And a coworker.
And my son’s principal.
I’ll have to see him every day.
“Thank you again for bringing him here. I had a student come in with a crisis right as I was leaving.”
“Did you get the crisis resolved?”
I shrug. “Mostly. As much as I could manage in the moment.”
Another long, awkward silence as we watch Aiden and his team practice a play where the quarterback throws the ball to Aiden, who’s supposed to run it downfield.
“Elyse, about…us.” He glances at me as he says that last word.
“Jamie…” I hesitate. “I think maybe it’d be best if we just let it be.”
He sighs. “If that’s what you want, then okay.”
“It’s more about what’s best. For Aiden, especially.”
He nods. “Yeah, okay. I get that.” He pats the fence, smiles tightly at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at drop-off?”
“Yep. Assuming I can get Aiden out the door on time.”
Jamie chuckles. “Kids can be tricky like that. Getting them all to come in from recess is always interesting.”
“I bet.”
Jamie waves at me, and the moment is…supremely awkward. “Bye, Elyse.”
“Bye, Jamie.”
He’s gone, then, sauntering across the field toward the elementary school, arms swinging loosely, sun outlining his broad shoulders and strong frame.
He’s handsome. And kind. Loves children. He’s thoughtful. Goes out of his way to take care of people.
He was a considerate, generous, amazing lover, and I can’t stop thinking about it.
But…
Daniel seemed to be all that at the beginning too. Mostly.
Some of it anyway.
And then he just…left. It was inevitable, after a certain point, but whose fault was that? Mine? His? Both of ours? I don’t know. I just know the idea of trusting someone else is…almost impossible to even consider.
I just can’t.
Aiden already sees Jamie every day in the role of principal—how could I even begin trying to introduce him as my boyfriend?
God, just the thought of having a “boyfriend” is beyond bizarre. I haven’t had a boyfriend in…fifteen years? How do you even do that? When is the right time to introduce your boyfriend to your impressionable eight-year-old son? Especially when said boyfriend is said eight-year-old’s principal—how doesthatwork?
It doesn’t.
It can’t.
I push Jamie out of my mind and focus on Aiden, who’s making catch after catch, run after run. Practice ends, and Aiden runs up to me with his helmet in his hand, his pads still on, his practice jersey grass stained, and his hair sweaty.
