Open House

by TC Matson

  “Hey, Lucas,” a young girl’s voice calls from behind him.

  I turn and am greeted by Natalie and her mom, Patricia.

  Lucas sighs under his breath. “Hey, Nat.” He shakes off the annoyed tone and pulls out a fake smile.

  He’s been friends with her for many years, but the crush she has on him has nearly ended it. Lucas used to like her, but that was back before she started a rumor about him kissing her and being her boyfriend just to get back at another girl who also had a crush on him. He told me it was an ugly trait for Natalie. I couldn’t have been more proud of him for realizing it.

  I smile politely at Patricia. “You’d think after all these years they would figure out the open house woes.”

  Patricia laughs her “I’m too good for you” laugh and tosses her black hair off her shoulder. “You know how I feel about this school.”

  Mentally, I roll my eyes…or at least I hope I did. She always bitches about the school—how reckless they are, and how she despises the less than luxurious ways of doing things. She’s loaded with money, thanks to her Corporate America husband, so I know she can afford putting Natalie in private school. The only thing stopping her is the thirty-minute drive there. Hire a chauffeur….

  “I love this school,” I say. “It’s small, which allows it to give ample amounts of attention to each child. I believe it’s the reason why they have such high grades. If you—”

  I’m just about to give her my unrestrained thoughts when April slides beside me with her son Josh, saving me from wasting my breath. “Did you bring the wine?”

  I exhale relief turning my back from the dreadful snob. “Did you bring the glasses?”

  April peeks over my shoulder. “She’s gone. What was the complaint today? Air too humid for her Botoxed face?”

  I roll my eyes. “No one is parting the waters for her.”

  I’m just as thankful Natalie went with her mother. I feel bad for the girl, having her mother’s snobbery ways ingrained in her brain. She’s going to grow up just like her. I’m assuming she knows how Josh and Lucas are when they get together—a crow bar is needed to separate the best friends. We all became friends through soccer, meeting during practice. I immediately clicked with April due to her sense of humor and “take no shit from anyone” attitude.

  She had recently divorced, but her ex-husband, Jeff, would occasionally come to practice. I’d see them sitting together, laughing and in a good mood, so you could only imagine my shock when during one of our first conversations she told me they were split. Movies make out divorcees to hate each other, but I had the opposite in my face. They didn’t have hateful words spewing from their mouths. In fact, they were all good and nice things. They explained how they both knew they couldn’t continue to be married or they’d end up hating each other. Their opposite personalities clashed along with their different life goals, so instead, they split and held onto the friendship.

  “Oh well. I can’t believe she still allows Natalie to come to this school. We’re full of horrid imbeciles,” she says with a twisted English accent. “Brian working?”

  “Yeah. He’s got a big job with an ugly deadline.” It’s half a lie. It is a big job, and they do have a deadline even though they’re ahead of it.

  Her eyes hold a deep pity for me, and she blinks it away before gently pushing Lucas on the shoulder to get his attention. “Who are you hoping for this year?”

  “Anyone but Mrs. Dalton,” he replies.

  “Dude, me too!” Josh adds his two cents.

  “I’ll quit school if I get her,” Lucas tells Josh.

  “Remember, if you drop out of school you have to get a job and support Dad and me.”

  His eyes thin with indifference. “I can’t do that, Mom, I’m ten.” I swear a ditzy “whatever” would’ve amplified that better.

  I smile victoriously. “Then you might want to rearrange your agenda if you do get her.”

  Lucas huffs, glaring at me with playful frustration, but turns his attention back to his best friend and starts whispering.

  Finally at the front of the line, the older red-headed lady, who I’ve seen many times walking the halls, thumbs through the papers and hands us a stack with a tired smile. “Mr. Bratcher. He’s on the fifth-grade hall, past the blue lockers, third door on the right.” She points the direction.

  Lucas impatiently waits for Josh, excited to find out if they’re in the same class, and it’s only confirmed when Josh jumps and rushes to Lucas, exclaiming it is.

  I’m looking down at the papers when a pleased hum from April pulls me to glance up. My lungs constrict, forcing all the air from them. A sudden heat swarms my skin, and my feet anchor to the germ-infested tile floor. Tall and slender, brown hair with light streaks killing a pompadour haircut, with scruff along his jawline—he’s wearing a light blue button down with sleeves rolled up and tight slacks. He’s not built like a fantasy, but he’s devastatingly handsome.

  He looks to Lucas with a smile before his light hazel eyes, heavy with green, land on me. I have no words. My brain has tossed aside all ability to think straight.

  “Hi. I’m Mr. Bratcher,” he says placing his hand out for me to shake.

  “I…” My mouth dries up as I struggle to remember the English language I’ve known my whole life and taken for granted. “Lucas’ mom?” It comes out as a question and April pokes me in the back to help kick start my brain. I shake my head and take his hand. “I’m Riley,” I finally get out. “You’re new here.”

  “Yes. I just moved to town. This is my first year.”

  “That’s good.” Even though our hands have quit shaking, we remain holding hands. “You’ll love the school,” I tell him, quickly pulling my hand back and landing back in reality.

  He licks his lips and sets his jaw into a smirky grin. “I already do.”

  Three words and I swear my panties just burst into flames.

  He rips his gaze from me and focuses on the boys. And I swear a twinge of jealousy pangs my chest.

  “What’s your favorite subject?” He looks between both boys.

  “Math,” Lucas replies.

  “Naptime,” Josh jokes.

  Mr. Bratcher chuckles. “Good news for you.” He points to Lucas. “I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll like my way of teaching math.” He frowns looking to Josh. “Bad news for you. I flunked naptime. I’m no longer allowed to teach it.”

  Both boys laugh.

  “Go in and find your desks,” he says. “Fill out the paperwork with your names on it. A few pages are for parents.”

  The boys rush in but I’m on shaky legs staring at the floor as I pass by Mr. Bratcher. The scent of his cologne collides within the walls of my brain—fresh and spicy, smooth and powerful, radiating sexiness without an effort. I quicken my steps to put some distance between him and me.

  “What was that?” April whispers.

  “What was what?” I answer playing dumb without looking at her. I can’t. I know heat has traveled to my cheeks, and I may or may not have drool on my lip.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her brown eyes home in. “Don’t act like that was nothing. I saw that. Hell, everyone felt that. The Earth just shifted on its axis.”

  I giggle glancing to her. “Are you sure you didn’t drink too much wine before coming?”

  She’s in the middle of saying something when apprehension weaves through every fiber of my body. “Oh no. He’s in trouble.”

  April chuckles, shaking her head beside me, staring at the boys celebrating their desks being side by side. “Oh, he’s going to learn the hard way.”

  This is trouble waiting to ignite as the two biggest class clowns compete in an arm’s distance, the jokesters feeding off one another.

  Lucas hands a few papers over his shoulder continuing to yap to Josh about how this year is going to be spectacular.

  “You’re going to avoid my question?” April pries again.

  Determination runs in her blood. It’s define
s her curiosity. Even if it’s just a simple reaction, if she wants to know something, she’s going to get it.

  I raise a brow pretending not to know what she’s talking about, praying she’ll drop it until we get out of here. I’ll be better able to handle the questions and hopefully have a better idea of how I’m going to answer her when we get out of this classroom. She’s—

  “You’re going to play that game?” Her tone is heavy with sassiness. She rocks back on her heels, narrows her eyes and gives me a little bitchy smirk. “Two can play that game,” she says quietly before yelling out, “Mr. Bratcher? I have a question.”

  I want to punch her in the nose… Humiliation and shock seep onto my face.

  “And that is?” he asks approaching us.

  She holds up the small stack of papers. “Do these need to be filled out now?”

  He points to a yellow piece of tape: Bring back first day of school.

  She covers her mouth with just the tips of her fingers. “Oh! Silly me. I didn’t see that.”

  I want to crawl under the desks.

  She smacks my arm. “I can’t believe we missed that.”

  I shake my head, rushing to my own defense. “I saw the note.”

  A slow smile slides across his lips, tightening the soft skin. “Busy evening. I get it.” Although I know the statement is meant for April, his eyes are glued to me.

  I’m overcome with an intense nervousness. “Come on, Lucas. Still gotta feed you.”

  I need an award for completing that sentence since wording hurts to comprise right now.

  I’m desperate for air.

  Just as we get to the door, Mr. Bratcher says, “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Shepard. I look forward to seeing Lucas on Monday.”

  “Miss Stallings.” I correct someone for the first time in ten years. “And I’m sure he feels the same way.”

  Something in his eyes flares and it causes jolts of butterflies to bounce off the walls of my stomach. My feet are starting to feel heavy again when thankfully, he turns his attention to April and Josh, wishing them a nice evening.

  The air in the hallway is fresher than what was being stolen from me in the classroom. I take in slow and steady breaths relieved to be walking away from the small torture chamber of pleasure. I’m not even to the end of the hallway when something compels me to look behind me. I do, and my heart dips. Mr. Bratcher is watching me with curiosity, leaned against the door frame relaxed with his arms and ankles crossed.

  Quickly, I jerk back around.

  “Was he looking?” April asks quietly, peering at me out of the corner of her eye.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Do I need to turn around?” she quips.

  Ugh! “He was,” I tell her.

  Nothing else is said as we make our way out of the school, weaving through the crowd and into the parking lot. The boys take off running, competing to see who will make it to my car faster, when April grabs my arm and stops me.

  “Are you and Brian okay?”

  “Of course,” I tell a white lie through my teeth and she knows it. “Why?”

  She glances to the school and then back to me allowing a knowing smile to dominate her features. “Whatever that was in there—”

  “That was nothing,” I interrupt.

  She studies me with a stern look, like I’m a child being busted for lying. “You can pretend as hard as you want that fireworks just didn’t explode between you two. I know what I saw.”

  “You’re seeing things because there weren’t any fireworks,” I say and then stride off. The last thing I want to do is admit and explore what that truly was.

  Irritation launches when we pull into the driveway to see Brian is already home. Lucas and I both enter the house at the same time, and he darts off to his dad in the recliner with several papers scattered across his lap.

  “Why didn’t you come to open house with me?” Lucas bites.

  Nonchalantly, Brian points to his lap. “Had a few things to finish up. How was it?”

  “If you had come, you would know,” Lucas bites again, but this time with repercussion. Brian hardens his stare, silently warning Lucas to drop the attitude without words. You can clearly see that Lucas wants to obliterate Brian for being at home and not coming. He stands there mentally debating it until he finally comes to his senses and stands down. “I have a new teacher. He’s cool.”

  I set my purse on the counter and begin making dinner as Lucas tells Brian about the afternoon. Since I’m making spaghetti—simple, easy, and quick—it’s not long after starting it before I’m scooping up everyone’s plate and calling them to the table.

  Brian twists his noodles and looks up to me. “Seem like a good teacher?”

  It’s the first time he’s acknowledged my existence since we’ve been home.

  “If you had come…” I shake my head, deserting the argument that’s sure to follow the sentence. “Yes. He seems like he’ll do well, except he’s going to learn the hard way about sticking Lucas next to Josh.”

  “You left that part out. He put you beside Josh? Is he crazy?” Brian teases Lucas.

  “We won’t get in trouble,” Lucas beams wolfishly.

  “You best hope not,” Brian warns. “You don’t want to mess up at school and let it trickle home and into soccer.”

  Lucas doesn’t respond, scooping food onto his fork and taking a bite.

  Right after supper, Brian makes his way back to his self-made desk. Since there isn’t much conversation, Lucas takes a shower, plays a little bit of video games, and then goes to bed. With no reason to stay at the end of the couch as an invisible object, I decide to take my e-reader to the bed with me.

  I’m comfortable—changed, pillows propped up, covers tucked around me—but my mind is everywhere except in this book. Every sweet or sexy thing the male character does causes images of Mr. Bratcher to flash behind my eyes. Every edge and curve of his face, every wrinkle and line of his clothes against his skin, his deeply saturated green hazel eyes…I hadn’t realized I carved his image into my memory.

  “What are you thinking about?” Brian’s voice screeches my thoughts to a halt.

  I jump, startled. I didn’t hear him come in. “What? Nothing. This book is interesting,” I blabber.

  He narrows his eyes. “Uh, huh.”

  I hold up my e-reader. “Romance. It’s sweet.”

  He slides into the bed, turning off his bedside light and lies with his back turned toward me.

  This is the aftermath of a pissy Brian, one I learned about many years ago. Pissy Brian holds onto his frustration and feelings much longer than he should. I used to do whatever I could to help him snap out of it—sexual favors, favorite meals, sweet little presents—but it didn’t take me long to realize I was always the one giving in and I got tired of it. If I do any of those now, I have to be in a really special mood. Tonight isn’t one of them.

  I reach over and shut off my light, place my e-reader on the nightstand, and curl up onto my side.

  I wonder if Mr. Bratcher holds grudges for long.

  Mentally, I shake my head at where my thoughts are continuing to go. Today was a page torn from the spine of a romance book and I was the main character. Who knew stumbling for words or falling short of reality actually happened in real life? I’ve never experienced anything like it—only read about it.

  “You have to look at the book to read it,” Brian says into the darkness.

  I hold my breath as my heart slams into my chest and a bubble of laughter tries making an escape. I got busted daydreaming.

  Chapter 4

  Lucas started school a few weeks ago and ever since, I spend my days cleaning the house, keeping laundry tamed, reading, and crafting. I enjoy making little things. It helps me keep my sanity. Just recently, I tried something new and now I’m completely addicted to paper quilling. Who knew rolling up narrow strips of paper would be so fun and relaxing? The other day, I found a heart on the internet and thought
how fabulous it would look on the wall separating the kitchen and living room. I couldn’t wait to get started on it and now, I’m almost finished with it.

  Lucas will be home shortly, and as I slide all my paper strips into a little shoebox I’ve decorated for my crafts, my phone alerts me to an email from Mr. Bratcher requesting a parent teacher conference tomorrow evening. School’s only been in for a few weeks, so this can only mean one thing—Lucas has gotten into trouble. I sigh and respond just as the brakes from the bus squeal, announcing Lucas’ arrival.

  He springs through the door with aggravation written on his furrowed brows. “When you went to school, did they have homework?”

  I laugh. “Hello to you too.”

  He throws his book bag on the table and it lands with a hard thump. “Mr. Bratcher gave us vocabulary words. Hard ones. Big ones.” He drops into his chair, rips open the zipper, and yanks out his binder. “I mean really hard ones.”

  “You want to get smarter, don’t you?”

  “I’m ten. How smart do I need to be?”

  “Some ten-year-olds have already advanced to college.”

  He rolls his eyes. “With all this I’ll never keep up with soccer.”

  “You said the same thing last year. Remember how you never thought you’d make it through fourth grade? You haven’t even been in school for a month yet. You’ll figure it out and fall into a good routine. I’ll help as much as I can.”

  “That was a breeze. But this…” he chucks his paper down in front of him and it slides hitting his book bag, “is much different. Times have changed since you’ve been in school.”

  “I wasn’t born in the nineteen hundreds, son. It hasn’t changed that much,” I tell him with a laugh.

  “Did they have desks when you went?” His disposition finally changes and he lightens up with his joke.

  “We sat in something that looked like church pews as little Johnny slid on the floor beneath us to pass notes,” I jest.

  He laughs, reaching for his paper, but his adorable little smile melts away as he tries pronouncing the first word. “Gig…an…tic.”