Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bridger
In a word? Dinner is awkward.
Okay, technically, that’s three words. And none of the hundreds I’m dying to say to Loren. I can’t wait to be alone with her so we can talk. About us. About my mom. And about me visiting her dad. Hopefully, she understands why I didn’t tell her.
She nailed my reasons when she explained them to my mom. And based on her greeting when she came home, I’m guessing she’s feeling pretty good about me right now.
I’m honestly hopeful for the first time in a long time.
Still, it’s hard to choke down chicken parmesan when the woman you love just kissed you for real, for the first time. She didn’t know we had no audience. There was no camera around. We weren’t in the middle of Operation Fool Margaret. She didn't even know my mom was here.
That kiss was for us.
And it was amazing.
So as weird as this situation is, I can’t stop smiling. I watch Loren now, across the table, pushing a forkful of green beans into her mouth. Correction: another forkful. She’s been shoveling food into her face this entire meal. And I have to say the strategy works.
Each time my mom lobs a question at her, Loren points at her mouth, nods, and chews, giving herself time to formulate the best response. I always knew she was an excellent teacher and a generous friend. Just a beautiful human all around.
But I’m here to tell you, my wife is also a genius.
“I mean no offense, Bridger.” My mother’s dry tone drags me back to the conversation, so I fix her with a stare and say nothing. Mostly because I have no idea what she was talking about.
Also, she probably meant to offend me.
“If you absolutely had to indulge your scientific mind,” she says, “I just wish you’d gone to medical school.”
Ah. Yes. This old complaint.
“Come on, Mom.” I frown. “You already know this. I just like helping kids who are intimidated by science to be …” I shrug. “Notintimidated.” I spoon another heaping pile of risotto onto my plate. “Some of them walk into my classroom assuming they hate chemistry. Or bio. Physics. Whatever. And I just try to make things less overwhelming for them. Maybe even a little fun.”
Loren coughs down a mouthful of chicken and grins at me. “Same.”
My mother narrows her eyes. “I thought you were an English teacher.”
“I am.” Loren gulps some water. Pounds her chest. “In fact, I originally wanted to get a PhD and teach college. But then I realized English majors probably love language arts already. And let me tell you, a lot of high school kids do not.” She shakes her head. “Like,a lota lot. So I have the same goalas Bridger. To help them like English a little more than they did when they came to my class.”
“That’s noble, I suppose. In its own way.” My mother lifts her chin, unconvinced. “But you’re talking about reading and writing.” She purses her lips. “Doctors save lives.”
Loren nods. “Yes … and … Bridger taught one hundred fifty-eight students last year.” She glances at me. “Is that right? I think that was your total. I looked it up once out of curiosity, to see which one of us had more.”
I nod, my jaw hanging open. I had no idea Loren knew that number.
“Anyway,” she swings her focus back to my mom, “those kids could become doctors someday. Or science teachers who inspire future doctors. So if Bridger keeps teaching for thirty-five more years, the impact could be exponential. I’d do the math, but—” She flashes a crooked smile. “I teach English.”
Oh, man.
I want to leap from my chair and spin Loren around the room, but we’re at the dinner table, and I have manners. Still, listening to her have my back like that makes me want to marry her all over again.
“Hmm.” My mother dabs at her lips with a napkin, although as far as I can tell, she’s put nothing in her mouth. “You may have a point.”
My fork slips, clattering on the plate.
Did I wake up in Opposite Land today?
“But you see, I always had such high expectations for my son.” She releases a woeful sigh. “I had so hoped he’d carry on the Adams legacy.”