22. Kent

TWENTY-TWO

"A foot job? Are you trying to tickle my labia?"

The March mini warm spell prompts Ruth to tie the jacket of her tracksuit around her waist, and her toned, fit arms sway back and forth with each step, showcasing her strength.

"I wasn't sure what was happening at first," I confess. "His feet. On my shmekel."

"Your what?" Ruth asks, and I chuckle, knowing I used a Yiddish word she doesn't know yet.

"Shmekel. Penis."

She nods, committing it to memory. "But you liked it. His feet on your … shmekel."

I give her a crisp nod, place my hand on her back, and say, "I was verklempt."

"Feet can be hot. Take it from me. Being creative in the bedroom will only win you points."

"Points? Is someone keeping score?"

"Of course they are. But from where I stand, you're scoring big. All the touchdowns and home runs. I like how this is playing out for you, Mr. Lester."

Ruth's bright smile and wise eyes comfort me. There's safety in our conversations, never judgment. I need her cheerleading and support as I explore some of this unfamiliar territory with Vincent. The companionship of other queer people is something I didn't know I missed, but having Ruth's council and confidence makes my heart smile.

"I brought him on a LEGO date with Lia. We're keeping things casual. The Hopscotch rollout needs to go off without a hitch. For both of us."

"Oh, screw that," Ruth says with a pinched expression on her face. "Listen, I've told you this before, but I understand sometimes men need to hear things more than once. Lear is perfectly fine—more than fine. Test scores aren't everything."

"I know, but the board cares about?—"

"Fuck the board," she spits. Gosh, I love riled-up Ruth. "Someone needs to explain to them what really matters."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Don't tease me with a good time, Kent."

One more lap, and we head back to start the day. I'm an early bird, and my walks with Ruth get me to school by six thirty. A few minutes freshening up in the bathroom, and I'm ready before most of the staff arrives. Heading to my office, I bump into Theo, rolling his mop toward the cafeteria for breakfast duty.

"Mr. Berenson, how are you on this fine day?"

A shrug and a huff.

Theo isn't a man of many words, but he hasn't given me the silent treatment in years. His furrowed brow and pursed lips prod me to investigate.

"Theo. Come with me."

"Breakfast." He holds up the handle of his mop.

"Breakfast can wait five minutes."

We walk to my office, and when Theo enters, leaving the mop and bucket outside, I close the door.

"Sit. Tell me what's going on."

He saunters to the table, plops himself down, and mumbles, "Nothing."

Sometimes, the patience I need with children comes into play with staff. If Theo thinks this behavior will stop my prodding, he doesn't know me very well.

"Theo Berenson, if something is bothering you or something happened, you can tell me. You pouting around school like someone stole your favorite toy isn't going to help anyone. Most of all you."

He rolls his eyes and sighs. All the air leaves his body, and his shoulders slump.

"It's not job related. Well, he works here."

"Mr. Soleskin? Sheldon. You can talk to me about anything. If you're comfortable."

Staring out the window, Theo rests his palm against the frame. "My parents want to fly us down for Passover, and he's ‘not sure' it's a good idea."

"Because …"

"He didn't say, but …" Theo turns toward me. His big brown eyes glimmer, and I quickly understand this is emotional for him.

"My parents do a lot for me. And well, now Sheldon. This is how they are. We're together, so he's part of the family. It's not a big deal. I mean, I'm used to it, but he's … not."

The pieces begin snapping together.

"I know Sheldon doesn't have a relationship with his parents," I say. "It's going to take some time for him to adjust to the doting. Jewish parents are next level."

"They can be a lot."

"They're a lot for us. And we're Jewish." I touch Theo's shoulder. "Give him some time. Talk about it. I promise communication will only help."

Theo pastes a smile on and nods.

"Thanks, Mr. Lester."

I smile, knowing Theo's use of my honorific and last name in this private conversation is his way of expressing gratitude.

He leaves for the cafeteria, and my nose twitches from the aroma of bacon and eggs traveling down the hallway. Today's hot breakfast item is Delores's famous English muffin sandwich. Made of identical ingredients as McDonald's, it magically tastes a million times better. And Delores knows it. Her cooking motivates the children to make healthy food choices. Relatively speaking.

As I move my bag to the seat Theo vacated, he and Sheldon return to my mind. Their relationship is progressing nicely. Theo seems much happier, but dating a ray of sunshine probably has that effect on you. Most of the staff know, and Sheldon's students couldn't be more supportive. But even when everything appears shiny and pleasant on the outside, there are often tiny tremors below the surface.

"Mr. Lester."

Vincent walks in, wielding a massive smile on his beautiful face. He's wearing a slight variation of his button-down and khakis uniform—a short-sleeved polo. Thank you, warmer-than-usual late-March weather. There are three buttons at the collar, and he left them undone. Way to live dangerously. My gaze lingers on the area, wondering if, from the right angle, I might get a glimpse at his firm chest and perky nipples.

"Mr. Manda, how are you?"

He sets his bag down, darts to close the door, and gives me a soft kiss on the lips. No teeth brushing. No gum. No mints.

"That good, eh?"

"I missed you."

"You did?"

Vincent nods and pulls me into an embrace. Not for another kiss, simply to hug. As he squeezes my torso, I breathe in his comforting aroma of orange and honey. Holding him here, in the relative privacy of my office, my body so connected to his, I wish I could stop the world and let us remain locked this way forever. There's an urgency in the way he clutches me and I relish being needed. He pulls away, lingering near my face. "Maybe you could come to my place again … soon."

"Maybe." I kiss his neck, and the chime of the arrival bell reminds me we have work to do.

Vincent sits at the table and begins his setting-up ritual. Laptop. Water bottle. Wipes. And then he begins cleaning. The table, keyboard, screen, chair, everything gets a generous rubbing with disinfectant.

I open the office door and take a moment to watch him. A large, savoring breath enters my nostrils, and a silly grin overtakes my face. I'm falling for this man. When Corrine and I split, I was pretty sure that was it for me. Forty-five isn't the ideal age to reenter the dating pool, so … I didn't. Each year, I thought, maybe now, but then, meh. Nope. Too busy. Too much effort. Too many distractions. Corrine convinced me to try SWISH, and I agreed mainly to get her off my back. But there was a curiosity deep down, and well, Vincent scratched it like a nagging summer mosquito bite on your ankle.

"Mr. Lester." Helen stands near my door, holding a stack of papers.

"Helen, good morning. How are you?"

"The Bruins won last night so I'm fantastic." She's wearing her black, yellow, and white team sweatshirt. "These need your signatures," she says, handing the papers over. "Everything's highlighted."

"Awesome. About the Bruins, and I'll get these signed right away."

"Shreya was looking for you," Helen says. "When your door was closed." Helen's smirk hints she has a clue what's brewing.

"Oh, well, if you see her, please send her, or I can call her." I move back into my office and trip on the carpet. Catching myself on the door, I stammer, "Heh, all good."

When the Hopscotch logo flashes on Vincent's screen, an animated pebble skipping down numbered boxes, I'm reminded why he's here. To work. To help me show Dr. Cutler and the board that Lear's test scores aren't an accurate representation of the impact that happens here.

"Kent, we have a problem."

Shreya's face pokes in, her brow wrinkled. This isn't a social visit.

"Ms. Shaan, I was about to call you. Come in." I pull a chair out at the table for her. "What's wrong?"

"I was up until three this morning fixing code. This damn game isn't going to build itself and the compute quotient and remainder had a bug in it …" I nod, trying to catch slivers of understanding.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is that what you wanted to chat about?"

"No, sorry. Still trying to wake up." Shreya takes a long slug of her coffee. "We're having a performance latency issue." She plops down, clutching her mug like her life depends on it.

My eyes widen, and I softly shake my head.

"Shreya. I'm going to need the Gen X translation, please."

Shreya's chest expands, her dress's dark purple and blue abstract flowers swaying.

"There's a delay. We're still loading the test data from yesterday. It's not following instructions yet. Technically, the data is there, but taking its sweet time to populate. Screen load times are topping out at fifteen minutes."

"What do we do?"

"Wait. Watch. Pray. Geoff is monitoring the transfer, and it looks good so far."

"Oh, well why did you say we have a problem?"

"Because the data should populate quickly, and so far it's not." Shreya tips her mug upside down, attempting to get the last drops.

"It happens," Vincent says. "I'm sure it will be fine. Let's just give it a few hours. We're not testing until tomorrow. We have the day."

"Okay. Give it a few hours," I say. "Good plan." The lightness overtaking my brain begins to settle. I'm so in over my head, it's ridiculous. It's like the time I subbed in kindergarten on Halloween. Twenty-two five-year-olds in costumes with candy—what could go wrong? Oy.

"Sit tight," Shreya says, returning to the conference room.

"Well, I guess we have a few hours to kill," Vincent says, turning back to his screen.

"Principals do not have free time." I glance at my watch. "It's first-grade recess. I'm going to cover one of the teachers. Wanna join me?"

Vincent smiles, nods, and grabs a stack of napkins and wipes from his bag.

"Come." I give his shoulder a squeeze and the contact sends a thrill of delight zinging through my core.