by S. M. Shade
The teacher, Mrs. Lee, is kind and explains that we’ll work on our own projects and earn our grade in a variety of ways. We spend the first class just getting to know each other and fiddling around with the available instruments.
By the time I climb into my car to go home, there’s a smile on my face and I’ve mostly forgotten the fool I made of myself in economics class. I find myself looking forward to the first Adulting Club meeting. I’d like to learn new things. Legally, I’m an adult, but on a good day, I don’t think I feel any different than I did at fifteen. Is there an age where you suddenly feel like you’re grown and responsible? Currently, I feel like I’m stumbling my way through my days, trying not to screw up.
God, that’s not adulthood, is it?
“Please, Kelly, the woman who usually plays called off sick at the last minute. It would only be three songs. You’ll still have plenty of time to visit the job fair.”
Zara’s pleading look isn’t something I can say no to, no matter how much I may be tempted. I’m already nervous about job hunting today, and now I’m getting roped into helping her at a pre-school sing along group at the library. “Okay, three songs. Do you have the sheet music?”
A relieved smile bursts across her face. “It’s waiting at the library. You’re a lifesaver.”
Remee pops her head into the room. “Don’t forget your resume and the stuff we practiced.”
Remee not only helped me put together a resume, but spent a good hour giving me mock interview questions and tips to prepare for the job fair today. “I have it.” Turning to face her, I take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
Serena speaks up as she puts her shoes on. “Glitties is hiring.”
I don’t have any issue with her job but dressing in booty shorts and a glittery crop top to sling food doesn’t sound the least bit appealing. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’m…qualified.”
She grins as I nod toward her substantial chest. “Big boobs aren’t a requirement. Guys like little titties too, you know.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Serena glances around the room. “We should have a little party this weekend. We haven’t had anyone over since we moved.”
Zara shrugs. “Fine by me. I’ll invite Graham and his friends.”
Serena gets to her feet and looks down at me. “Tomorrow night, okay? Invite whoever you want. And let me know what alcohol you want since I know you can’t buy it yet.”
It feels a little embarrassing to have to admit I don’t have anyone to invite. “I…um…haven’t really made any friends here yet.”
“You better mean other than us, or we’re going to be super offended,” Zara says, and all three of them regard me. I can’t help the wide smile that spreads across my face.
“Of course.”
“All right, then,” Serena says. “Let’s get today over with so we can get fucked up tomorrow night.”
Why not? The only thing I have to do tomorrow is attend the introductory session of the Adulting Club and it’s not supposed to be long.
The companies participating in the job fair are just setting up when I get to the library with Zara. A quick peek into that room at the number of tables offering applications gives me some hope of finding a job today. I see everything from restaurants seeking cooks and waitresses to warehouses and factories looking for workers. Surely, there will be something I can do.
“One hour,” Zara reminds me, steering me into a room down the hall. Brightly colored walls dance with children’s book characters, and the tables and chairs dotting the room are tiny. An upright piano sits against one wall and at the sight of it, I suddenly can’t wait to get my fingers on it.
“Is it alright if I practice a little?”
“Sure,” she replies. While she drags out a bunch of little cushions for the kids to sit on, I sit at the piano. The sheet music to the few songs she wants me to play is propped in front of me, and they couldn’t be easier. I’m a bit rusty so I play through them a couple of times before changing to an Ed Sheeran song.
When I finish, Zara is staring at me, but she isn’t the only one. A man leans on the door jamb with a smile on his face.
“Hey, you’re good,” Zara exclaims.
“Thanks for the tone of surprise,” I chuckle. The man doesn’t say anything, just lingers as I play another popular song. I assume he’s one of the parents of the kids now trickling into the room.
I wouldn’t know what to do with a room full of preschoolers, but Zara has no problem getting them organized and seated. They seem to love her as she talks and plays with them. She distributes hand puppets to all the kids and asks them if they’re ready to sing a few songs with the puppets.
I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this, but the next hour turns out to be a lot of fun. The kids love the music, and there’s something rewarding about seeing them react to it with such enthusiasm. The keys under my fingers feel so natural, and when the session is over, a wave of disappointment washes over me. Who knows when I’ll have another chance to play?
That feeling is compounded when two parents approach me in the hallway as I’m heading toward the lobby where the job fair is being held.
“Would you be interested in giving piano lessons to my older son? We’ve been searching for a teacher, but the only lessons offered in town are guitar,” the woman asks.
A man who walks up beside her nods and adds, “My wife and I have been looking for lessons for our daughter.”
It never occurred to me to give piano lessons, and as much as I’d love to do that, I have to disappoint them. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a piano or a place suitable to give lessons at the moment.”
“Would you be comfortable coming to my home?” the woman asks. “We live right in town.”
The man quickly seconds that idea.
My mind races. Would I be okay with going to strangers’ homes? If so, where would I even start with teaching? What should I charge? And how often? I’m excited by the thought, but I need to think about it and figure some things out.
I realize I’m just standing there mute while they stare at me. Finally, I agree to think about it and get back to them. They both give me their phone numbers, and as they walk away, I notice the same man who was watching from the doorway earlier is staring at me again. Great, it looks like I’ve attracted a creep.
I’m even more alert when I realize he’s followed me into the lobby. He walks past me and takes a seat beside a gray headed man who looks like he’s pushing seventy. As I make my way past his table, he waves at me, gesturing for me to come and talk to him. My indecision makes him grin, and he points to the sign attached to the front of the table.
Cooper’s Music, now accepting applications for part time position.
Okay, so maybe he’s not a weird creep for watching me play piano. They’re here to search for employees like everyone else. Both men greet me with a warm smile when I approach their table.
“Hi,” I say, and curse myself internally when it comes out in a near whisper. This is not the confident behavior that Remee and I practiced. Swallowing, I stand up straight and stick out my hand, trying again. “I’m Kelly Bryant.”
“Easton Cooper,” the older man replies, shaking my hand. He gestures to the man who was watching me. “This is my son, Jesse.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. Are you looking for a position?” Easton asks.
Fumbling, I pull my resume out of my folder and hand it to him. “Yes, sir. I’m a student and I’m looking for part time work.”
“And your availability?” Jesse asks as they peruse the resume.
“Evenings and weekends. My classes end around three. What kind of position are you looking to fill?”
Easton hands me a list of job duties. It’s pretty basic retail responsibilities including cashier, stock, and general cleaning. “I’ve never run a cash register,” I admit. “But I learn fast.”
Jesse leans over and murmurs something to his f
ather. “We’ve had quite a few inquiries lately looking for music lessons and I understand you play the piano quite well.”
“I’m…proficient.”
“Have a seat,” Easton invites. “If you’re interested, of course.”
If I’m interested? The opportunity to give piano lessons or even just work in a place that touches on one of my interests would be a dream compared to burning bread and getting scolded. Find something that suits me, Zara said.
Maybe I just did.
Chapter Two
Layton
“Dalton is going to meet us at the bar. He’s bringing a couple of friends,” Travis announces, as we claim two treadmills at the school gym. It’s one bonus of working at the community college. The university that we share a campus with has partnered with the community college, which means all faculty and students can take advantage of the gym and other perks. I don’t have to pay for a gym membership or drive to the only decent one across town.
“Why am I sure these friends are women?”
Dalton is the eternal single man in our group. I’ve only recently joined him in the single life after a long-term relationship and engagement that did not end well. And by not end well, I mean after eight years she didn’t know that I like my women like I like my coffee. Strong, hot, and without another guy’s dick in it. Since the moment he found out, Dalton has tried to set me up with one of his multitude of “friends.”
Travis flashes a smile at me. “Would getting some birthday head really be the worst thing?”
“I do not need Dalton’s sloppy seconds. Or to wake up handcuffed to my bed while some chick rifles through my house for money and robs me blind.”
“Now, that only happened to him once.”
Dalton was lucky we had plans that morning or he’d have been handcuffed to the bed all day. It still makes me laugh when I remember walking in on him. It’s not one we let him forget. “Would you let him set you up?”
“I have a wife.”
“If you weren’t married?”
“Hell no,” he snorts. “He’s my boy and all but the guy has no taste in women. He sees big tits or a pretty face and jumps all over her.”
I increase my speed and fall into a comfortable jog. “Exactly.”
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be looking. You already got your rebound relationship out of the way.”
That was a turbulent few months. Kyra seemed nice enough. She was a dental hygienist with no children, owned her own house, and seemed to have a good head on her shoulders. Barely three months into the relationship and she started planning a future with me including marriage and kids. Once she showed me a picture of the engagement ring she wanted, and hinted that Valentine’s Day wasn’t far away, I noped out of that situation fast. Maybe dating someone eight years older wasn’t the best idea. You could hear her biological clock banging like bongos.
“I’m not seeking out anyone right now.”
Travis glances at me. “I know what Paula did fucked you up. Just don’t let it stop you from trusting someone again, or the bitch really wins.”
Travis married his high school sweetheart and has been happily married for over ten years. Dalton gives him shit about being tied down or having a ball and chain, but we both know he’s one of the lucky ones.
I’m not going to let my ex-fiancée take away my chance at having that someday, but for right now, I’m fine with being alone, maybe with an occasional hookup. My teaching career—plus investing and consulting on the side—keeps me busy. This semester, I also volunteered to oversee an Adulting Club a couple of days per week, so I have plenty to keep me occupied.
“I’m over her,” I assure him. “But you know the bar isn’t my scene.”
Twenty-eight. I turned twenty-eight today. Maybe I’m getting old. I mean, is this how it starts? When you’d rather sit on your porch with a beer and music you actually enjoy listening to instead of trying to pick up women while top forties songs torture your ears. “Poker?”
Travis grins at me. “Sounds good to me. Low stakes. If you clean me out, Diane will come looking for you.”
We fall silent and focus on our running. Travis has to leave before me, since he has to pick up his kid at his mother in law’s house. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says. “Ransing Corp is looking for a freelance consultant. I put in a good word for you and gave them your email, so you may hear from them.”
Travis has the same economics degree I do, and from the same university, but we wanted different things once we joined the work force. I like consulting, but I’m not sure about doing it full time. I’ve always wanted to try teaching. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s not as fulfilling as I pictured. Most students take economics just to fill in a gap on their schedule or because it’s required for another field. There’s very little interest. Math pun intended.
I hesitated on whether to continue this semester when I was offered the position but decided to give it one more year. I can always freelance as a consultant to enhance my income. I’m not rich by any account, but I’m not struggling either. I have some leeway to see where I’ll be happiest.
“Thanks,” I tell Travis. “I’ll keep an eye out for their email.”
The smile on my face when I show up for the first Adulting Club meeting on Saturday may have something to do with the fact that I won two hundred bucks from Dalton. He’s not usually a bad poker player, but he was too focused on sexting with someone and showing off the nudes he was getting.
I don’t know who was sending him pictures, but they need to learn to focus or angle their shots a little better. The last photo looked like a dog’s lips when it sticks its head out of a car window. We called it a night when he decided to take some dick pics to send back.
Who says romance is dead?
The first meeting is being held in the student center, and I have no idea what kind of turnout to expect. Fifteen students signed the interest sheet, but I’ll be happy if half that show up. The student center is the main hub of the community college side of the campus and is usually well populated with students using the computers, getting something from a vending machine, or just hanging out with friends around one of the shiny wooden tables. Today is no different.
“If you’re here for the Adulting Club, we’re meeting in room B,” I announce, nodding toward a door in the back. I’m pleased to see at least eight students get to their feet and head that way.
“Owen, you can’t be an adult!” a student calls out from one of the tables, drawing laugher from the room. I recognize the student from one of my classes last semester, and he grins at me. “Lost cause, Mr. Aldrich. That boy is a big box of stupid.”
Before I can respond, Owen retorts, “Dude, quit worrying about me and get your ass to the gym. I’ve seen ostriches with bigger calves.”
The student center monitor looks at me with her lips pressed together when I can’t help but laugh at them along with everyone else. Another birthday hasn’t matured my sense of humor any. “Let’s go, Mr. Wright,” I chuckle, following him into room B.
“I don’t think Mrs. Fillon likes you, Mr. A,” Owen laughs, taking a seat at the table. Owen is the typical class clown, a lot like I used to be before I had to pretend to be a professional.
“You don’t appear to be her favorite person either.”
A titter goes around the room. All in all, it wasn’t the worst way to break the ice. I want this club to be educational and for them to leave with new skills, but I also want it to be fun. These kids are stressed and stretched too thin by work and classes as it is. The goal is to make things better for them, not add to that.
“Okay.” I take a seat at the long table with them. “Welcome to Adulting Club. First, I want to say there will be absolutely no judgement or belittling going on here for not knowing some of the life skills we’re going to be learning. I know there’s a lot of that being thrown at you from older generations. I’m not sure how failing to teach these skills—either at home or at school—be
came the fault of the students, but it doesn’t apply here.
“I started this program because there were so many things that I realized I had no idea how to handle once I was on my own. I mean, I could tell you that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell or identify a parallelogram, but strangely, those vital lessons have yet to become helpful.”
Chuckles run through the room as I continue. “Some of this stuff you may know and that’s great. You can help the others learn, but I guarantee all of you will walk away with new skills that make the transition to independence smoother.”
I look around the table. “I recognize a few faces, but let’s introduce ourselves.” The girl sitting across from me is familiar, and I realize she’s the one who isn’t good at speaking in front of a group, judging by the way she stumbled through in class. The one who asked me about crabs walking sideways. Her expression tightens, and I’m sure she’s remembering that moment too.
“Ms. Bryant, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, Kelly Bryant.” She glances around the table with a small smile. “Hi.”
Unlike in class she isn’t shaking with nerves or tripping over her words. Maybe she’s more comfortable in smaller groups.
“Welcome to the group.” I nod at Owen to continue, and we go around the table, everyone sharing their names.
“All right, then. We won’t always meet here. Most of what we’re going to learn isn’t possible in a classroom. I’ll go over a couple of things I have planned and if you have any ideas, anything you’re struggling with or want to learn, I’m happy to add to our lesson plan.”
I hand each of them a printout of skills and watch as they scan it.
“Do we have to come to every club meeting? Because I don’t want to learn to swim,” a guy named Milo says.
“No, it’s up to you when you want to attend club meetings. We aren’t taking attendance or earning grades, but swimming is an important safety skill, so I hope you’ll reconsider. The local community center has offered to let us in on their lessons with professional lifeguards doing the teaching.”