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“Perhaps next time we can invite your friend to join us? What was his name again?” I ask and dip another fry into the lake of ketchup on his plate.
“James… I already told you.” Henry looks at me with a flash of disappointment, like I should have already memorized the name of his new friend. “‘Sides, he can’t come to stuff like this… he said that he’s lactose intolerant and said he has to spend his nights practicing.”
“Practicing what?” I press. My father didn't care what my sister and I did as kids unless it jeopardized his reputation or we spent too much of his money. I want Henry to feel at ease speaking with me. I want him to know that I will always support him in whatever he chooses to do, even if I can only do so for now by learning about his friends' interests.
Henry hesitates for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “Can’t remember. It’s a big wooden thing that he plays between his legs.” Henry scoots back on the bench until he’s at risk of falling backward and pantomimes the motions of a cello.
Visions of Helena float to the forefront of my mind. The way she looked so peaceful while she played, the happy smile that she offered her student... The way that her skirt slowly inched up her thigh as she moved through the piece—
I force myself to be present in the moment, which is a tall order.
“Do you know?” Henry pauses and looks at me expectantly. “Hello?”
I missed his question, transfixed by the small glimpse of Helena’s thigh earlier. “Hm?”
“I said, do you know what it's called?” Henry seems momentarily irritated that he lost my attention and had to repeat himself.
“A cello?”
“Yeah! That’s it! James says that he has to practice his cello for two whole hours after dinner every night. He says that with all his homework and practice he never gets to have any fun. So, I told him that sucks. I gotta find a way for him to do something.” Henry shrugged and turned back to his food. “Seems real strict if you ask me.”
“Being dedicated is not always a bad thing, Henry.” I couldn't make Henry follow such a strict routine, but I know what it's like to have a parent who has high expectations. My father's standards and barwere so highthat we were constantly set up for failure. If you couldn't meet them, the punishments were even harsher.
“At least he likes his teacher. I mean, I think helikelikes her. I only saw her a little, but she’s really pretty. You have to see her. She’s really pretty and cool.” Henry adds.
“Your music teacher, or James’ tutor?”
“No, the teacher at school. James says that she’s new this year. He says that she’s much better than the old man they had last year. But he died so they needed a new one. Said the whole town went to his funeral. Can you imagine it?”
I can, but I don’t comment on it. Usually, Henry is reluctant to mention death or funerals since his mother passed. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to go to her funeral at all. If he’s finally comfortable talking about death again, I’m not going to ruin it for him.
“So, what makes this new teacher socool? Does she have a name?” I ask, allowing myself to think back on Helena… and her thighs. Her skin had looked so soft, just begging to be touched. In another world, I might have introduced myself and found a way to pry open those thighs for myself.
“Mmm.” Henry swallows a too-big bite of burger. His eyes sparkle with excitement as he speaks about her. She must have left quite an impression. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing yet.
“Well,” Henry starts and then pauses, looking guilty. “Me and James were talking a little too much in class… and she threatened to separate us. But then when we started to ‘fix our attitudes’ she gave us stickers instead to ‘encourage good behavior.’” He leans back again, fishing into his pocket to pull out a yellow cartoon sticker that saysAwesomein block letters. He flashes it at me and then stuffs it right back into his pocket. “We call her Ms. Sofia.”
Henry suddenly pauses, looking up at the newest arrival in the diner as the click of high heels registers against the tiles.
“Ms. Sofia!” he exclaims and stands up from the table, waving wildly at her. She’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, but she’s styled them down a little. She’s pulled half of her blonde hair up and away from her face, but some loose strands still fall around her chin. Most of her makeup is gone now. She likely wasn’t expecting to run into anybody here. She waves and smiles kindly but doesn’t come to our table right away.
She heads up to the counter to place her order from the bubblegum-chewing waitress. All the while Henry stands, waiting for her to pay more attention to him. She accepts her receipt and heads over to us. The soft evening breeze wafts the sweet, fruity notes of her perfume in my direction before she arrives at our booth.
“Good to see you, Henry. I’m glad you’re settling in.” She smiles warmly and allows Henry to hug her in greeting. Something in my stomach tightens when I see her genuine smile. I didn’t expect such a cold and calculatedbitchto act so sweetly.
“I didn’t know that you liked to come here.” He grins happily. “You have to sit with us!”
That would certainly make things nice and easy. The notion seems to make her uncomfortable like she’s not entirely certain how she should respond.
“I do apologize, Miss. We don’t mean to interrupt your evening. Only, you seem to have left a very positive impression on Henry here,” I interject. Her attention shifts in my direction. Her smile wavers just a bit, and I wonder why. What is she thinking? I stand quickly to be courteous. “Where are my manners, I’m Daniel, Henry’s guardian. It’s good to see you again.”
I hold my hand out to her politely. Helena—rather, Sofia hesitates a moment before taking my hand. She touches me lightly and for only half a second before dropping my hand as if she’s afraid that I might bite her. I’m almost disappointed. Even the briefest touch of hers is enough to let me know how soft her skin is. It’s too easy to imagine what it might feel like to have those same soft hands wrapped around my cock.
“Wait, you know Ms. Sofia?” Henry interjects, and I snap myself back to the moment at hand.
“Hardly. I merely had the privilege of hearing Ms. Sofia play at her cello earlier today,” I answer.
Helena smiles bashfully, a light dusting of pink blooming across the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Every move that she makes is careful but soft. She’s guarding herself and watching every reaction that she makes. “That’s right. Idoremember seeing you earlier. Well, I’m glad you liked what you heard.”
