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“Hey, where were you last night?”
My head falls and I turn around, looking at Greg as he walks into the teachers’ lounge the following morning.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, man.”
Greg shrugs and grips the coffee pot. “It’s not a huge deal. People come and go, there aren’t too many rules. I was just…I don’t know, worried about you.”
His words grip my chest, the ache I’ve been feeling ever since Verona’s dramatic arrival feeling momentarily soothed.
“Thanks,” I say, my throat feeling tight. “I’ve just been…”
I pause, feeling ridiculous. Overwhelmed with emotion and on the verge of tears. At work.
“I found out my son might not be mine,” I finally say, deciding for whatever reason to be brutally honest with Greg and hope for the best.
Because a part of me just can’t manage small talk right now. Can’t seem to come up with some bullshit, stupid reason why I didn’t show up last night to play softball.
In reality, I was at home with my son.
Greg’s eyes widen at my honesty, and then he moves closer to me, leaning back against the counter to my left and holding his mug of coffee between his hands.
“I can’t even imagine something like that, Colton. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s happening to me and I still can barely imagine—” I say, my words cutting off midsentence as my throat closes up.
Greg places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.
“Look, I know we’ve only known each other since the start of summer, but working with you the past few months has been great. I really do consider us friends, even if you do end up abandoning us at the end of summer term and go back to teaching college,” he says, teasing lightly.
I smile at that, appreciating the bit of jest.
“So I hope you know,” he continues, “I’m here for you. If you need someone to talk to, you can come over to my place. I’ve got a bitchin’ barbeque and a fridge full of beers on the back porch.”
I nod my head, realizing the kindness of Greg’s gesture.
“Thanks man,” I say, still feeling scratchy in my throat. “I’ll probably be taking you up on that. Soon.”
He slaps my back.
“Good. My wife Kelly also makes an amazing steak and potatoes plate that will make you want to pass out on the couch. We should plan something soon.”
I grin, nodding my head. “We’d like that.”
Greg grins and departs the lounge, seemingly not catching my mistake.
But I sure did.
We’d like that.
We.
Because in my head, I pictured sitting next to Emily with Greg and his steak-and-potatoes-cooking wife, Kelly.
I’m sure Greg assumed I meant my son, but I meant his nanny.
Emily has slowly been crawling her way under my skin, creating a little pocket for herself in my life.
A space I wonder if I’ll ever be able to fill again if she leaves.
