Page 76 of Love Always

The fifteen minutes home flies by. My mind is racing. Even though it wasn’t a real arrest, oddly I’m kind of scared. Cory comes home which is a welcome distraction from the anxiety. Emily brings over some of the peanut butter cookies they made. I hand him a table knife and he cuts them into quarters quite precisely. Mateus is impressed.

“Can we go to the lighthouse?” Cory asks.

“I have to go to school today, remember?”

For the first time, his face puckers up into a little pout and it makes me so happy. When I hear other parents say things like, “Oh, don’t make that face,” or “quit pouting,” I want to remind them at least their child knows when to pout. My son had to learn.

“How come you go to school now? You go to school when I’m in school.”

“I wish I could sweetie, but Mommy has to work. This way you go hang out with Aunt Claire and Finn. You can feed Salty.”

“I want to ride Salty.”

“Aunt Claire says when Salty is ready, she’ll let you ride him.”

“I love Salty,” he says, and I stop for a moment and look at him.

“What did you say?”

“I love Salty,” he sings as if in a performance. “I love Salty then I can ride Salty.”

It’s transactional, I get it, but I’ll take it. This is progress.

΅

By the time I get my backpack together, the water bottle tantalizingly clasped in an outside pocket, I’m in the Lexus, and I’m worn out. Mateus reaches around to the back seat and pulls up a pillow. “You look beat,” he says.

“Are you from like the fifties? Who says that?”

He laughs. “I might be.”

“And where,” I say, jamming the pillow under my head, “did you get a pillow?”

“From your bed. I thought you might need it.”

“I doubt it.”

But the hum of the engine, the faint jostling of the car, the warmth of the heater, all lull me to sleep in a matter of minutes. It’s not until I hear the brake being set that I slowly open my eyes. There’s a crick in my neck and I wince as I blink back to consciousness.

“Most boring trip ever,” grins Mateus, reaching around for my pack.

I try to talk around a yawn. “Sorry.” When we were on road trips with Mom and Dad, I was always the first one out, usually by the time we had reached Route 1. I don’t know what my superpower is, but I know my kryptonite is a car ride.

Sociology is first and I have a test, so Mateus reads a book on his phone. Or pretends to. Now is the time when someone out here might try to gather some microscopic DNA, so he makes note of every jostle, every person with whom I come in physical contact with. News hasn’t broken here yet which is weird because I know Detective Carlson gave a statement at three. Then I realize none of my classmates probably listen to the news. They live in their own information bubble. Ironically, we are just learning about this in class.

Professor Choi is feisty, young, and gorgeous. She has straight, shining, black hair cut right to her chin, beautiful eyes, and a flawless complexion. I think she loves her topic and keeps talking about all these sociological experiments we could do. We have to come up with one in the next three weeks.

Next is Comp. We are workshopping our review essays in Professor Cruz’s class. Ever since Mateus confronted him at Weaver’s he’s been on exceptional behavior, refusing even to make eye contact. I sit with one of my classmates, a kid from Sri Lanka who is delightful and has beautiful teeth. Cruz lectures us first and keeps his gaze away from Mateus. I get it. Mateus is definitely a force.

It’s hard to concentrate with Mateus in the classroom. I tried to convince him earlier to just wait outside in the hall, but he had none of that. Especially now. I get it. But still, sitting near the front and feeling his gaze on me knowing he’s sitting in the back quietly watching me is a turn on. When we walked in earlier, I saw the row of coat pegs, and flashed on a sudden fantasy. I strap his wrists to two of the pegs, as far apart as possible, watch his pecs flatten against bone, and slide my hands down his chest, into his pants as he moans.

I shake myself. I’ll never be able to look at those pegs again without thinking of him shuddering under my touch.

After the workshop, Professor Cruz talks about topic sentences, about trying to find a topic for our argument paper and writes a bunch of ideas on the board. I take a ton of notes and we work in groups to come up with topics, arguments and counterarguments.

By the time we leave, I am so tired.

“Give me your ruck,” he says holding out a hand. “Your backpack.”