“No fucking way.” The profanity sounds foreign coming from me, and Rilla cackles her approval. That was not what I was expecting to hear.
I think about the last time Josh and I saw each other. It was four Christmases ago at his parent’s house. Josh arrived solo just as I was leaving after visiting with Nancy and Tom. We chatted for a minute before I said I needed to get going. He seemed disappointed, but it had been deliberate on my part. Things had changed between us after the night of the pep rally. I realized he was never going to have those kinds of feelings for me, so I took myself out of the equation. It hurt to be around him. I still talked to him, but I stopped always seeking his attention. I don’t know if he even noticed, to be honest. Once he went away for college, I barely saw him at all.
“Where in Boston?”
“I asked him that myself just this afternoon. It turns out he’s got an apartment in Boston Proper.”
I live in Boston Proper and Rilla obviously knows this.
“Is Eleanor coming too?” Josh and Eleanor did end up going to college together and the last time I spoke with Nancy, she implied that an engagement was imminent.
“No, she’s not.” I can practically hear her smiling through the phone. “They are on what I believe is called a ‘break.’” I have no response to that. I look around me and realize I am sprawled on my couch. I don’t even remember sitting down. Josh is single for the first time in ten years, and he is moving to my neighborhood. “Still with me, babe? Because I haven’t even told you the punchline yet.”
“What would that be?” I ask, not knowing if I can handle what she’s about to tell me.
“He’s moving into your building.”
Chapter 2
Josh
“That’s a damn fine bookshelf,” I say aloud, admiring my work. I’ve just finished assembling my second piece of Ikea furniture of the afternoon and I am starting to feel like a regular Joe Handyman. Maybe I should teach shop class instead of phys ed.
I look around my new apartment, pleased with what I’ve accomplished so far. The place is starting to come together. It’s obvious I just moved in, but at least there is some furniture spaced throughout the room. A couch, a coffee table, and now two of the finest bookshelves I’ve ever seen. I roll my shoulders and start to tidy up the boxes and instructions, piling everything into the corner.
The place is bigger than I expected it would be. It’s a single bedroom, but the living room is large enough for a couch and a chair and the kitchen’s not a bad size either. It’s been painted somewhat recently and thoroughly cleaned. The bathroom is tiny, but that’s okay. It’s just me. For the first time in my life, it’s just me.
I’ve got mixed feelings about living on my own. I briefly considered looking for a roommate, but I decided some solitude might be good for me. I went from living with my family, to sharing a dorm room for two years, to living with Eleanor. To be honest, the two-bedroom apartment we shared the last several years never really felt like it was mine. A part of me always felt like it was her place, and she was just letting me live there. She picked the apartment and decor, never asking for my opinions but expecting my gratitude. We were partners for more than a decade, but really, she was the CEO and I was the guy who delivered the sandwiches. My job was to fit into her life and not take up too much space.
The thought of her brings a pang, but not one of longing. I feel guilty because I don’t miss her more, or at all. When you spend eleven years with someone, you expect to feel something when you separate. I’m ashamed to admit to myself that what I feel is mostly relief. And, of course, the soul-crushing guilt of letting her down again. Disappointing people had become a bit of a habit of late. I seemed to be getting good at it.
The last two weeks have been a blur.
When I received the offer to teach at Braemore Middle School, I accepted on the spot. I’d interviewed for the job months ago and was surprised when they called. Full-time PE positions are few and far between and I didn’t give myself time to second guess it. Within ten days, I’d found an apartment in the city, packed up my life, and moved to Boston.
I hadn’t told anyone about the upcoming move. I felt like the more people I told, the more could go wrong. I worried that my family and friends would try to talk me out of it, so I decided to keep my cards close to my chest on this one. This was my life and I want to be in the driver’s seat, for once.
Before I left with all my earthly belongings yesterday, I visited my mother to tell her my plans. Understandably, she’d been shocked. One minute she thought her oldest child was happy and settled in a long-term relationship, only to find out that he was switching jobs, moving states, and single.
In my defense, I wanted to tell her when Eleanor and I broke up three months ago. Eleanor wanted me to wait. She was convinced that we just needed some time apart and didn’t want to upset our families if we were just going to wind up back together. So, I sat on it. Made excuses on why she wasn’t coming to dinner with us. Was evasive when my parents asked about her. I think Rilla may have suspected something was up, but she never called me out on it. Unlike my folks, my sister was never a card-carrying member of the Eleanor Fan Club. They were always perfectly pleasant toward one another, but they just didn’t vibe.
In true Nancy Pine fashion, she rallied immediately. She peppered me with questions about the job offer while she made me a sandwich and packed me a tin of cookies for the drive. She even offered to come with me to help me get settled, but I assured her that I’d be fine. My dad had been out golfing with clients when I stopped in and that suited me just fine. Having not gotten so much as a text from him, I’m guessing he didn’t take the news well.
My father had never hidden his immense displeasure when I chose to go into education after I finished my bachelor’s degree. He’s always wanted me to pursue law like he did. For a time, I let him believe that’s where I was headed, because I didn’t want to have to deal with his disappointment. Well, I’m dealing with it now. The last time we spoke, he told me in no uncertain terms that I would regret my decision and he’d be ready to help get me “back on track” when I realized my mistake.
I decided in high school that I wanted to teach. It was random how it happened, really. My buddy Tanner was struggling with algebra in junior year and no matter how many times his math teacher explained something to him, he could not grasp what she was trying to say. I’d found him in the corner of the library, slumped over a table. He was freaking out because he would lose his lacrosse scholarship if he failed this course. I sat down next to him and started to work through one of the problems on his sheet. There was no question that he was not comprehending the equation the way his teacher was explaining it. So, I tried breaking it down in a different way. When that didn’t work, I took another approach. I was never the greatest math student, but after four attempts, Tanner figured out how to make sense of the numbers. I worked with him for the rest of the semester, and he passed the course with a C+. His parents were so ecstatic, they took us to a Patriots game to celebrate.
That same year, my PE teacher, Coach Bergan, enlisted my help to work with a group of freshmen and sophomore football players. Some needed help staying on task, while others had trouble taking direction from authority figures. All the guys were from different backgrounds, but I found I could relate to every one of them. I worked with them all year and found it incredibly rewarding. One day in mid-May, I was giving Coach Bergan a progress report on a particularly troubled freshman named Donnie, when he stopped me and asked me if I’d given any thought to becoming an educator. It had never occurred to me before. I was always planning to be a lawyer, like my dad. But the second Coach planted that seed in my brain, I couldn’t shake it. It took root and grew until I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
I wanted to be a teacher.
So now I’m a teacher, I’m single and my father thinks I’m a screwup. I shake my head and run my hands through my hair. Now is not the time for self-doubt. Being alone will be good for me.
Mostly alone, anyway. I smile to myself. Betty St. Claire lives in this building. I couldn’t believe it when Rilla dropped that bomb on me. I haven’t seen her for years, but she was always my favorite of Rilla’s friends. Hell, she’d been one of my favorite people, period. When my sister texted me earlier, it made my whole damn day.
Rilla:Did you have to sneak away in the dead of the night?
Me:New phone, who dis?
