"Keaton's biggest problem—well, no, she has a lot of problems. I can't narrow it down to one," he said with a sharp laugh. "Her problem at the moment is wanting to control everyone. Their thoughts and feelings too."
"Good luck with that," I replied, doing my level best at listening and responding while every inch of my body was cranked all the way up.
The only relief was Jory's body on mine, his mouth, his skin, his touch. I wanted everything and I wanted it now. It'd been like this since the holiday party. Every minute since, I'd wanted to go crazy on him. The night we'd spent together satisfied about one percent of my needs, leaving me to throb and ache like the thirsty horndog he'd turned me into.
Part of the problem was sleeping with him—actually sleeping—was the best thing in the world. Just the best. And that was a problem because I didn't get to do it nearly enough.
The other part was I loved this man and he didn't freak out when I told him. I'd expected some wide-eyed overwhelm and a frantic response (in Jory's careful, controlled way of being frantic) about our relationship moving too quickly, especially after I popped on that part about marrying his ass off. Instead, he'd lit up like the Vegas strip and nodded as if he loved me too. Like he wanted me to marry his ass off.
Being married to him would be real nice. I could already see his crisp button-down shirts lined up in the closet beside my polo shirts. That was the one that always got me. Our shirts in the closet together. I didn't know why it mattered so much but something about sharing a closet and getting dressed together was too right. I could see myself making toast for him in the morning. I'd always make his toast just the way he liked it and I'd smile at the ring on my finger as I slathered that toast in peanut butter.
"I know, right?" He shot me a glance and I nodded because it seemed like the right thing to do even though I wasn't sure where we were in this conversation. "Only Keaton can determine how someone should react to a situation, and god help you if you have an unapproved reaction. I mean, she wants everyone to be happy and joyful because it's Christmas, but she doesn't actually want to do anything to contribute to the happiness or joy. She just wants everyone to be together at the house—and that's it. She doesn't want to do any activities, doesn't want to go anywhere, doesn't want to have people over. And she gets upset when I leave to visit friends, as if that's some kind of knock on her. Basically, she wants everyone to sit around, doing nothing and going nowhere, and brand it a merry Christmas."
"And why do you think that is?" I asked. I'd learned that one from Mal.
"She doesn't know how to experience happiness or joy." He said it slowly, as if he'd realized this right now. "At the same time, she's less of a headache than my mother. Good grief. All she wanted to do was needle me about Bayside."
I glanced over at him. "Why?"
He unscrewed the cap of his glass water bottle and took a sip. "She thinks—and has thought since the start—teaching at Bayside is a huge mistake. She believes in traditional district schools and, in some cases, parochial schools. She doesn't believe in independent schools that aren't tied to a faith and she certainly doesn't believe in charter schools."
Again, I had to ask, "Why?"
Gesturing with his water bottle, he replied, "She's a diehard union gal and she came up in a time when unions made a significant difference in working conditions for teachers. Not that they don't now but it's different." He shrugged, downed another mouthful of water. "Times have changed but her mindset hasn't. She says working at schools like Bayside is asking for trouble." He ran a hand down his thigh, cocked his head to the side. "As if the school will shut down in the middle of the night and we'll come to work in the morning to find the doors barred. Or that we're choosing to get screwed in contract negotiations and pension programs."
"Huh. None of that has ever occurred to me," I said. "Should it?"
"Nah. Not worth stressing over. She's mostly bitter about me choosing something different. Kind of like Keaton, if I don't follow my mother's exact plan of going nowhere and doing nothing, I'm offending her. That's half the reason I wanted to move to Boston in the first place. I had to do something because it was right for me and not because anyone else approved."
I reached over and took Jory's hand. "I'm sorry you had such a rough time at home, babe. I don't want you dealing with that."
"Home is such a complex place for me. I want to go there, I want to visit, I want to spend time with my family. For the most part, those visits are positive. I love my family. My sister tells me horror stories about her clients and my mother fills me in on all the gossip. She's been teaching fourth grade long enough to have the children of her previous students in her classes now, so she knows everyone and everything they're doing. I love all of that. I love making lobster pie with Mom for Christmas Eve and doing Keat's giftwrapping for her because she cannot wrap to save her life. But I hate being made to feel guilty for wanting to spend time with friends or choosing a job that's a good fit for
