hallway husband // pt.3
Fun fact about me: I love weekends. I love sleeping in and not eating breakfast until it’s at least noon, I love staying in my pajamas for the whole day, and I really love staying in bed while simultaneously watching New Girl on my TV and TikTok edits on my phone. Saturdays are a beautiful thing.
Not this Saturday, though.
This Saturday, when I go to make cereal at 1:13pm. I don’t realize I have no oat milk in my fridge until after my Honey Bunches of Oats have filled the bowl. I feel an odd sense of embarrassment as I shimmy them back into the box, even though there’s no one here to witness it. It’s okay though! No cereal, no problem; at least I still have my coffee to look forward to.
I put the now empty bowl into the dishwasher and go to start it, only to find that I am out of dishwashing pods. I don’t remember using the last one, but clearly I did, as evidenced by the empty container. I’m a little disappointed in myself for not at least throwing that away. Hm. Well, then.
I hit my breaking point when I go to make coffee and there is none left. Ugh, I remember now; I used the last of it before work yesterday. I was going to stop by the store on the way home to get more but I forgot. And now, I am coffee-less. This is not going to fly.
I’m going to have to leave my house and get groceries. On a Saturday. Rah.
I can’t be bothered to find a different top. I’m fine with wearing the baggy, off-the-shoulder, grey t-shirt I slept in– but I do at least throw on the first bra I find under it. Some denim shorts and my black converse make it look just enough like what I call “real people clothes” to be able to go out into the public. Besides, I’m just running in and out. No need to get fancy.
I recite what I need to myself as I enter the store. Oat milk. Coffee. Dishwasher pods. Stick to the list. I really, really hate the grocery store. The lights are too bright and there are way too many noises coming from every direction. Also, I don’t know what causes this phenomenon, but there’s something about being in a grocery store that makes people love to be absolutely anywhere they can to get in the way. I don’t want to be in here any longer than I have to be, so I choose not to get a cart to make it harder for myself to buy things I don’t need. It’s an unfortunate fact that I do have a tendency to stray from the list. Instead of grabbing a cart, I walk straight to the dairy section at the back of the store. Oat milk! Check!
Coffee. Dishwasher pods.
I move on to the coffee aisle when I see him. He’s standing about halfway down the aisle grabbing coffee grounds. Honestly, I almost don’t notice him at all. It takes me a second to recognize him, as I’m not used to seeing Dr. Grace in anything other than a button up. Regardless of the more laid-back outfit, he still looks perfectly respectable, wearing a t-shirt under his unzipped jacket. I, however, am wearing the shirt I slept in and put my hair in a ponytail to avoid brushing it. It’s not exactly how I want to be spotted by a coworker while I’m out and about.
The instant espresso I use is right at the end of the aisle, so I’m able to grab it and quickly retreat. At least, I thought I would be. This plan is ruined when I hear Dr. Grace’s voice call out to me from where he’s standing.
“Miss Everett?”
Well, damn. Maybe I should’ve gotten a little fancy. Or, y’know, at least brushed my hair.
I turn back around, feigning surprise. “Dr. Grace? Wow! How are you?”
“Oh, y’know, can’t complain.” He offers a small grin, walking closer. “You?”
“Pretty good, thanks.”
“Good! That’s good.”
We stare at each other, unsure of whether or not the other person is going to say anything else. Oh my God, I hate small talk. I especially hate small talk in crowded, public areas. I never know what to say and always end up feeling so out of place. Plus, there’s so many people everywhere that it makes me feel like I’m in the way when we’re just loitering about like this. I have to end this now.
“Well, it was so good to see you!”
“Yeah! Yeah, good to see you,” he drums his fingers against the side of the plastic coffee ground canister. “I’ll see you at work.”
“Yep! See you then!”
Dishwasher pods.
I turn around quickly and leave the aisle. I have successfully escaped! All that’s left is dishwasher pods and I will be ready to retreat back to my apartment. I notice my mind drifting back to the interaction after we part… I hope that didn’t seem rude. I wasn’t trying to be, but now that I’m thinking about it I’m worried my tone seemed harsher than I meant. I try to shake it off, but the thought has latched itself to the forefront of my mind. A sinking feeling weighs on me when I realize I just shooed away my first and only friend at my new job in a state of delirious overstimulation.
I continue replaying the interaction mentally as I walk up to the front. Even if I did flounder that conversation, at least I can seek solace in the fact I did, indeed, stick to the list. Small wins!
Oh, but those bananas do look good…
On Monday, I once again elect to stay in my room during my lunch period. One day, I’ll make it to the teacher’s lounge…one day, but not today.
I lazily toss the peel of my banana into the trash can before turning the page of my book. A soft knock at the door of my classroom catches my attention, causing me to look up. I’m delighted to be greeted by the sight of Dr. Grace, Cup Noodle in hand. I watch him as he steps into my classroom, observing how his glasses are once again hooked around his jaw at a 45° angle.
“Dr. Grace!” I tuck my bookmark into the middle crease where the pages meet before closing the book. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I clasp my hands on top of my desk, fingers interlocked.
“Hello, Miss Everett,” he lets out a small, breathy laugh before adjusting his glasses slightly. They are now hooked at a 45° angle to the other side of his face. He gestures with the hand he’s holding the ramen in towards an empty chair, “May I?”
“But of course!” My response elicits a smile from him. I rearrange a couple things on my desk in order to allow him space for his food. He picks up the chair by its back with his free hand and sets it on the side of my desk opposite to me. There’s a sense of relief that starts in my chest and spreads all the way down my arms and into my fingertips as I watch him get comfortable. I didn’t consciously realize how much tension I was holding in my body, but even so, I can tell the difference after my muscles relax.
"What're you reading?”
I rotate the book, keeping it flat against the desk, and slide it over to him. It’s All Tomorrows by C.M. Koseman. He picks it up, looks over the cover, and turns it around to read the blurb. He raises an eyebrow as he inspects it, momentarily pausing to glance at me before finishing.
“Miss Everett?”
“Dr. Grace?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he slides it back to me, “but this book is Sci-Fi.”
“Indeed, it is,” I grin, knowing where this is going. “What’s your point?”
“I thought that Sci-Fi…hmm, what was it?” He looks to the side, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together playfully in a deep pretend thoughtfulness, “Oh, that’s right! I thought Sci-Fi ‘wasn’t your thing’?”
I laugh at his dramatics. They’re equal parts dorky and charming.
“Well, I was… inspired?” I tilt my head slightly, smiling.
“Ah, is that so?” His tone of voice is so playful that it almost makes me feel shy.
I nod in response. “Mhmm.”
“I see,” he pauses to take a bite before continuing. “So, what do you think so far?”
“Well,” I pause as I try to find what I want to say, “there’s a lot of pictures. I like those.”
He claps as throws himself against the back of the chair. The deep laughter erupting from his chest causes me to laugh just as hard alongside him. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before returning his elbows to the desk. “Well, Miss Everett, I commend your efforts.”
“Ha! Thank you, Dr. Grace!”
I use the lull in the conversation as an opportunity to sip my Diet Coke. When I think this little back-and-forth is over, I start to reopen the book, but I stop when I hear Dr. Grace speak up again. “How far are you? In the story, I mean.”
“Oh, not very.” I lift up the paperback to check for a more exact answer. “I am…32 pages in. Why? Have you read it?”
He sucks air in through his teeth. “Nope.”
“Hm.” I don’t know how to keep this conversation going. Lucky for me, I don’t have to figure it out. Dr. Grace changes the subject.
“You know, I overheard some of my kids talking about your class.” He quickly continues talking after seeing the nervous expression on my face. “All good things! They were saying something about some project you had assigned, I guess?”
“What about it?”
“Just that they liked it. I think one of them said something along the lines of wishing they got to do something similar for their English class. They said they had good ideas for a Romeo and Juliet version.”
“Is there any chance they said what project it was?” I have my sixth grade class and my eighth grade class doing their own respective projects right now, so I’m not sure exactly which one he’s talking about. He takes a second to think.
“Umm…I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay!”
“I know they were talking about FaceBook, though. That’s what caught my attention, actually. I was confused about why 13 year olds would be talking about FaceBook posts. I mean, I didn’t really think that was, like, still popular among their age group.”
Aha! There it is! It was my eighth graders! They’re currently divided up into pairs making “FaceBook profiles” (I printed out templates) for historical figures we’ve discussed of their choosing. It was a project my high schoolers really enjoyed, so I figured the middle schoolers would probably also do well with it. I’m happy to know I was right. Dr. Grace smiles as I explain it to him.
“That sounds fun! I mean, they’re clearly engaging with the material if they’re still discussing it outside of class.”
I find something about his comment oddly validating. I was hesitant to make the decision to leave the high school. If I’m being honest, I still sometimes catch myself debating whether or not I made the right one. That anxiety has followed me through my first couple weeks at GCMS, manifesting itself in the form of feeling like every decision I make is being monitored under a microscope other than yours truly. But I guess I’m doing something right.
My thought process is derailed when Dr. Grace points to the garland of flags of the world I have hanging around my room. “Hey, I have one of those!”
There are no words to describe the pure, unadulterated giddiness I feel bubbling in my chest when I see Dr. Grace walking to his classroom on Wednesday morning. I spot him first, which honestly makes it even better. I’m wearing an outfit that’s not at all uncommon for me to be seen in. I’m in my white and blue striped dress with the boatline neck, a cozy grey cardigan, a solid red bandana fastened around my neck that matches with my solid red socks, and my white converse (high tops!). He’s walking a couple feet ahead of me, wearing a white and blue striped button up, a grey blazer, jeans, and his white converse. I know well enough by now to know he’s almost definitely wearing a tie. Oh, gosh, I hope it’s red.
I manage to catch a glimpse of his tie as he turns to enter his classroom, and– heck yeah, it’s red! The only thing that could possibly make this better would be if I was also carrying a bicycle helmet through the hallways. I can’t hold back anymore, I have to say something.
“Dr. Grace?” I call out as I’m approaching the doorway of his classroom. He reappears just a few moments later, right as I’m about to enter. We both jump back, startled by almost crashing into each other.
“Oh! Sorry Miss…Everett…” his voice trails off as his eyes inspect my outfit from the neck, all the way down to my feet, and then back up again. His shoulders bounce once as he lets out a silent laugh. “Oh, wow. This is…”
“Ridiculous?”
“I was going to say something more along the lines of…unexpected? Or silly, maybe? But, um, yeah. Sure. Ridiculous works. We– we can go with ridiculous.”
Oh great, there I go again. I hope he didn’t think I was saying he looked ridiculous, because that is not at all what I meant. You’d think being a teacher would’ve helped me learn the difference between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ thoughts, or at least develop some kind of filter. The dampness pooling against the surface of the skin on my palms causes me to clench and unclench my fists a couple times in rapid, anxious succession. “Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t..? No offense.”
He quickly waves his hands in a reassuring motion, still clutching his bicycle helmet. “Oh! No! No, I’m not! I’m not offended!”
I let out a relieved sigh. We stand in front of each other, studying each other’s faces for a couple seconds. He clears his throat before stepping to the side ever so slightly, using his thumb to point back into his classroom. “I, uh, well I don’t know if you had prep you needed to do or anything, like for your classes before school starts. Which, actually, now that I’m saying it, I’m sure you do. That’s probably why you’re here to early. But y’know, if you didn’t, have prep that is– well, if you wanted to…”
“Dr. Grace, do you want me to sit in your room with you?”
“Only if you want! I mean…if you would like to, then sure! But you don’t have to, so–”
A small laugh that’s equally playful and exasperated escapes me, unintentionally interrupting him. He smiles at the sound and looks down at his helmet, which he’s now holding with both hands. He rubs his thumbs against the outside of it while listening to me speak. “Can you just answer the question, please?”
He looks up at me shyly. “I want… you to want to..?” The way he speaks makes it sound like he’s figuring out where the sentence is going alongside me.
“I do.”
“Okay.”
I tilt my head to the side, eyebrow raised. “So… are you going to let me in, or..?”