by Sandra Alex
“I never said anything about the first guy.” She retracts flippantly.
“Stop it, mom.” I laugh.
Her face turns serious. “Kayla, I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here.”
“Here we go.” I sigh.
“Now, stop.” Mom bats the air and I know she’s looking for my arm, but I’m too far away for her to reach me, even if she could see. “I’ve been on borrowed time since you were born. You need to find someone who wants the same things as you do, and who will support you through thick and thin.” She pauses for breath.
“Mom, rest. You’re going to wear yourself out.”
She draws in a breath and I help her put the oxygen mask on her face. “I’m fine. I just needed to catch my breath.” Her voice through the mask sounds like she’s talking through a tunnel.
I sigh and sit next to her, as Heather shoves two chairs over her way. As I hold my mom’s hand, she continues. “Now, I’ll admit, when I met your father, I didn’t know what I was doing, either. Neither of us did, for that matter, which is probably why he left after you were born.” Which crushed mom, by the way. She already had a short list of health problems before I came along. After dad left, as my gramma once told me, her health problems tripled. Gramma Mary is still alive, and spry for a seventy-six-year old. She visits mom often, when she isn’t traveling the world with her third husband, that is.
Mom continues after drawing in another deep breath. “I never liked that Nick, anyway, if you want the truth.”
“Really?” I move closer to her. “I always thought you liked him.”
Mom shakes her head slightly. “The man is a coward. He did everything for all the wrong reasons. Including marrying you.”
“You think our marriage was a mistake?”
Heather is hunkering in, getting way too into this conversation for my liking. It’s becoming more and more apparent that not many in my circle liked my ex-husband.
“I think he married you out of guilt.” She lifts a finger. “And don’t think you weren’t partly to blame for that. You made him feel like if he didn’t marry you before I died, that you never would.”
Mom has a way of being very poignant and honest, and not sugar-coating anything…ten years after the fact. “And you never told me this…why?”
“Well, I wanted you to get married and have kids, of course.”
“So, you went ahead and let me get married, even though you knew it was a mistake?”
She opens her mouth. “Did you think you would listen to me if I told you then?”
Heather pipes up. “Kayla, take it easy. Don’t upset your mother.”
I ignore her. “Probably, mom.” My voice raises an octave. “You know I always take you seriously.”
“In that case I should have told you to leave him, too, then.”
I feel a lump in my throat but swallow it down. “Yes. Yes, you should have.”
We’re interrupted by a nurse entering the room. “Well, Mrs. White. Shall we check you over again and get you outta here?” The nurse says. She looks like she won’t take no for an answer but would persuade kindly.
“Sure. This is my daughter Kayla and her best friend Heather. They’ll take me back to the home.”
Funny how adding the word ‘the’ in front of ‘home’ can bastardize the word so badly. Every time she uses that term my heart breaks a little. The doctor releases her twenty minutes later, and we take her back. It’s so hard leaving her, but I’m finally used to it after all these years. She’s so exhausted she falls asleep before we leave, making me feel a little more at ease.
On the drive back to my place, Heather turns to me. “I know this is probably neither the time nor the place to ask you this, but, is your mom’s funeral and that kinda stuff all arranged?”
I wave her off. “Years ago. She wouldn’t have it any other way. Even blind that woman has been so self-sufficient. She’s even paid for the funeral and everything. I just have to show up.”
Heather raises a brow. “Wow. How long did it take you to be able to say that without crying?”
I sigh. “It’s part of my life. There’s no point in dwelling on it. I’m lucky to have had my mom for as long as I have. I’m thankful for every additional day.”
Heather reaches over and pats my shoulder. “You’re one of a kind, Kayla. That’s why I love you.”
“Yeah, well…get your fill of me now. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be so busy with work and school I’ll barely have time for you.”
She just smiles at me. Two weeks later, my life is about to change…in more ways than one.
Chapter 4
Daniel
The exhaustion has set in so strongly that I almost forget I have to leave to start my godawful course. Pulling shifts at the hospital has been such a bitch in the last few weeks. It’s great for my hours, but it’s also killer on me. Hopefully this course isn’t so boring that I fall asleep. Turns out I’m one of the first to arrive, so I choose a seat at the side of the class, against the wall, and pray I’ll fade in with the rest of the students. There are only two other kids in there, and they look as thick as thieves, sitting with their heads so close together that you can barely tell them apart.
Class starts in ten minutes. This isn’t looking good. Either there is so little enrolment, or most of the kids are going to skip the first class, and hence, skip many more thereafter, barely earning them a passing grade. Wonderful. Just what I expected. And just as I’m about to lose hope completely, more students begin milling in about three minutes later. They all look about as thrilled to be here as I do. Only difference is that I plan on acing this class, whether or not I have to bust heads to do it. I take my career very seriously and nothing is going to get in my way.
The class is more than half full, when things start looking up. I pull my binder out of my bag and the assigned textbook, which I’ve already perused, and I open to the first page in my binder, writing down today’s date on it. When someone comes in and sits at the desk in front of me; another guy, and I tip my head in greeting. He looks to be about my age, maybe by a year or two. His hair is cut shorter than mine, and he looks pastier than me, but his t-shirt is what draws me to him. It’s bright orange, and on the front of it, there is a skeleton behind bars, with an evil smile on its face. The caption reads, ‘you hurt my daughter, know that I’ll rock the orange suit’.
I smile at him, gesturing with my chin towards the garment. “What, did you lose a bet or something?”
He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Na, I had another shirt on top, but I spilled coffee on it ten minutes ago.” It’s September, and too warm for a jacket, which would have been a safer bet. “The bookstore is closed, otherwise I’d have picked up another shirt in there. It’s not so much the image, but the bright orange that draws attention to it.” He holds his hand out for me to shake. “Greg.”
“Daniel.” I say, shaking his hand. “So, I take it you’ve got kids?”
He takes a seat and turns around to face me. “Just one. Shyla. She’s four. Just started Junior Kindergarten. You?”
“Nope. Just me.”
“Single?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Yeah. Shyla lives with my ex-girlfriend. I see her enough though.”
“The kid or the ex?” I joke with a slight chuckle.
“The kid.” He smiles as the teacher walks in and takes a seat at the front table, resting a briefcase on the floor. He’s carrying a binder, overstuffed with loose papers, and a pen is tucked behind his ear. Glancing at the clock, I notice it’s almost time to start. The class isn’t full yet. There are about five seats empty; all in the first and second rows.
“Looks like it’s a full house.” Greg comments, looking around the room. “No eye candy here, either.”
I give him a look. “You here to pick up chicks?”
He angles his head slightly. “Can’t hurt.”
I roll my eyes at his response as another student walks in…I have to look twice. �
��Shit.” I murmur under my breath.
“Well, lookie here,” Greg leers at the girl that just walked in.
“Believe me, you don’t want any part of that.” I say, shrinking into the chair, hoping she won’t see me and recognize me. Not that she could; the last time she saw me she was so drunk she probably couldn’t recite the alphabet with help.
“You know her?” he asks, impressed.
“Not really, but she was at a bar a couple of weeks ago. Same night I was there. I don’t know her name or anything, but she was a little…aggressive to say the least.”
Greg sizes her up as she hurriedly finds a vacant seat in the front and sits down. Her brown hair is in a tidy French braid down her back, and she’s wearing black jeans and a red shirt. Respectable for the purpose. “She’s got a great ass.”
“Yeah, and she’ll show it to you with little effort.” I say, not hiding the warning tone. Just as she’s got her books laid out on the desk, the teacher rises, closes the door, and welcomes us.
The brunette is completely transfixed on the teacher, which relieves me. Even if she does see me, chances are that she won’t remember me, I say to myself, and just resign myself to keep away from her. I seem to be hitting it off with Greg anyway, so if any class assignments come up, he’s my new partner. The teacher writes the course name on the blackboard, as if we need reminding. He pulls his briefcase onto the desk, opens it, and removes a stack of organized papers. Licking his index finger, he eyes the first row and counts out a selection of the papers, handing the smaller stack to the first person in each row. The first person starts the distribution process, until the entire class has a copy.
“This is your course outline. It’s also on the website, but I want you all to keep a copy of it in your notes at all times.” The teacher’s tone is clipped, and his expression is cold and flat. “I’m Mr. Gladstone. I haven’t been sick in over twenty years of teaching, so don’t ever expect that class will be canceled. The only way they’re cancelled is if it’s inclement weather…or if I’m dead.”
My eyes widen slightly. This guy is a little intense for a nutrition course. Greg turns to me and gives me a look like the guy just lifted his shirt. Brunette looks like she wants to puke. Her face just paled, and she set her pen down on the leaflet in front of her. Bet she’s thinking the same as me: this teacher is a lunatic. He continues. “The major project, worth thirty-five percent of your grade, will be due in six weeks. I highly suggest that you do not slough it off and wait until the last two weeks to start it. Read the outline for instructions and I recommend doing one case study per week. That is how previous honor role students survived.”
Gladstone takes out a sheet of paper that has numbers on it, pulls out a pair of scissors, and hands both to the brunette. “Here, cut these up, will you.” He tells her; he doesn’t ask. She does as she’s instructed and begins cutting up the little squares with numbers on them. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, but there’s nothing sweet in how he asks her.
“Kayla.” She answers. Well, at least I know her name now.
“Kayla, I want you to hang on to these numbers for the rest of the course.”
She tips her head downward. “Okay.” Her voice lowers an octave. Poor girl’s just been assigned as class bitch.
“Each time we have an assignment, each of you will take a number from the pile and match it to the other person in the class with the same number. There will be no repeat partners this way. Most of the assignments are partner-based, so pray you get a good partner.”
This guy is a loon. And so much for my plan to partner up with Greg. “When Kayla is finished cutting up all the numbers, she’ll separate them into two piles. Half of you will pull from one pile, half of you will pull from the other pile.”
“So, it’s like Bingo but without money.” Greg says out loud. That gets a few laughs. Kayla smiles slightly but doesn’t look up; she looks almost terrified as she finishes cutting up the numbers.
“I suppose if you want to look at it like that.” Gladstone says. “What’s your name?”
“Greg.”
I watch the brunette setting the numbers in tidy piles, not even looking up.
“Take one of your own, Kayla, and everyone will come up and pick their numbers.” Gladstone says. “Everyone, follow Greg up to the front and collect your number. Remember; this half picks from this pile, and this half picks from that pile.” He indicates with his hands, as if we wouldn’t be able to handle following along without it.
Greg stands and goes to our pile on the first desk in the third row. I follow behind him, being careful not to walk on the side where Kayla is.
“Alright, one by one, call out your number.” Gladstone instructs as we all find our seats with our numbers in hand. He starts with the first person from each row and they mate up with their matching number. When it’s Greg’s turn, he calls out his number, and Kayla, the brunette, raises her hand. As she walks over to him, I feel a strange reluctance with her approach. I mean, I’ve kissed her, I’d even say we made out pretty hard, but as she comes over, I’m relieved that Gladstone glances at me, waiting for me to call out my number, because the proximity to her is making me feel like I want to take a shower.
“Six.” I call out, and a guy in the back raises his hand and rises from his seat. I meet him halfway.
Gladstone points to another pile of papers on the desk by the door. “This is your assignment today. Pick it up and go wherever you want to for the next thirty minutes to work on it. We’ll reconvene then.”
A short, stumpy kid, who can’t be more than seventeen, walks over to me. He has an oversized baseball cap on that has an outline of a naked woman on it. Oh, boy. Sticking my hand out for him to shake, I introduce myself. His name is Kyle. I glance at his hat while we both grab a paper. Compared to him, I look like the lead actor in My Giant. He catches the displeased glance at his hat and removes it, unhinging it in the back and affixing it to a belt loop in the rear of his pants.
“You want to work out in the hallway or at these vacant desks in the back?” I ask. He looks like he’s swallowed a golf ball. I’ll admit I’m a little impressed by the fact that he seems intimidated by me. I’m probably more than ten years his senior, and I could bench press him with one hand tied behind my back.
“Whatever you like.” Kyle says. I feel like he’s going to add ‘sir’ to the end of his answer, but he doesn’t.
Standing in the center of the classroom, I review our assignment. It’s so lame I can do it by myself by asking Kyle a couple of diet-related questions. Gladstone probably just wants us to get acquainted. Ten minutes later we reconvene and share our findings. I do the talking for our duo, noticing that Kayla doesn’t flinch or look my way when I speak. She’s too busy gathering up the numbers as Gladstone instructed her to do.
“Alright, now everyone, switch, and partner up with the number below yours. So, if you’re a two, you go with a one, etc. Go!” he says. We seem to shout out our numbers, creating a bit of a scuffle that gets some laughs. Aces to Gladstone for this idea, as it becomes a humorous, disorganized mess. I’m a six, and when I call out five, Kayla holds up her hand, laughing. Oh great.
I’m laughing a bit when I reach her, and I’m glad the humor has softened the scenario slightly. She doesn’t seem to recognize me at first as I hold out my hand for her to shake. “Daniel.” I say with a slight smile, “And I think everyone in the class knows that you’re Kayla.”
“Busted.” She admits, rolling her eyes. We grab our assignment from the front desk and review it. It’s just as lame, but a good icebreaker all the same; just like the last assignment. We observe the classroom, which is buzzing with chatter. Students are peppered all over the place, and it seems like there’s nowhere to sit. “Since we’re by the door, we might as well go outside in the hall.” She says.
“Sure.” I gesture for her to go ahead. Gladstone leaves the door open so we can hear when our time is up. We both sit on the floor with our
backs leaning up against the painted brick walls; she’s on one side, I’m on the other side, a body length distance away.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asks first off. “I’ve seen Greg,” she gestures to the door, where Greg is standing, “at the rec center where I work.” She mentions the name of the center. It’s for kids.
“No, I don’t have kids. I’ve never been there before.”
“Oh. Okay. Maybe you have one of those faces.” She says, trying to figure out where she knows me from. I’m torn between letting her off the hook, since I hate it when I can’t place a person; and not mentioning it, since she might die of embarrassment once I tell her.
I decide on the latter. “I was at the same bar you were at a couple of weeks ago.” I say, keeping it casual. Maybe she won’t figure out that we danced together and made out.
She hesitates at first, and then her eyes bug out a little as she covers her mouth, stifling a gasp. I lift my hand in the air defensively. “Hey, take it easy. I know you were ploughed.”
Her hands cover her face as she scrubs it, seemingly trying to figure out a way out of this…without dying. A sigh comes from her chest and she looks at me with such a straight face I think she’s going to tell me that she only has a month to live. “Look, I’m not going to make excuses.” She pauses, her expression not wavering. “I’m going through some heavy stuff and my friends thought they were helping me.” another pause. “It was a mistake that I’d gladly take back.” Her voice has so much conviction that I believe her.
I nod. “Fair enough.” I pause. “How about we just forget about it.”
“Thank you. That’s helpful.” She nods and swallows. Her eyes haven’t left mine. I detect a little glassiness, almost an apologetic expression.
“No problem.” I say warmly, breaking eye contact. We both peruse the assignment paper and get started. I clear my throat and purse my lips into a smile. “So, what kind of food allergies do you have, and can you attribute them to your family history?” I ask in my best Alex Trebek voice.
