30. Kent

THIRTY

"What exactly would you need to pet him?"

Sweetums sits on the edge of the island, staring. Not at me, the man who feeds, brushes, and scoops his litter. Not at the simple breakfast of toast with various butters and jams. At Vincent. Determined to win this new human over, Sweetums won't relent until he succeeds.

Vincent, with his long eyelashes, pulling my focus at the most inopportune times. Vincent. Last night. Lying on my bed. Naked. Undone. Because of me. The leather harness. The toy. The lube. My cock. My fingers. Inside him. My face warms, and I tilt my head and smile at Vincent. School. My apartment. Everything seems brighter with him near.

"An army of nurses in hazmat suits scrubbing me down. A giant vat of disinfectant. A truckload of wipes. A mountain of napkins."

"If I were to arrange this for you," I say, spreading peanut butter on my toast, "exactly which option would you prefer?"

"Ummm … I have to pick one?"

A sly smile creeps across Vincent's face, and the urge to throw him on the island and kiss every inch of his body overtakes me.

"All of them. Got it. I'll begin preparations." I bite into my toast, the creamy peanut butter coating my throat.

Hearing our plan, Sweetums lies down, exposing his belly to Vincent and bobbling his head back and forth.

"You realize he has a crush on you," I say.

"The cat?"

"Yes, the cat. Look at him." Sweetums reaches a tentative paw in Vincent's direction. "He's flirting with you."

"Well, please ask him to stop."

"He's right there." I nod in Sweetums' direction. "Ask him yourself."

Vincent wipes his mouth with a napkin, unfolds it, and holds it up, creating a makeshift shield between them.

"Cat. You can stop it right now, please. You're barking up the wrong tree."

He lowers the napkin, sits, and takes another nibble of toast.

"You're ridiculously charming, but no," I say. "He knows his name. You have to use it. And cats don't bark."

"He heard me."

It seems monumental for Vincent to eat while Sweetums lies just a couple of feet away. Maybe they'll never be best buds but co-existing this way would be more than acceptable. I pet Sweetums' back, lean down, and kiss his giant head right between his furry pointy ears. "Who's my good boy?"

Chewing his dry toast, Vincent raises an eyebrow and smiles at me.

"Are we ready for next week?" I ask.

"The go-live?"

I nod. "The switchover. The staff. The systems. All of it."

"The test data worked like a charm," Vincent says, wiping his plump lips. "The staff is prepared. I'll have the online documentation ready to supplement the binders we gave them."

"Teachers love binders," I say. "So many binders."

"Geoff assured me the tech side is set. Your servers have been upgraded. Shreya helped with all of that. Really, all we need is the new extract file for the entire school and to flip the switch. Once all the school's old data populates Hopscotch, we're done."

"It's that simple?" I ask. "And before you answer, remember, checking email on my phone confuses me."

"It should be. I mapped the data. We'll bring GradePlus down on Friday after you do the final export, prepare the data, and start the transfer. Then we wait."

"Wait for what?" I ask. Sweetums, momentarily giving up on Vincent, jumps to the bench in the front window to sunbathe.

"For the transfer. It should finish by Sunday morning."

"And we just sit at school waiting?"

"Gosh, no. We monitor from home. The system will send an alert if there's an error or any issues."

"Errors? Issues?" My stomach does a quick flip. "We don't have room for errors or issues."

"That's why we get alerts. Geoff monitors for tech issues. Servers crashing. Timeouts. Bugs. And I'll get any messages about the data transfer."

"Bugs? Like ants?"

"Oh, you handsome man," Vincent says, gently tugging at my beard. "No, technical bugs. Flaws. Imperfections. Mistakes."

"So, all weekend, you just sit at home?"

"Yeah, I'll probably work on Paris. Why don't you come over?"

"Can I help?"

"With what?"

"Paris."

"No, mon ami," Vincent says in a horrible French accent. "I prefer to work alone."

My teeth nibble at my bottom lip as thoughts of this major process and the associated steps swirl in my head. Vincent seems confident everything will go smoothly, and I'm choosing to trust him. He knows what he's doing. He's done it before. My role is minimal. The data extract is a few clicks. It's out of my hands after that. I slather blueberry jam on my toast and take a bite. Jelly oozes onto my beard, and Vincent hands me two napkins.

"Mr. Lester," Ruth says as I join her out front to wait for the drop-offs. The loop in front of the school allows car drop-offs to unload and depart quickly. That's the idea, anyway. Often, backpacks are open, lunches are on the car floor, children are stuck in car seats, and dogs need goodbye kisses. Ruth and I do our best to move the process along to prevent a backup.

"Ms. Parrish, how are you?"

The line of cars reaches the street, but we don't start the process until exactly seven-thirty. This way, teachers are in their rooms, awaiting students. Ruth and I stand at the ready. We don't walk on Thursdays because she plays volleyball on Wednesday nights, so this is our time to chat.

"Tired."

"Late game?"

"Nah. The game ended around eight. It was the after-game festivities that kept me up."

I glance at my watch and nod.

"You have exactly three minutes until children come flooding out of cars."

"Four words. Locker room shower shenanigans." She puts a finger up with each word.

"Oh? Sounds … interesting."

"Melissa. The new woman."

I put a hand up. "Wait, let me guess. You didn't know if she was queer. But now you do."

Ruth closes her eyes and nods, relishing her ability to attract almost anyone.

"And you seem a little extra chipper this morning," she says. "Does it have something to do with a word that rhymes with ‘feather?'"

I make a fist near my head before opening it with a loud explosion noise crackling from my mouth.

"Damn," Ruth says, her face split by an enormous grin, and right on cue, car doors fly open.

Like two whack-a-moles, Ruth and I pop in and out of cars, prodding children out to keep the cars flowing. We work in tandem, moving past each other to reach the next vehicle, and my chest swells when the line dwindles.

In the flurry of little bodies rushing into the building, I don't notice Brodie charging at me like a baby rhino until he crashes into me. His arms wrap around my waist, squeezing me with the force of a boa constrictor.

"Mr. Lester, good morning!" Brodie's mom shouts from the driver's seat. In his eagerness to dart over, he's left the car door open, and she's trapped until someone closes it.

"Good morning!" I call back. "Brodie, let's shut the door so Mom can get to work."

I glance down, and his face remains hidden in the curve of my stomach. When Brodie's parents brought him to kindergarten screening, they informed us they "knew something was off" and "needed help." They listened and nodded as I explained how we'd care for their son. The school was now part of Team Brodie. Almost two years have passed, and he's finally getting that evaluation.

"I got it," Ruth calls, jogging over from the car behind and slamming the door.

"Thank you, Ms. Parrish!" his mom shouts and drives off.

I pull Brodie's hand from my back and gently hold it.

"Want me to walk you inside?" His eyes finally meet mine and he nods. "Let's go find Mr. Soleskin."

We head into the building, Brodie's small hand gripping mine, and make our way to his classroom. The warmth from his tiny fingers in mine travels up my arm and swells in my chest. The entire school is rallying behind Brodie, and I know he's going to be okay.

"Nice shirt, boss," Helen teases.

With spring looming, I finally broke down and bought some new clothes. Short-sleeved polos, khakis, and new underwear. The old ones were falling apart, and it was time. Corrine used to buy most of my clothes, which I actually liked—one less thing to worry about. Understandably, after the divorce, she assured me she'd no longer be my personal shopper. With some suggestions from Ruth, I found an online store with basic and attractive clothes. I'm wearing a cream shirt with a solid navy-blue stripe across the chest today. Apparently, it's now my lot in life to have things splashed across my torso.

"Hey, we can't all pull off a denim jumper," I say, and Helen's eyes crinkle as she smiles.

"The Hopscotch crew is already in the conference room," she says. "I told them we'll need it for the IEP meeting at eleven."

"No worries. I'll handle it," I say. Not only does Helen take care of the entire school, but she's also always watching out for me. Pausing at her desk, I ask, "How are you, Helen?"

She pulls her cocked head back and dips her chin.

"Fine? Why?"

"No reason. Just wanted to make sure you're doing well. And if you ever need anything, you let me know."

"Sure thing," she says. "I could use a large black coffee. One that lasts all day. And for my husband to put his dishes in the dishwasher. He doesn't even have to turn it on. Just put them in the dishwasher." Helen laughs and turns toward her computer. Before I make it to the conference room, she yells, "And for the Bruins to win the Stanley Cup!"

"The server is up." Shreya holds a cup of coffee, and I worry it might spill as she motions with her hands. Vincent sits a few feet away, and his pinched face tells me he has the same fear.

"The performance testing went off without a hitch. Now you have to do your part," Vincent says.

"My part," Geoff says. "That's all dependent on the servers being ready. And they're ready. We're good. Vincent, let's do another performance run with the first-grade data. Better safe than sorry. We have the time."

Vincent nods and begins pecking away at his laptop.

"Need anything from me, team?" I ask, unsure what I can do.

"We're almost ready for the final data dump," Shreya says.

"All right. That's easy." I smile, knowing my part is within my capabilities. "I'll do it now."

"You'll need this." Vincent hands me a thumb drive. Too large for email, the complete file from GradePlus needs to be copied to the small device.

"I'll have this to you in a little bit." I stand at the door, holding the drive up. "If you need anything, just holler."

Vincent's eyes glance up from his screen and the dawning of his magnificent smile appears. My lips tingle, and I quickly lick them, hoping he hollers.