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She, her husband, and her children recently went on an adventure holiday.
“Get lots of biking done?” I ask.
“Yes,” she sighs, interlocking her hands. “But you know how it is. Always thinking of work.”
Normally, I’d agree with this. But something revolts in me today.
I’m thinking of the day Della and I have children together. I’d want to be fully present when we’re doing family stuff.
Obviously, I understand the need to make money, but when we have that time together, where we are able to dedicate precious hours of the day to each other or, if we’re lucky enough weeks….
I want tobethere, with her.
But I don’t say this. It would be impossible to explain this new opinion, seemingly coming out of nowhere.
Della gets her food and walks across to the other side of the cafeteria. She doesn’t look my way, which makes sense…why would she?
As far as she knows, I’m just a math teacher, a one-on-one tutor, nothing else. She might even have a boyfriend.
The thought of her with another man almost sends me across the room. It would be hypocritical of me to try and take her, since I’d go into complete animal mode if anybody ever tried to take her fromme.
But the urge is there, the pounding in my mind, telling me I can’t steal her because she already belongs to me.
* * *
Later, I’m in my apartment, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of my lounge and looking down over the city.
I’ve just returned from the gym and dinner with one of my buddies, and now I’m staring down at the city lights, wondering which one of them is Della, wondering how she’d react if I turned up at her door and claimed her lips with mine.
I almost sprint across the room when my cell phone makes a text alert noise.
I laugh at myself as I pick up my phone, as though I’ve witnessed somebody else behave in a suddenly new, bizarre way.
But it’s me. I’m the strange one.
I wonder what my friends or dad would say if I tried to explain this to him.
It’s Della.
Hello, Mr. Strong. I hope it’s not too late for a quick math question. No worries if it is.
I type out a response,Of course not. What do you need help with?
Then I delete it, pacing around my apartment, my heart thudding unusually fast considering I’m just sending a text. It’s dangerous, the idea I’m toying with, considering what happened to Paul when he crossed the line with a student.
And it’s also true, what Jocelyn said, about Second Chance being about…well, second chances. Not my desire, need, the roaring hunger whelming inside of me.
Which means what I end up sending is inappropriate.
But I can’t stop.
Or maybe I can. Maybe I just don’t want to.
Della, you can call me Elias.
I place my phone on the counter, drop into a pushup position, and fire off twenty. It’s not smart since my chest is already aching, but what they say about old habits is true. The most intense burning comes into my mind, a release from the thought I may have just made a mistake.
She replies.
