His girlfriend? Are we pretending again?
Boyd tilts his head at the kid and gives him a stern look. “Noah. We’ve been over this.”
The kid sighs, as if the weight of the world is on him, dramatically slumping and rolling his eyes before he sits up straight and looks me in the eyes. “Hello. I’m Noah. It’s nice to meet you.” He’s wearing a Philadelphia Eagles hoodie and his dark hair is disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it with no care for how it looks.
Then he stands and offers me his hand. I shake it as I reply, “Nice to meet you too, Noah. I’m Chloe.”
“You’re very pretty,” he adds, then glances back at Boyd. “Better?”
“Better.”
“So what’s going on here?” I ask when Boyd is done playing Miss Manners with Noah.
“New math. That’s what’s going on here.” Boyd indicates to an open textbook and papers spread across the table. “Something that schools refer to as Common Core but adults cannot comprehend.”
“It’s stupid!” Noah interjects. “I have a calculator on my phone. Why do I even need math?”
“Well,” I start as I slide into a chair and join them, “it’s important that you understand the basics, so that later you’ll have the foundation that’ll make it easier to learn more complicated math concepts.”
“But why can’t I just use the internet?” he asks me, expression sincere.
“Because math is about learning logic and critical thinking. Math teaches you life skills and quick thinking. It’s not just about calculating a number that you could look up. It’s about problem-solving.” I pull his paper closer to me and take a look. “So, tell me where you’re stuck.”
It takes us about a half hour to work through Noah’s math homework. He’s a smart kid, and once it’s explained to him in a way that he understands we zip through the assignment. Boyd stays the entire time, paying attention and telling Noah to focus a couple of times when he wants to give up. But I don’t understand what their relationship to each other is, and I realize it wasn’t offered when I arrived. When Noah starts to pack up his books my curiosity gets the best of me.
“So, Noah is your…” I direct the question at Boyd and trail off, expecting him to fill in the blank. But he doesn’t. Noah beats him to it.
“He’s my dad,” he says, dropping pencils haphazardly into the bag.
“Noah,” Boyd says, and I can’t tell if his tone is a warning or a defeat.
“I don’t know what kind of lies he’s been telling you. But you seem like a nice lady to me, and you deserve to know the truth.” Noah sighs and looks me straight in the face. “I’m his love child.”
Um, what? He has a child? No way.
Boyd wraps his arm around Noah’s head and slaps his palm over his mouth to shut him up. “Knock it off, Noah. And how do you even know what a love child is?” He ruffles Noah’s hair with his other hand then releases him.
“I’m ten, not stupid,” Noah responds, scrunching his eyebrows and giving Boyd a look. “He’s my big,” Noah says, looking back to me.
“Your big?” I repeat and look at Boyd. “You’re a mentor?” I ask, guessing that Noah is referring to the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program. One of the kids in my class has a big and the teacher I student-taught under during college was also involved in the program. They match adult volunteers with children who have signed up looking for a role model. They commonly refer to the adults as bigs and the kids as littles, and the relationships can last a year or a lifetime. Usually it’s a few hours a month spent helping the little with homework or taking them to do something fun.
“Yeah.” Boyd nods. “And I got matched with this little punk,” he says affectionately.
“There was a line for me,” Noah responds. “You just got lucky.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help. And it was really nice meeting you, Noah.” I push my chair back and stand.
“Aren’t you coming with us to the ghost thing?” Noah glances at me, seeming surprised that I’m leaving, then turns to Boyd. “Boyd, can Chloe come with? I like her,” he pleads.
“Of course she can come,” Boyd responds. “Unless she’s afraid of ghosts. She might be too chicken.” He looks at me as he says it, like a challenge. And Noah jumps right in and squawks at me.
“Where is it that you’re going?” I laugh. “Ghost hunting?”
“It’s a ghost tour!” Noah bursts out in excitement. “We’re gonna see a bunch of haunted places.”
I bite my lip and look between them. It’s harmless, right? I mean, not the ghosts. Ghosts aren’t real. But hanging out with Boyd and Noah. It’s not a date. It’s just… hanging out. Nothing to panic about. I’m good at hanging out. And Noah is here, and I’m good with kids.
“Sure, I’ll go.”
And that’s how I end up spending most of the evening with Boyd. Again. And sleeping with him. Again. But it so wasn’t a date. Because when I start to think that there’s something happening between us I freak out. Second-guess myself. Wonder if he’s going to call again or if I’ve said something stupid. I start running conversations through my mind over and over again until my heart races and I start to envision ways that this could end badly. Ways that will end up with me being hurt. Or Boyd being hurt. What if I hurt him? I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone.
Then I wonder if I’m crazy to even let my thoughts wander there in the first place. Boyd is freaking amazing. Hot. Wealthy. Incredible in bed. He volunteers with children, for crying out loud. He’s practically perfect in every way. Like Mary Poppins. If Mary Poppins was an attractive thirty-two-year-old man with magic sex skills and an interest in me.
He cannot be interested in me. In what I want. Which is not casual. What we’re doing right now—the sex and the hanging out—is fun. And I’m enjoying myself. Anyone would. But if we keep doing this I’m going to fall in love with him and then I’ll want more. Or I’ll freak out and need to breathe into a paper bag, hard to tell with me.
Boyd tilts his head at the kid and gives him a stern look. “Noah. We’ve been over this.”
The kid sighs, as if the weight of the world is on him, dramatically slumping and rolling his eyes before he sits up straight and looks me in the eyes. “Hello. I’m Noah. It’s nice to meet you.” He’s wearing a Philadelphia Eagles hoodie and his dark hair is disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it with no care for how it looks.
Then he stands and offers me his hand. I shake it as I reply, “Nice to meet you too, Noah. I’m Chloe.”
“You’re very pretty,” he adds, then glances back at Boyd. “Better?”
“Better.”
“So what’s going on here?” I ask when Boyd is done playing Miss Manners with Noah.
“New math. That’s what’s going on here.” Boyd indicates to an open textbook and papers spread across the table. “Something that schools refer to as Common Core but adults cannot comprehend.”
“It’s stupid!” Noah interjects. “I have a calculator on my phone. Why do I even need math?”
“Well,” I start as I slide into a chair and join them, “it’s important that you understand the basics, so that later you’ll have the foundation that’ll make it easier to learn more complicated math concepts.”
“But why can’t I just use the internet?” he asks me, expression sincere.
“Because math is about learning logic and critical thinking. Math teaches you life skills and quick thinking. It’s not just about calculating a number that you could look up. It’s about problem-solving.” I pull his paper closer to me and take a look. “So, tell me where you’re stuck.”
It takes us about a half hour to work through Noah’s math homework. He’s a smart kid, and once it’s explained to him in a way that he understands we zip through the assignment. Boyd stays the entire time, paying attention and telling Noah to focus a couple of times when he wants to give up. But I don’t understand what their relationship to each other is, and I realize it wasn’t offered when I arrived. When Noah starts to pack up his books my curiosity gets the best of me.
“So, Noah is your…” I direct the question at Boyd and trail off, expecting him to fill in the blank. But he doesn’t. Noah beats him to it.
“He’s my dad,” he says, dropping pencils haphazardly into the bag.
“Noah,” Boyd says, and I can’t tell if his tone is a warning or a defeat.
“I don’t know what kind of lies he’s been telling you. But you seem like a nice lady to me, and you deserve to know the truth.” Noah sighs and looks me straight in the face. “I’m his love child.”
Um, what? He has a child? No way.
Boyd wraps his arm around Noah’s head and slaps his palm over his mouth to shut him up. “Knock it off, Noah. And how do you even know what a love child is?” He ruffles Noah’s hair with his other hand then releases him.
“I’m ten, not stupid,” Noah responds, scrunching his eyebrows and giving Boyd a look. “He’s my big,” Noah says, looking back to me.
“Your big?” I repeat and look at Boyd. “You’re a mentor?” I ask, guessing that Noah is referring to the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program. One of the kids in my class has a big and the teacher I student-taught under during college was also involved in the program. They match adult volunteers with children who have signed up looking for a role model. They commonly refer to the adults as bigs and the kids as littles, and the relationships can last a year or a lifetime. Usually it’s a few hours a month spent helping the little with homework or taking them to do something fun.
“Yeah.” Boyd nods. “And I got matched with this little punk,” he says affectionately.
“There was a line for me,” Noah responds. “You just got lucky.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help. And it was really nice meeting you, Noah.” I push my chair back and stand.
“Aren’t you coming with us to the ghost thing?” Noah glances at me, seeming surprised that I’m leaving, then turns to Boyd. “Boyd, can Chloe come with? I like her,” he pleads.
“Of course she can come,” Boyd responds. “Unless she’s afraid of ghosts. She might be too chicken.” He looks at me as he says it, like a challenge. And Noah jumps right in and squawks at me.
“Where is it that you’re going?” I laugh. “Ghost hunting?”
“It’s a ghost tour!” Noah bursts out in excitement. “We’re gonna see a bunch of haunted places.”
I bite my lip and look between them. It’s harmless, right? I mean, not the ghosts. Ghosts aren’t real. But hanging out with Boyd and Noah. It’s not a date. It’s just… hanging out. Nothing to panic about. I’m good at hanging out. And Noah is here, and I’m good with kids.
“Sure, I’ll go.”
And that’s how I end up spending most of the evening with Boyd. Again. And sleeping with him. Again. But it so wasn’t a date. Because when I start to think that there’s something happening between us I freak out. Second-guess myself. Wonder if he’s going to call again or if I’ve said something stupid. I start running conversations through my mind over and over again until my heart races and I start to envision ways that this could end badly. Ways that will end up with me being hurt. Or Boyd being hurt. What if I hurt him? I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt anyone.
Then I wonder if I’m crazy to even let my thoughts wander there in the first place. Boyd is freaking amazing. Hot. Wealthy. Incredible in bed. He volunteers with children, for crying out loud. He’s practically perfect in every way. Like Mary Poppins. If Mary Poppins was an attractive thirty-two-year-old man with magic sex skills and an interest in me.
He cannot be interested in me. In what I want. Which is not casual. What we’re doing right now—the sex and the hanging out—is fun. And I’m enjoying myself. Anyone would. But if we keep doing this I’m going to fall in love with him and then I’ll want more. Or I’ll freak out and need to breathe into a paper bag, hard to tell with me.
