Page 7

Evan

“ H ow did we end up having to do the entire leadership camp?” James mutters with irritation as we walk towards the very fancy charter bus waiting in the school’s parking lot. “We just did the musical thing like three weeks ago.”

“This was Marta’s rostered event,” I reply. Jay stops walking and I turn to find him gaping at me.

“This is so Bronwyn Michaels punishing us for being nice people.”

“I mean,” I can’t help snickering, “we are lying to them. Maybe it’s karma.”

The thing is, it still doesn’t really feel like a lie. James and I might not be romantically involved, but we have always lived in each other’s back pockets. I love him, I love his kid, and spending time with him is not a hardship. If anything, having an excuse to hang out with my best friend all the time is kind of cool. It takes me back to our youth, and I’m actually a little sad that, when all this is over, our lives will go back to the way they were before. Plus, being a stepdad has been kind of neat, not that I’ve had to do any real parenting. But, yeah — this whole experience has felt right .

I mean, sure, I’m starting to get a little strung-out without sex —we both agreed that it would be risky for our Tinder profiles to be active during this charade— but I have porn and a fantastic imagination. At worst case, I can head out of town and try my luck picking someone up in person, like we did during our good old uni days. It might be fun to see if I’ve still got the charm.

And yet…that idea doesn’t sound appealing.

Weird.

Maybe being in my mid-thirties means my libido is finally withering away? Or I’m becoming mature or something ridiculous like that?

“What are you smirking at?” Jay’s question has me blinking as we step up to the assembled group in front of the bus. Another bus has pulled in behind the first one, just as fancy-looking and shiny.

“Just thinking about how much I enjoy this,” I answer honestly, and he arches a blond eyebrow at me.

“Really? You enjoy having to ask for time off work to be a parent to someone else’s kid?”

“I’ve loved her like my own since she was born,” I shrug. “And I never take leave. My boss is actually happy. I think she’s afraid that I’m going to bankrupt them if I resign.”

My buildup of accrued annual leave might be the reason they’ve implemented a new ‘take at least two weeks of your leave every year’ clause into all the new starters’ contracts. If I do ever quit —not that I have any reason to— the payout would probably be eyewatering at this point. Especially to my penny-pinching boss. There’s a reason I privately refer to her as Mr. Krabs behind her back.

We’re within earshot of the rest of the group now, so Jay just chuckles and nudges my shoulder with his own. Lowly, he says, “I appreciate it.”

“I know.”

***

“Hi Mister Bernardi,” Joey says cheerily as he plonks himself down on the plush seat in front of the pair James and I snagged on the bus, “Mister Durant.”

“Hey, Joey,” we reply in unison, and I don’t know about Jay, but I’ve grown kind of fond of the kid. “How’s school treating you?” I ask as he settles into his seat.

Joey turns to squish his face in between the two seats so he can look at us. “Pretty good. They’re casting the musical next week. We’re doing Guys and Dolls . I auditioned for Nathan Detroit, but I’d be okay with Sky Masterson, too.”

I don’t know any of these names, but apparently Jay does because he tentatively asks, “Aren’t they both traditionally baritones? Not that I’ve heard you sing, but I just assumed…”

“Yeah, okay, I am more of a tenor,” Joey’s expression pinches. “But I want to be a lead, and Nicely-Nicely Johnson is only a supporting role. And” —he sighs heavily— “I know that every role is important and all that BS, but…this is my second-last chance to get a lead role in a school production, you know?”

“It might happen,” I put in my two cents’ worth. “I’m rooting for you, kid.”

“Which would be more helpful if you were one of the teachers making the decisions, but…thank you.”

Another kid, one I can’t name, comes and takes the seat beside him, effectively ending our conversation. James nudges me and I catch his grin out of the corner of my eye.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re such a softie,” he murmurs back.

“He’s a good kid,” I justify, unable to explain any more than that. After the drama excursion, his words about seeing our ‘relationship’ as something to covet —as well as the admission that his parents aren’t wholly supportive of his identity— have played on my mind.

“He’s come a long way from shark food, then?”

It might be the guilt about lying to him, but I feel like he deserves a more supportive role model than the ones he has at home.

“I dunno,” I muse wryly, “he could still become chum.”

Joey’s face comes into view between his seat and his companion’s. He rolls his eyes. “I hate you both.”

I grin back at him, then at James. “And balance has been restored to the universe.”