Page 25
EPILOGUE
EMERSON
Jason
hey emmy
you wanna hear a funny joke
Affection fills Emerson chests as he reads the message. Technically, he shouldn’t be checking his phone, but it’s the five minutes between classes. His next one is a study hall, so he made an exception, eager to see if there were any messages from Jason. He saw him that morning, and at lunch, but Emerson misses him just the same.
Emerson
That depends. Is it about football?
He doesn’t expect a reply until later, so when his phone dings immediately he grabs it off his desk, eager to read Jason’s message before his students start filing into the room.
Jason
not this time ;)
but if it was I bet youd laugh
Emerson
That is statistically unlikely.
Jason
one day im going to tell a football joke you like
however today is not that day
ready?
Jason doesn’t wait for Emerson’s answer, shooting off the joke before he can reply.
Jason
why do hobbits laugh when they run?
Emerson
I have no idea. Why?
Jason
because the grass tickles their balls
Emerson snorts. The joke is so bad it’s almost funny. Even better than the joke is that Emerson can easily picture Jason’s face after sending it. He’s probably so proud of himself that his face is split wide in a smile, those familiar wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. Emerson can almost hear Jason’s booming laughter, and it makes him smile more than the actual joke had.
Ever since they finished listening to the audiobook of The Return of the King last month, Jason’s been making even more bad Lord of the Rings jokes than usual. It’s horrible and also absolutely wonderful.
Jason
did you laugh
you laughed right?
Emerson
I laughed a little bit. I don’t think hobbits are quite that short though. According to Tolkien they’re around two and half to three and half feet, roughly. Plus they wear pants so the grass wouldn’t touch their genitals.
Jason
its still funny
because balls
Emerson laughs this time, not because of the joke but because of Jason’s response. While Emerson might not personally understand that kind humor he appreciates Jason’s horrible jokes because of how much they amuse his boyfriend. He also appreciates that in between endless jokes he hears from his students and football players, Jason always peppers in nerdy jokes for Emerson’s benefit.
Thinking about Jason makes Emerson’s chest flutter. It’s been almost eight months since their first date. Eight of the best months of Emerson’s entire life. In that time, he’s come to find out that home is indeed a person and his is Jason. He also moved out of his tiny apartment and into Jason’s house six weeks ago, a change which has been surprisingly easy to adjust to given that by their third date they were all but living together already. Or at least Emerson was half-living with Jason, spending most weekends there and slowly acquiring spaces in Jason’s home, from the reading nest Jason made for Emerson in his office to the bookshelf he built in the living room just for Emerson’s books and even his LEGO. Eventually Jason pointed out paying rent on his apartment was pointless since almost all of his stuff had migrated to Jason’s house already. So, breaking the lease and making it official was easy.
Waking up to Jason every morning is the best thing that’s ever happened to Emerson, even if Jason is far too happy at six am, and he hums loudly while making coffee.
Jason King is the single greatest thing in Emerson’s life, and the urge to text him and tell him so is staggering. Somehow, Jason never has any idea how remarkable he is, shrugging off compliments with a laugh and a smile as if it's nothing, when he is in fact everything .
“Mr. Miller.”
Realizing he’s zoned out entirely, Emerson plasters on what he hopes passes for a smile while discreetly hiding his phone in his desk drawer.
Sitting up straighter, he takes in the student standing in front of him, not at all surprised to find him there. Of all the kids who use his study hall, Arlo Rosales is the one most likely to come to him for help.
“Hey, Arlo. Did you need some help with that history report you’re working on?” Emerson asks, always happy to help with any subject the students need, even when it’s not his own.
Arlo shakes his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. He has his arms behind his back, and his body shakes with the force of his foot tapping.
“Everything okay?” Emerson questions.
Arlo nods, glancing at the open door before locking his gaze on Emerson.
“I have something for you,” Arlo blurts, withdrawing his hand from behind his back. There, clutched in his right hand, is a long stemmed sunflower, some of the petals slightly crushed.
“Arlo, what?—”
“It’s not from me,” Arlo hurries, as if Emerson might mistakenly accuse him of trying to give him flowers. “It’s from Coach.”
“Mr. King gave you a flower for me?” Emerson queries, unsure what to make of it.
Since that first boutonniere, Jason has taken to bringing Emerson bouquets of sunflowers for special occasions—his birthday, their six month anniversary, and a house full of them the day Emerson officially moved in. Having one of his players bring Emerson flowers is entirely new and unexpected, however.
“Well uh, thank you,” Emerson says, taking the flower. Automatically, he lifts it to his face, unable to hide his smile behind its wide yellow petals. “Did he—” but Arlo has already retreated to his seat.
There’s very little time for Emerson to try and make sense of the flower before another one comes, this time from one of Jason’s junior players who Emerson knows by face but not name. Cash or Carter maybe. Emerson is woefully horrible with names for kids he doesn’t teach or speak to regularly.
“Here you go, Mr. Miller,” the kid grins, his crinkly-eyed smile offering no clues as to what on Earth is happening before he deposits a second sunflower on Emerson’s desk then disappears from the classroom without explanation or another word.
The kid's arrival and departure, especially since he’s in his football jersey, garners enough attention that Emerson has to stand up and remind them to keep it quiet for the students who are studying. By the time he’s settled down their chattering, someone else is at the door. A someone that Emerson knows very well—Sanchez, one of Jason’s senior players, standing in his study hall with another sunflower.
Over the next twenty minutes, six other players come and go, each of them leaving Emerson with another sunflower, a rising amount of confusion and a classroom full of gossiping students whose giggling and whispers can no longer be contained. Emerson almost gets his phone out of his desk to text Jason and ask what the heck is going on, regardless of what his students think of him for texting in class, when there's a loud knock on the door—despite it being open.
“Mr. Miller,” Matty yells, leaning against the door frame. With his charming smile and good looks, all eyes move to him.
“I don’t think you have a study hall this period, Matty.”
“I don’t?” Matty gasps, pretending to be entirely shocked. “Mr. Miller, that is brand new information.”
“I highly doubt that,” Emerson deadpans, earning him laughter.
“You’re hilarious, Mr. Miller. Really.”
Were it almost anyone else, Emerson might assume based on past experience that Matty is being sarcastic. The past few months watching Jason’s practices and games, and tutoring Matty on a regular basis as part of his new 504 plan, has shown him that, much like Jason, Matty pretty much always means what he says.
Matty pushes off the door frame while simultaneously holding out his left hand, which was previously hidden behind his back. In his hand is another sunflower, though unlike Arlo and the other players, he doesn’t drop it off and run. Rather he walks directly into the middle of Emerson’s study hall and dramatically bows while clearing his throat like some kind of medieval herald.
“This is for you.” Matty brandishes the sunflower at Emerson, clearly relishing the attention he’s garnering. “From Coach.”
The eyes of every student are on Emerson, well except for Arlo who is watching Matty with hunched shoulders and a blush. Emerson takes the flower, staring at it with a mix of confusion and something he doesn’t quite understand but that makes him feel warm.
“Uh—” Emerson stutters, staring at the flower. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Matty smiles, hopping into a standing position. “There’s something else for you, but you’re going to need to step outside to get it, Mr. Miller.”
“Outside,” Emerson echoes, the repetition offering no clarity to the situation.
“Yup, outside.” Matty claps his hands gleefully, stepping towards the open door. “Right now. Like right now, right now.”
Half the class stands, the sound of chairs scraping on linoleum paling in comparison to the students chatter as Emerson’s feet guide him towards the open door. He’s not even sure what he expects, but it’s certainly not what he comes face to face with.
“Hi,” Jason grins, standing on the lawn outside of Emerson’s classroom.
Though Emerson saw him just a few hours ago, his heart clenches in familiarity as he takes in Jason’s wide smile that he loves so much, his dark hair blowing in the wind since he’s due for a haircut and that handsome dimple in his chin on full display. He’s dressed in his usual uniform of gray sweats and his favorite coaching sweatshirt. Behind Jason stands what must surely be half the football team who just delivered flowers to Emerson. Matty runs to join them, dragging Arlo out of the classroom by the elbow towards the group, laughing good-naturedly before he drops Arlo’s arm and leaps onto Sanchez’s back.
Stepping into the yard, Emerson lifts a hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. “What’s going on?”
“I need to ask you something, Emmy.”
“Right now?” Emerson asks, glancing behind him, confirming his suspicions that all of the study hall students are eavesdropping.
It’s not unusual for Jason to stop by during one of his study halls if he’s free, but usually all that happens is Jason waving from the door or sneaking in with a snack if he thinks Emerson hasn’t remembered to eat. He’s never interrupted class before, which in and of itself would be enough for Emerson to hear him out, but given that it’s Jason, he trusts whatever it is will be alright even if his brain is going a million different directions struggling to guess where exactly that might be.
“Yes, right now.” Jason’s smile widens, settling a little of Emerson’s unease. Not all of it, but enough for him not to panic. If Jason is smiling, whatever is going on has to be good. “It’s very important.”
“Alright.” Emerson takes another step closer to Jason, ignoring the erratic lub-dub of his heart while Jason turns around to take something from one of his players. When he faces Emerson this time, there’s a giant poster board in his hands—haphazardly adorned in Jason’s familiar chicken scratch handwriting with hearts and glitter. Emerson is pretty sure he might be hallucinating.
“Emerson Miller, will you go to prom with me?”
All around him students cheer, Jason’s players shaking his shoulders and cheering while his own students clap excitedly behind him. There was a point in high school where the idea of more than one person looking at him had caused complete shutdowns, the prospect of being perceived deeply correlated with shame and bullying. That feeling prickles at the back of his mind, never completely gone, but it is silenced by the safety Jason’s love provides.
“ Jason .”
Jason closes the distance between them, letting his poster drop to the ground. It falls onto the grass, glitter and paint shimmering in the sun and revealing another sunflower in Jason’s hand; only this one is quite different from the ones he was gifted earlier. This one is made out of LEGO, and Emerson doesn’t cry, but he comes close. Closer still when Jason stands directly in front of him, his presence shielding Emerson from everything. “Hey, Emmy.”
“Hi.”
“You look handsome.”
“You said that this morning,” Emerson says, tugging at his own pale green shirt. He can feel his cheeks heating, but given his propensity to turn into a tomato in direct sunlight, it's unlikely anyone will know it’s an effect of Jason’s words. Their time together has done nothing to diminish Jason’s love of offering him praise and compliments. If anything, he gets bolder all the time. He can only imagine what Jason might be like in a few years.
“Well, it’s still true. You’ll be the most handsome guy at prom,” Jason tells him, brushing back Emerson’s hair. “I know we’re chaperoning, but we both know how that went last time. I want you to be my date, Emmy.”
“I’ve never been to prom.”
“I know,” Jason tells him kindly. “Trust me, I have a plan. No hotel because you hate sleeping away from home and no fancy restaurant because you don’t like those, but there will be food and dancing and uh, something I can’t mention on school grounds.”
Heart buoyed by lightness, Emerson can’t help but smile.
“You don’t have to do all that, you know.”
“I know, Emmy. I told you, loving you is a privilege I won’t ever take for granted. So will you make me the happiest teacher at Santa Leon and be my co-chaperone date to prom?”
“Don’t make him beg, Mr. Miller, he will. He’s a simp,” Matty yells, earning him a few heckles from the other players.
“Behave, Matthew,” Jason intones, his good mood given away by his gregarious grin.
Matty laughs along with the other players, and it’s so strange for Emerson to be standing here surrounded by people who respect and like him and a boyfriend that makes him so very happy. One that brings him LEGO flowers and wants to make new memories with him and never fails to make Emerson feel seen and valued exactly as he is.
“This is for you, by the way,” Jason says, lifting the LEGO sunflower. “Did you know these are harder to put together than they seem if your hands are huge? I don’t think LEGO are meant for these hands.”
He laughs, wiggling his long, thick fingers, and all Emerson wants to do is kiss them, remembering the way they feel holding him close, carding through his hair, or entwining in his own.
“I love your hands,” Emerson whispers, wanting these words to be solely for Jason. He purposely grazes his fingers over Jason’s as he takes the flower.
For a man who loves words more than anything in the world, Emerson finds himself lost for anything that might do justice to his feelings right now.
“This one won’t die, Emmy. You can keep it forever.”
“Like you?”
“Yeah, like me.” Jason’s smile is brighter than the sun—warm, beautiful and so full of love it physically hurts. He bends down, kissing Emerson’s forehead to a cacophony of whistles and cheers. “Is that a yes then? Will you come with me to prom?”
These words come easy, as does loving Jason King.
“ Yes. ”