Page 33 of The Sunday Brothers Novellas

I trudged the rest of the way to my car, wondering if I should cease my stupid hopes and acknowledge he might not have the same feelings for me I had for him.

Just because I wanted more and sensed there was a magnetic connection between us didn’t mean he felt the same way.

Was I being naive to think I could convince him to give us a try?

Maybe when I went home for the holidays, I could ask my family for help. If I explained everything, they’d help me come up with a plan or tell me I was being ridiculous.

My phone continued to blow up with congratulations messages, but I was too melancholy to respond. Instead, I turned my phone off.

I dropped my vehicle at home, did some half-hearted packing, and walked to the bar to meet my friends a few hours later. Suddenly, I felt like getting wasted. When I entered the bar and found a table already taken by my classmates and covered in appetizers, I exhaled a sigh of relief.

“You guys are a sight for sore eyes,” I admitted .

Nolan shoved a tequila shot in my hands. “To the college graduate! May you live long and prosper!”

I threw the drink back and felt the familiar burn. Even though I hadn’t had a drink since the night I ended up at Theo’s house, I still credited them with putting my life on a different path than it might have taken if they hadn’t convinced me to go rant poetry at my former professor.

“Finally,” I agreed, reaching for a clean glass and helping myself to the pitcher of beer in the center of the table. “It only took six and a half fucking years.”

They all cheered and laughed, clinking glasses with me and giving me hell for being a “graduating grandpa.” We shared the relief of finishing the semester and talked about everyone’s plans for the holidays.

It took about three hours and who-knew-how-many more drinks before I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I’m in love with Doctor Hot-Cock,” I blurted out in the middle of Sean’s summary of a recent basketball game.

“No, man, I said shot clock,” he explained with a divot of confusion on his forehead. “Shot. Clock.”

Beck slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sean! Shut it, we’re getting ready for some major tea. Spill it, Sunday. You can tell mama.”

“That night, you know? It was that night,” I admitted. “You know that night.”

They all looked at each other. “What is he talking about?” Toru asked in a stage whisper.

“Oh! Fuck. You went to his house, didn’t you?” Nolan asked.

“ We went to the professor’s house,” Toru reminded him. “All of us. I remember that much, even if you don’t. And Porter got out so he could do his performance piece and…” They frowned. “Shit, I don’t remember.”

Sean pulled Beck’s hand down. “I do! I remember you texted us the next day to say you were fine but that you and tequila were breaking up for at least the rest of the semester. I figured you were as hungover as the rest of us, so it made sense that you haven’t been coming out with us on Thursdays…

But Jesus Christ, Sunday, I feel like you left out a few pertinent details if you somehow fell in love with the man!

Tell us everything .” He leaned forward on his elbows and propped his chin in his hands. Beck did the same. “You may begin now.”

I explained the basic events of the weekend—leaving out anything salacious—and then concluded, “He wouldn’t be with me because of the whole… student/teacher thing.” I waved my hand in the air. “ Pfft . Ethics, shmethics. You know? If he wanted it badly enough, he’d have done it.”

“Mmm, I dunno. Couldn’t he be like… fired or some shit?” Beck asked.

“And could it have threatened you getting your degree?” Toru wondered in concern.

I groaned. “Don’t join his side. You’re on my side, remember? The side of no thoughts, just vibes.”

“Yes. Obviously.” Toru waved their hand in the air, just like I had.

“Well, whatever could or couldn’t have happened doesn’t matter anymore, darling.

Semester’s over. You’re an alumnus now. Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.

Methinks we need to hire a car and driver for another visit up the mountain. Who’s with me?”

Everyone’s hands shot up… except mine.

“Oh, no,” I said firmly. “Hell no. No way. I’m not making a drunken fool of myself like that again.”

“He’s right,” Nolan said, nodding enthusiastically. “That was how he ended up in this trouble in the first place.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m a kid,” I whined… exactly like a kid.

Beck leaned toward me. “Did you fuck him?”

I refused to answer it with words, but my face turning fire-engine red did all the talking anyway .

“Oh my God,” she said with a laugh. “High-five, bro.”

I squeezed my eyes closed as she lifted my arm and high-fived my limp hand. “It’s more than that, Beck. I have real, capital- F Feelings for this man. I need help.”

Nolan nodded again. I was surprised he didn’t have cervical spine injuries from all the drunken nodding I’d seen him do this semester. “We’re here for you. For sure. For sure .”

Toru took a delicate sip of wine they’d gotten while I hadn’t been looking. “What if you took a home-cooked meal up to his place tomorrow night and surprised him with a romantic interlude?”

Nolan bobbed his head. “Candles and shit. I like it.”

Beck pursed her lips in thought. “Or… or what about writing him a sonnet. Super-meta, right?”

“Didn’t we do that last time? That poem was killer. It slayed.” Sean spoke around a mouthful of jalapeno popper. “I mean, I assume it did. I don’t remember a word of it. Did we actually write one?”

I shook my head. “Not that I recall. I ended up reciting Shakespeare’s, pretty sure.”

Toru sniffed. “Angry sonnets have their place, of course, but they are not the way to a man’s heart.”

“Muffins,” Nolan said, shooting me with a finger gun. “Muffins are the way.”

“Nonsense.” Toru rolled their eyes. “ Love sonnets ,” they insisted. “Love sonnets are the way.”

“A love sonnet?” I snorted. “No, that’s…” I paused for a long moment. “Wait. A love sonnet .”

Toru nodded smugly. “It’s what us English scholars like to call a mirror moment , baby.” They buffed their fingers on their sweater. “And my parents said it was a useless major. Pfft.”

My heart kicked up speed, only partly fueled by tequila. “I’m going to sonnet the fuck out of him.”

Everyone cheered and reached forward to clink various glasses, or cheesy appetizers in Sean’s case, in celebration of my decision. “To Porter and Doctor Hot-Cock! May you weasel your way into his withered Grinch heart and make it grow to ten times its size.”

The conversation returned to a discussion about everyone’s plans for the holidays and the remaining shopping and wrapping everyone had to do. Nolan sniffed and glanced over from the corner of his eye. “I still think a candle wouldn’t go amiss,” he muttered.

No. It wouldn’t. I’d candle and sonnet the fuck out of Theo Hancock.

And this time, I would force him to take me seriously.

The following day at work was nonstop. The kids were jacked up on holiday sugar treats, and they were all talking a mile a minute about how grateful they were it had been the last day of school before the holiday break.

I spent the first half of the day discussing new programming for preschoolers that would begin in January, brainstorming some marketing ideas, and decorating my new, tiny, closet-sized office, which came complete with a brand-new laptop, a dedicated phone line, and the world’s oldest, creakiest desk chair.

After working for the Hub the past several years, I already had notebooks full of ideas on how I’d like to grow and expand the program if I had the wherewithal, including coordinating with the local schools to identify families who would benefit from the Hub’s programs and integrating the Hub with other local early intervention efforts for at-risk kids.

I’d been holding myself back from believing this could happen for so long I felt like a cannonball that had finally been launched.

I knew I needed to pace myself eventually, but for now, I was just enjoying the newfound freedom to turn my ideas into reality .

Once the kids showed up in the afternoon, I didn’t have another minute to even think, much less worry about what I had planned for later that evening.

Which was probably for the best. Last time, I’d had no script, and things had worked out pretty damn well in the end… mostly .

“Hey, Porter,” Raquon called as he entered the main room and shucked his coat. “Happy graduation. You’re done with school forever. Wish I was. I can’t wait until I can work on science experiments all day.”

“Uh-huh. Wait, how’d you know I was done with college?” I asked as I finished setting up a holiday craft station for the younger kids.

Raquon froze in place. “Oh! Uh… I mean… doesn’t everyone know? You’ve been in college for like ten years, right? ’Bout time you kicked it.”

His sister Kyrie elbowed him hard in the ribs and rolled her eyes. “Nice job, dummy.”

“Hey,” I warned. “No name-calling. And for your information, Raquon, it’s been six and a half years. Not ten.” I set out some markers. “Even though it felt like ten,” I added under my breath.

As soon as the majority of the kids arrived, I announced the various activities we had planned for the afternoon.

“To recap: greeting card making over here by Tim. Star suncatcher making by the window, but please be careful not to get glue on the glass this time. For those of you who are scheduled for music lessons, Miss Jones is waiting for you in the music room. And those of you who absolutely can’t stand to be locked inside on this freezing afternoon may shoot hoops on the court as long as Jada is out there keeping an eye on everyone.

Be sure to come back when you’re done because the Hannabury faculty brought goodie bags for each family to take home. ”