Page 10 of Karma Kitty Christmas
“We come fully equipped,” Marcelle said. “First aid certificates, cooking classes—Sheryl here even took some childhood ed classes this year so she could look after her sister’s kids.”
Which was impressive, because Isaac was fully aware that usually the only requirement to babysit for family members was a pulse.
Roxy laughed, the sound full of a sort of relieved joy. “Let me call my husband,” she said. “And Mr. Browning can give me your number.” She nodded. “Thanks, Marcelle. I promise, we’ll pay you right.”
Marcelle waved a hand. “For Mr. Browning’s friend here, we’ll do it for free.”
“Hey!” protested Sheryl. “I’m trying to go to college here!”
“We’ll pay you right,” Roxy repeated. “But let me double-check. Now move so we can get our soda fix before the bell rings!”
The students departed, laughing, and Isaac gave her a fond glance as she used her phone to buy them both a Coke. “Thanks for that,” he said. “Marcelle’s a great kid.”
“I know Sheryl,” she told him. “And you’re right—they’re both awesome kids.” You couldn’t know Marcelle without knowing Sheryl, Isaac was well aware. “But the real question is…,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “is he gayer than you?”
Isaac snorted. “No boy’s gayer than this boy,” he told her, allowing some of the vamp and swish he’d so carefully squashed over the years to escape.
Roxy laughed, and then, as she handed him his soda, said, “You wouldn’t have done that two years ago.”
He swallowed, knowing it was true. “It would have gotten me fired in short order before I got tenure,” he said evasively.
“But you had tenure eight years ago,” she told him, unrelenting. “And you wouldn’t have done it at home, and you wouldn’t have done it when you and I were taking the kids to the park, and you wouldn’t have done it when watching television. You….” She sighed. “I don’t want to be a bitch, Isaac. Iwantyou to have a healthy grieving period for your late husband. He died too young, and it’s not fair.” High blood pressure wasn’t called the silent killer for nothing. Todd had been so arrogant—the simultaneous stroke and cardio infarction had dropped him dead at fifty. “But sometimes,” she continued, her voice terribly gentle, “I think the worst thing about his death and its timing is that you were just starting to realize how… how wrong he was for you.”
Isaac stared at her, his tongue cleaved to his mouth with two impulses—the impulse to deny it and the impulse to burst into tears and bless his friend, bless her with his whole heart, for saying what he hadn’t been able to, not even in a year and a half of supposed grieving.
For a moment they stood locked in a gaze of tortured understanding, until the bell rang.
She sighed, and they both started to move toward their building. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That was real personal in a real bad place.”
“It’s fine,” he murmured.
“No, it’s not,” she said, as always, harder on herself than any student or administrator could be. “Just know that… that if you’ve got a chance to be happy, or even to make a new friend, do it. The only thing that should hold you back is whether or not this guy is worth your time.”
“I like him,” Isaac admitted painfully. Roxy’s squeeze to his shoulder grounded him, made them human and okay again.
“Good, Isaac. Even if it’s just a friend—or even if it’s just a date—this whole ‘teach a stranger to crochet’ thing sounds like moving on.”
ISAAC’S SIXTHperiod pre-algebra class was unusually quiet today. Part of it was that they were nearing finals, and all the work was review, absolutely dedicated to helping the kids know what they needed to have learned for the last big test before finals, and part of it was that Isaac let the kids listen to their music on their AirPods or do other homework if—and only if—they’d finished their seatwork for the day. He considered a really good day the kind where every kid had five minutes at the end of the day to breathe and call their own. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he’d walk up and down the aisles, often witha knitting project in his hands, stopping to chat quietly with whoever had questions or sometimes just wanted to talk.
Marcellealwayswanted to talk.
“Whatcha working on?” he asked as usual, his pretty face all animation.
“A baby blanket for a friend’s sister,” he said, liking the short answer very much.
Marcelle eyed the yarn—white with sprinkles—critically. “Nice,” he said, “as long as there’s other colors.”
“This is only the beginning,” Isaac promised him solemnly. “There’s going to be a whole rainbow, and a teddy bear and a pot of gold.” He held up the tiny square. “Think of this like a pixel in a picture. The pattern calls for five hundred of these.”
“Wow,” Marcelle said, cocking his head with interest. “That’s… I never thought of that. So, you get enough squares in different colors, you can make anything.”
“I’ve gotbooksfull of patterns,” Isaac confirmed. “You can also do half-color squares.”
“Huh,” Marcelle murmured. Then, brow wrinkled like he was thinking hard, he pulled out a sheet of graph paper from his binder. “Hey, can we design ourownblankets and then figure out how many squares they take?”
Isaac blinked. “Mmm… yes, but you can’t do it by counting only. You’ll have to show me how you used algebra to get it done.”
“Ooh….” Marcelle’s eyes got big. “I’monit. Can I get credit for this?”