen he had left behind at the end of the year. He called Javier for Miguel's mother's phone number, explaining he wanted Miguel to move into his home in Princeton after the summer. Javier approved of the idea and agreed calling Miguel's mother might help. He wished him good luck. Shamus had just enough time to make a phone call to Miguel's mother before the meeting.

She answered the phone immediately. "Is something wrong with Miguelito?"

"No. No. He's fine. I'm calling you to discuss something important if you have time," Shamus said.

"I have time."

"You know that I'm dating your son and we'll be living in my apartment in Seaside Heights."

"Yes, Javier told me it was safer for Miguelito."

"I called to let you know my intentions toward your son."

"So, what are they?"

"I love your son very much. I've asked him to move into my home in Princeton. My plan is to live together for a year, then I want to ask him to marry me."

"I see."

"In order for any of that to happen, we'll need your approval. Miguel respects and loves you very much. He wouldn't move in or marry me without your approval. And I don't want to upset your family."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want your approval for Miguel to move into my home at the end of summer. I've talked to the Financial Aid department and as a senior, he can live off campus."

"I'll tell you what I told him. If Miguel is happy, then I'm happy. But I have some stipulations for you if you want my blessing."

"Of course, I want your blessing. What are they?"

"I want Miguel to focus on his studies and graduate. He must take care of himself, and you must both take care of each other. That's for my blessing, but this is just for me. I want you and Miguel to come to dinner at least once a month, if not more often, and to attend family functions like weddings."

"I promise you I can meet all your conditions and, of course, we'll visit and attend all family functions. I would be happy to."

"I'm looking forward to getting to know the man my son loves."

"And I feel the same way about you. I need to go to a meeting. Thank you for taking the time to hear me out."

"Any time, Shamus."

They ended the call, and he had a few minutes to walk to the meeting. He clipped his favorite pen to his pocket and left. So, Miguel had spoken to his mother, most likely yesterday, when he thanked everyone for his birthday gifts. He hadn't said one word about wanting to move in. If his mother had agreed, then why hadn't he said anything about it yesterday? He had thought he had it all figured out. Now, he worried Miguel didn't want to move in.

When he arrived at the meeting, others were entering the room. Shamus found a seat at the back and turned his phone off. He wasn't here for the topic—integrating AI into productivity apps held all the thrill of watching paint dry—but for Professor Logan. The man was everything Shamus wasn't, young, charismatic, with a smile that could disarm a bomb. And currently dating Timmy, Shamus's ex, who'd dumped him for this guy. He in no way wanted Timmy back in his life, but he didn't want to endure Logan's bragging as if they had been in competition for Timmy and Shamus had lost. Logan would miss no opportunity to take shots at him as he had at the party.

Professor Logan stood at the front of the room, radiating an annoyingly serene confidence. Shamus fumed about being forced to see and hear anything from this man. He wasn't here to listen to Logan pontificate about AI—he was here to see him sweat, to expose some fundamental flaw beneath that veneer of charm. He'd left Seaside Heights to listen to this nutty professor. He should have asked Professor Moretti, who was going to lead the meeting. Of course, he hadn't known Logan was Timmy's new daddy. He didn't like him before that. Now, he'd have to hear stories about how great of a daddy he was to Timmy.

"So," Professor Logan began, his voice smooth as butter, "who here has dabbled in using AI for class presentations or other things?" No one raised their hand, and Logan raised his eyebrows. "Get with the program, my friends. AI can be a powerful tool for creating dynamic and engaging presentations and increasing your productivity enormously."

Shamus snorted. Dynamic? More like dulling one's senses into oblivion . He wasn't interested in some soulless program dictating the flow of his lectures. Teaching was about passion, about connecting with the students, not robotically spewing pre-programmed information. No one in this room was interested in using AI for presentations or productivity.

No one knew where Logan's received his new money. He told everyone he inherited it. Well, Timmy thought he was richer than he was.

As Professor Logan delved into the technical aspects of AI integration, Shamus tuned him out, focusing instead on the way Logan's sleeve rode up slightly, revealing an eighty-thousand-dollar Rolex wristwatch. He'd told everyone about his recent purchase during lunch last semester. He informed everyone it was an 18K yellow gold Rolex Daytona. The green dial had luminescent hands and index hour markers. Many others wanted one, but no one else could afford such a luxury item.

The second half of the presentation dealt with plagiarism detection software, a topic that did capture the attention of Shamus and the others.

Shamus turned to Professor Garcia. "Finally, something we can use."

She nodded in agreement, as she was too polite to speak during a meeting. He could see why Miguel loved working for her during the year. A few minutes later, she passed Shamus a note.

Logan is the top Princeton AI researcher, so he's getting a hefty salary and lots of perks.

"These programs," Professor Logan explained, gesturing at a slide with a complex flowchart, "can analyze writing style, vocabulary usage, and citation patterns to identify inconsistencies that might show plagiarism."

An interesting notion, Shamus conceded. He'd heard of students using AI to churn out papers, and it was a tremendous problem everywhere. But a nagging suspicion formed.

"So, this software can tell the difference between a student's own writing and something generated by AI?" Shamus asked.

Professor Logan's smile faltered for a moment. "Sometimes, yes. The software is constantly being refined to stay ahead of new AI writing programs."

"Some cases, huh?" Shamus pressed, leaning forward. "What about the times when the software might get it wrong?"

Professor Logan's smile returned, but it seemed strained. "That's why it's important to have a human element. The software can flag potential plagiarism, but a professor's judgment is essential for making a final determination."

Shamus didn't miss the way Logan avoided eye contact. There was something about this software, something he wasn't saying. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. The other professors gossiped about where Professor Logan had gotten his newfound money. He had never been poor, but now he had tons of money. According to Timmy, he was super rich and would support him in the lavish style he felt he deserved.

After the meeting, Professor Logan followed Shamus to the parking lot. "I'm taking Timmy on a European tour for three weeks. He said you never took him on a vacation even though you were with him for a year.

Have a fun filled summer with Miguel. I know him and he's an excellent student. I hope you can deal with an intelligent boy who knows more about computers than you do."

"We're enjoying Seaside Heights."

"Seaside Heights is a shithole." Professor Logan left Shamus stunned by his cruel words.

He jumped into his car and drove home to be with Miguel.

Shamus shoved open the front door, the weight of the seemingly never-ending meeting and the conversation in the parking lot still heavy on his shoulders. He kicked it shut with a sigh, calling out, "Miguel?"

Silence. He checked the living room, but the house felt oddly empty. An unsettling prickle ran down his spine. He checked the usual spots—the bathroom, the study—but they were all undisturbed.

The kitchen fan attracted him next. Stepping in, his gaze landed on a bright blue note stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a cartoon cat. "Look inside the refrigerator," it read, Miguel's scrawled handwriting bouncing cheerfully across the page.

A smile tugged at Shamus's lips. Miguel's had created an elaborate surprise game. He opened the fridge, a jolt of pure joy shooting through him when his eyes landed on a box of his favorite chocolates. He pulled it out, setting it carefully on the counter.

On top of the box, another note awaited him. "Go to the bedroom." His pulse quickened with anticipation. He bounded up the stairs, a giddy feeling bubbling in his chest.

There, on his bedside table, lay a picture drawn with crayons. It was childish, yet charming—a picture of a house resembling this one with stick figures of the two of them standing awkwardly on the porch. It was signed with a large, messy ‘M.'

On the bed, another picture. This one was drawn on a lined sheet of paper ripped from a notebook. It depicted a swimming pool, with a stick figure, unmistakably Miguel, diving dramatically into the water.

A laugh escaped Shamus's lips. This was too much, too perfect. Without wasting a second, he sprinted down the stairs and out the back door, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

There, by the pool, bathed in the warmth of the sun, sat Miguel, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. As Shamus approached, Miguel sipped his drink, his eyes sparkling with playful delight.

"Miguel, does this mean you've decided to move in here at the end of the summer?" Shamus blurted out, unable to contain the thrill bubbling inside him.

"Yes, Daddy Shamus!" Miguel beamed, holding up a hand. "But only if you promise to share your chocolates!"

Daddy Shamus leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on Miguel's forehead, whispering, "I love you."

"I love you too, so much."

The End