Go Home, Get Ahead Ch. 02

[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ]

In a shocking turn of events, balancing school, work, and a social life is not easy. The good news is I had some time to remember I was working on this story. The bad news is I can't promise consecutive updates as I had previously, but if you'll bear with me, I promise to upload as soon as I can.

Thanks for tuning in. I hope you have a sandwich today.

M

-

In 2022 my father and I traveled to see the World Cup in person. He had instilled soccer into my sister and me since we were kids. For a four-year-old who couldn't stay still, it was perfect. I felt no different when we were in New York changing flights on our way to Qatar.

While my dad was frustrated with his round of Scrabble Go!, I was standing by the windows near our gate, catching up on what Peter had done that afternoon.

"Anyway, the sauce ruined the shirt. I was pissed because it was hot, but..."

"But thank God it's ruined so you'll never have to wear it again?" I asked, the edge of my smile nearly touching my phone. Peter's aunt had gifted him a hideously vibrant yellow dress shirt that she demanded he wear whenever she was in the vicinity. We were both convinced it glowed.

His laughter bounced off the speakers. "You know it. Maybe we can add some foil to it and make some safety vests."

"With how bright it is, we'll cause a few accidents," I joked. I turned my head, attracted to the sound of an opening door. The crowd of people on my flight were beginning to line up.

"Hey baby, I have to go. We're boarding. Call you when I land?" I asked while I returned to my father's side.

"That's too long!"

"Eight hours is too long?"

"Yeah, how am I supposed to survive eight hours without my soulmate?"

I reached for my carry-on. "You are so corny when I travel."

"It doesn't make it any less true. I love you, okay? Text me if you get wifi."

-

"Mr. G? Is it right?"

A feminine voice brought me back to my cold, empty classroom. Don't interpret that as a complaint--there is nothing I love more than the end of the day when I get to enjoy such a large space on my own.

Typically, at least. At the time, an eighteen-year-old girl looked at me with buggy, worried eyes.

I'd gone off to memory land while reading over my final class' latest assignment with my student. Focusing yet again on her equations, I tried to avoid the airplane clipart I had included in one of the problems. That was on me.

In a few moments, I finished reviewing the completed sheet. "Daisy, this isn't even due until Friday. You already show during class that you get the material. Why do you need me to keep verifying early?"

"I'm just extra like that, Mr. G," she grinned, hands behind her back.

It was an understatement. Daisy Ncube had decided to mess with the class curve the moment she had found out she had passed her Calculus AP exam at 16. Now a senior in high school, she spent half her school days in the nearby community college earning credit before she got accepted into every university in the country.

I could've been more subtle about her being my favorite.

"Seriously, kid, you have to take a break sometimes," I urged, returning the sheet to her. She was well aware she outperformed her classmates, so I was continuously confused as to why she needed so much reassurance.

"I do, I promise. I just don't have a lot of time for tutoring in case I didn't get something, so I just cover my bases, y'know?"

I had never asked directly about it, but every Thursday and Friday Daisy would show up with a Wendy's uniform on. Part of me felt pity that the kid had to work so soon. The other part hoped I'd one day hit her drive-thru and get some free fries.

"Garvey," a new figure called from my doorframe. A tall man, dressed in a suit and tie and with a look of irritation. "Nichols said he's running late and to push back fifteen minutes."

As if I didn't have work to do at home. Okay, I didn't, but I hated tardiness. "Why can't we just start without him?"

"Ask him," the other male said plainly before disappearing down the hallway.

While I was accustomed to his intensity, Daisy puffed out her cheeks and let out a low whistle. "Dr. P is pretty intense, huh?"

"He's just tired," I dismissed. I unfortunately couldn't shit-talk a fellow faculty member in front of a student, as much as I wanted to. Dr. Padilla, or Neil as the staff knew him, and I had gone to the same master's program in the city. He was an absolute piece of shit.

You know those Disney shows where the main character is urged to befriend the quiet character because people are ruthless bullies? Neil had truly found the balance between both. A silent, broody man who had no problem being overly strict with his classes and brutally blunt to anyone who disturbed him. In college, he was a hyperindependent jackass. When he came around to teach at my college of all places six months earlier, I couldn't help but wonder if God was punishing me for something. By the way he interacted with the rest of us, he likely felt the same.

What would warrant a man with a doctorate to teach at the community college level? If he bothered to speak to others, I might've been able to get an answer. All I ever got were casual comments and nods from the other side of the hallway in the evenings before he left in his sedan.

Daisy could see right through me. "Suuure. Okay, that's all, Mr. G. Thanks again, really."

She said goodbye and left my classroom, but not before closing my door behind her. I asked her to do so every time she came for office hours, mostly since she was the only person to use them.

With my classroom empty again, I leaned back on my chair. Robby had recommended possibly the most heavenly ergonomic chair I had ever experienced. Every time I decompressed at the end of the day, I swore I'd simply fall asleep until my next group.

Sadly, I had made the mistake of signing up for the academic soccer intramurals--what our city had decided was the solution to their underpaid educators instead of therapy coverage. They weren't wrong in a way. There is nothing like taking out the day's frustrations on a ball.

Canales Community College's trainer was the ever-lively Dean Nichols. It wasn't enough that we had to deal with his reviews; now he made us run laps too.

But he covered gas reimbursements and uniforms, so we didn't moan too much. Plus, aside from him being the guy who could leave me without a job, he was a pretty good coach. We had bonded over the sport when I had first begun working, so I was one of the first he recruited. As one of the few people in education within sixty miles who kept playing after college, I was good to go.

Leaving my cozy classroom was difficult, but I changed into athletic wear and marched to the field anyway. Every public school is underfunded, and our proof rested on the tattered nets and the dirt-to-grass ratio. I could handle it, but we had lost a few players early on from the pain of falling. Every time I slid on the ground and drove home with rocks still stuck in my skin, I could see their point.

The dean would be late, so we filled our time with stretching and chisme, most of us anyway. Assembled in a circle with two or three outliers, Alexander, our IT, filled us in. "Genevieve says she's not with Aisha, but they're so obvious."

"She is with Aisha," one of our English professors corrected, pulling an arm over her head.

Alexander was baffled. "What? She told me they weren't!"

"Maybe she just didn't tell you," I shrugged, pulling my ankle back.

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Aren't you all a little too old to be discussing rumors about our coworkers?" Neil piped in upon arrival. Everyone went quiet.

I put my foot down--literally. I was done stretching my legs. "What would you know about rumors? It's not like you even talk to us enough to know any."

"It's hard not to know them with how loud you are discussing them," he replied without skipping a beat. "Maybe you should try being decent."

"What for? To avoid upsetting you? Why would I be preoccupied with an antisocial man with a superiority complex?"

"With an attitude like that, no wonder your fiancé left you."

A couple of quiet gasps slipped out. I didn't delay charging forward. "Okay, you son of a--"

The team sprang forward to make space between us two. While I kept at my profanity with hands pushing me back, Neil's look went straight into panic.

"Alright Garvey, calm down!" Dean Nichols ordered, holding me back from proceeding to beat the shit out of Neil. He wasn't amused that his first action on the field was having to keep two grown men from fighting. Everyone dropped it.

"Do we have to escalate this in my office, or can you two be civil?"

"Ask him," Neil directed, "I'm doing just fine."

-

"Jack, I'm sorry, I have to break up with you."

My eyebrows slid up, less with heartbreak and more with confusion. Sitting across from a red-nosed Taylor in a crowded Applebee's, my fuck buddy held onto my hands in what he probably thought was comforting.

When Taylor had asked me to grab dinner, I had already known I didn't want to go. I hadn't been subtle about being interested in sex and sex only, which he swore was also his preference. He had gotten me to go out with him when he told me he had something serious to say. In a best-case scenario, I thought I'd reject any attempt to formally go out. I was, unfortunately, also prepared to find out I had the clap or something.

Apparently, I had the title of boyfriend without me even realizing it.

"Uh..." I emit, my eyes blank. What the hell was I supposed to say? It's cool? No sweat? Was I to apologize for a relationship I wasn't aware of?

Compared to my lost state, Taylor was a wreck. The way snot went down his face and how bloodshot his eyes were, you'd swear I had killed his puppy. With his loud, dramatic breaths, people were starting to notice. I could feel my ears get warm.

"Look, I don't wanna be mean," I did. I had never slept with someone so insufferable in my life. I hated that he constantly made references to Friends. I hated that he would rack up my water bill with his long-ass showers. I hated that he wasted so much water but complained when he once noticed the rings of a six-pack in the trash instead of my recycling can and gave me a sermon about saving the Earth.

But I was in public. "I had no idea we were dating."

He looked aghast. "Are you joking?"

"I wish."

A part of me still hoped he would come to his senses, realize the complete lack of romance in our interactions, and apologize for being mistaken, hopefully even leave in embarrassment so I could still indulge in some spinach and artichoke dip. Instead, he was livid.

"You're just so scared of commitment, aren't you, Jack?" Taylor spat.

"No, not really." Lengthy relationships were the one thing I was sure I could handle.

The way Taylor was looking at me, I was starting to wonder if I really had zoned out for the past month and missed him asking me for a relationship. "I'm really not trying to be a jerk, but I don't understand how you got there."

"You mean besides the fact that we've been having sex every week?"

The one where I avoided kissing as much as I could and that started and ended in awkward conversation? That was his idea of romance? "Taylor, I told you that going into this I didn't want a relationship."

He was inconsolable, missing my hushed tone by a few hundred octanes. "Then why were you treating it like it was!"

I was growing impatient. Carelessly, my volume matched his. "Dude, we don't even text unless we plan on fucking! I don't even know your last name! Look, I'm sorry you came to that conclusion, but no part of me wanted to date you."

A quiet hush fell over our side of the restaurant, the attention all too familiar. I prayed the booth would swallow me whole.

-

My friends had promised Taylor wouldn't be at their company cookout, saying he had gone on a weeklong trip to San Francisco to, and I quote, "find himself." As far as HR knew, he had the flu. I couldn't care less for the real reason; I was just glad I wouldn't have to see him post our breakup that I hadn't known was a breakup.

According to Robby, Taylor's version included me being terrified of relationships, having done nothing but led him on, and a coldness he had never felt before. He was sure I was a sociopath and a pathological liar. Taylor already had an annoying streak of exaggeration, but it still made for a decent story among colleagues. I was picking up his residues with every side eye as I entered the backyard.

"Are they tossing me on the grill or something?" I hissed to my friends. "I don't wanna be at some party where strangers already hate me."

"They're the clinic gossips; no one cares about them," Robby promised. He was one to talk--he relayed every occurrence to our group chat whenever he could. Nour liked to insist that there were three things Robby was terrible at: making sauces, driving over thirty miles per hour, and minding his business. I could vouch for all three.

"Come on, just an hour," Nour whined. "If it gets too bad, you can leave. You need to get out of the house more. Look at how pale you are."

"I've been pale since I was born."

"Case in point," she said.

It wasn't the most intimate of gatherings, as Robby's boss had extended his annual party to other clinics in their network. I recognized a few faces from previous events. As a friend of their coworker, I was often the receiver of their complaints, confessions, or laments. I didn't hover over their workspace, so there was no risk.

Plus, I was no better than the people shit talking me. Other people's business was fun.

Mixed guests aside, there was an outstanding selection of food available, as if Robby's supervisor had taken the term "American dream" and gotten every interpretation for it on three plastic tables. My friends headed for the vegetarian options while I had my selection of meats and sides. My excitement was flushed at the first bite. I'm unsure if Carl himself had seasoned most of the items, but it made their excess easier to understand.

The meatless choices didn't seem any better. We left our crowded plates at a picnic table some familiar faces had claimed and left for drinks. Robby and I ended up hovering near the drinks, cold soda cleansing our savor-traumatized tongues.

"Excuse me..." I heard from behind me the texture of a jean jacket brushing on my shoulders as a stranger shuffled behind me.

Maybe it was the heat of the late afternoon or being tired of Taylor's seeds, but at that point I was beyond irritated. I turned around, prepared to complain about him not having the patience to wait for me to step sideways, but instead stopped.

I'm not saying pretty people should be allowed to do whatever they want, but this man's face was so beautiful I would've coughed up my social security number had he asked me in passing. Maintained stubble, a refined jawline, and a smile that could earn a Colgate contract--and this was just a relaxed grin while he chatted with the nearby band setting up.

My eyes must've lingered long enough for Robby to notice, since he put his hand on my shoulder to bring me back to Earth. "Mo got your tongue?"

My head went his way. "Huh?"

"Moses. The guy in the jacket."

"Why the fuck is he wearing a jacket in hundred-degree weather?"

"Workplace's pretty chilly," the same voice explained, coming up to Robby to greet him and respectfully pretending like I wasn't turning red. "Friend of Rob's?"

"This is Jack," Robby introduced, shuffling between us.

Mo nodded with recognition. "The guy from your desk photo!"

"Wait, which photo?" I asked, touched that Robby included me in his memorabilia and terrified that my first impression on this man was one of the thousands of embarrassing captures my best friend had of me. Then again, it was his office. It couldn't be too bad.

"The one with the Powerpuff Girls."

Robby's gaze avoided mine. Seven years prior, when trying to cheer up Nour after she had failed a test in graduate school, Robby, Nour's brother, and I had decided to dress up as her favorite childhood heroes. I knew not to trust them when they promised not to share the pictures we took. I should've had them sign an NDA.

Mo caught on. "Hey, for what it's worth, that blue color really suited you."

"Hopefully you'll be able to see me wear it in normal grown-man clothes," I replied.

"Hopefully," Mo grinned, then patted Robby's shoulder. "Anyway, I should go set up before I get kicked off."

Mo left with a final nod. I let out a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding. "Does he not know about me and Taylor?"

"Oh no, he does," Robby promised, "from Taylor talking too much. Mo doesn't work at our clinic anymore, though. He just... doesn't like Taylor that much."

My potential beau and I already had so much in common. "Then why is he in his band?"

"No idea, you'd have to ask him. You are thinking about talking to him again, right?"

"He's hot, don't get me wrong. And funny, too. I just feel like I'm already too into your atmosphere. I don't even work in something medical, and my name's already there. Doesn't this make things harder for you?"

Robby slid his hands into his pockets. "I have too much work every day to care about stuff like that."

"We get it, you're a doctor."

"And so is he," he answered, nudging my shoulder in the direction of the band setting up. "He's also, you know..."

"An MD?" I teased. How kind of him to still be unable to say gay. "Where's Nour, anyway?"

"Catching up with Linda. Remember the CNA I told you about who just went through that divorce?"

"The one who flashed a bartender, and Nour had to cover her up with napkins?"

"Yeah, she's checking in. Anyway, he's not emotionally attached to anyone else, as far as I know."

For what it was worth, I thought the same about my ex. "Let's hope. He makes pretty money; why's he in a band?"

"This might shock you, man, but some people have hobbies," he answered.

Before I could retort, Taylor's ticket to Hollywood introduced themselves to the guests and jumped straight into a surprisingly decent performance. Based on some guests singing along, I assumed it was either a cover or they were secretly popular among healthcare workers.

My eyes stayed on Mo, who had ditched his jacket prior to settling at his drum set. As someone who had to leave band in middle school from finding it too difficult to sight-read, I wouldn't be able to tell you if he was a good drummer. I could, however, tell it likely contributed to how his arms and shoulders were sculpted.

Mo caught my eye and sent a wink. It felt like I had a fever.

After a few minutes of gawking, Robby and I finally joined Nour and other colleagues. The research talk must've been fun, but I was too occupied contemplating if being a groupie in your 30s was embarrassing for the next two hours.

-

A teacher, a pediatrician, and a CNA who had one too many beers in front of her boss walk into a hallway.

The sound of the woman spilling her guts in the house's only first-floor bathroom wasn't the alluring background noise I would've liked at my next run-in with Mo, but in a way it was nice knowing he was equally uncomfortable. Having to set back using the bathroom with someone hurling their breakfast wasn't the most romantic setting in the world, but the small talk was pleasant.

Mo knocked on the door. "Lin? Do you need some backup in there? We can go grab you some medicine or anything else."

"I'll be right out!" Linda promised for the sixth time. "Don't come in! I'll be right out, promise!"

"Five more minutes before we get some help for you, Lin," Mo called out, lifting his ear and looking across to me. "We might have to break this door down in a worst-case scenario."

"Perfect, I'm certified in breaking and entering," I replied.

Mo laughed lightly. "Is it really breaking in if we're already in the house?"

"I don't know; let's ask your boss if he's into us destroying his wooden doors," I smiled. "Besides, you have those guns. Shouldn't you be breaking it?"

"Hey, he's not my boss anymore," he clarified, leaning sideways on the wall with his arms crossed, flexing. "These things? They're for playing music exclusively. Don't need problems with my manager."

I swallowed the urge to groan. "Not even once?" I asked, nearing him, letting my hand trail up his elbow and to his bicep.

Mo's Adam's apple budged, but his eyes were hazy. "I guess once wouldn't hurt. Unless you want it to."

Just as I felt that familiar heat, Linda's guts decided to cut in, sending any tension down the same pipes her stomach was currently

in. We both grimaced, then laughed.

A flush, running water, and the door opening finally brought the pale Linda back to the hallway. She immediately rested against Mo, out of it. "Take me to the car."

"I don't think so, Lin," he said, holding her up as he began to lead her into the living room. "Rob's got my number, by the way."

"Good for him," I joked, earning a mock eye roll before Mo went to put his degree to good use.

-

I didn't see Mo for the rest of the party, so I caught a ride back with Nour and Robby towards the end of the event. Near to midnight, we were huddled around my kitchen island, bottles of water in hand and scoops of mango sorbet getting the flavor of the oversalted food we had earlier out of our mouths.

"I just don't think her lifestyle is my speed," Nour sighed. She had made it her goal to make more female friends that year, tired of the two main people in her life being men, only to be doubled by her brothers and tripled by a majority of men at her office. Apparently, me being attracted to the same gender wasn't enough.

In all seriousness, I understood her need to branch out and had also made an effort to find more women she could click with. Robby had been delighted with Linda pre-broken marriage. None of us blamed her unraveling in her difficult times, but Nour wanted a friendship, not a babysitting gig.

"Why don't you join a sewing club or something?" I suggested, licking remnants of my icy dessert off my spoon. "My mom met some of her friends in a yoga club."

Nour sighed. "I try, but work keeps me too busy. Then Sunday comes around, and I just want to stay home all day. It's impossible."

"Have you thought about online clubs?" Robby pitched.

His wife crinkled her forehead but then contemplated. "I mean, it could be a more accessible start."

I straightened up and put my bowl down. "You know, Chloe does these book clubs over Zoom on Sunday afternoons. She found this page with a bunch of online groups for different things."

"Is it--"

"No, not Facebook." Nour had gotten banned from the site a few years back after a heated argument with one of Robby's cousins over politics. In her defense, she totally won. He then went to jail for embezzlement. Mark Zuckerberg let him keep his account up, though. "Hold on, she emailed it to me some time ago."

I reached for my phone and opened my email app. Just as I was about to type in my sister's name on the search bar, a recent email's tagline caught my eye.

Nour noticed my confusion. "Everything okay?"

"Remember the baker I had reached out to for the wedding?" I asked. My friends nodded. "They sent in a confirmation number for a cake earlier. It says it was paid off."

"Maybe you forgot to cancel it?" Robby suggested.

"Either way, it's not like he paid it off," Nour added.

I shook my head. "I never even did a follow-up to talk about the cake."

"Then he must've gotten your emails mixed up with someone's. I'd just let them know of their mistake," she advised, sprinkling some Tajin onto her sorbet.

"Yeah, you're right. Really irresponsible of him, though," I answered, scrolling further down on the email and scanning the receipt. I paused, then loosely tossed my phone on the counter surface. My friends jumped. "Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

"What? What's wrong?"

I let out an airy laugh, my hands on my hips as I paced the kitchen in disbelief. "This motherfucker is back in town. And he's getting married."