(Peggy is narrating)
My need for gastric bypass weight reduction surgery was getting desperate. The clinic at Deaconess in Spokane would do it at my age, but my state health insurance while I fostered under Marc wouldn’t pay, and Martin himself was saving up for a car.
By sixteen Martin’s voice settled from his adolescent crackle into a rich, warm baritone. I went to his Christmas Eve service to hear him sing in his choir. Afterward, I saw no car in the parking lot.
“I’m being patient,” he explained.
On New Year’s Eve I got a call saying my surgery was paid for. I was stunned! Marc didn’t feel I needed it, saying I should exercise more and eat less. Martin’s parents were clueless about this. That left Martin. I was enraged! “Why are you this frakking martyr?”
His grin infuriated me. “You need to understand Christmas!” His grin vanished. “Use it, or a teen who needs it worse gets it.”
So I woke in recovery later, with Martin holding my hand. I whispered, “You’ll stay my dearest friend, but I owe you some revenge. When you least expect it, I will screw you over big time!”
I did try for it next year at sixteen in my sophomore year in college, when Martin at seventeen asked me out to his high school senior prom. We did the corsage, the limo, the dress, everything, and had a great time. The limo left us off at Spokane Tech.
I lived in a campus dorm room by myself. Tonight would be perfect for the revenge I swore! Without any warning I held him close.
I felt his breath from his lips as they approached mine. His voice was anguished from his effort of holding back. “Please don’t. I… I’m not into you like that. I don’t like… girls.”
I stared at the pavement in shame. “I didn’t mean…”
Martin tilted my chin back up. “I should have told you earlier. I’m from old money, the third M. Reynolds Crane. I have no idea how to tell my parents there will never be a fourth.” His confession showed he trusted me deeper than any other human being alive.
***
Marc held a summer numerical analysis seminar I attended for fun. During it, I saw a discrepancy between his whiteboard and my imaginary holographic display. I asked about it. A hush fell over the room. One student smiled. “Just two expressions reversed.”
Marc redrew the term and continued his proof. He caught me afterward, gripping me by my wrist. I blanched, as I was about to receive my first ever academic ream out by Distinguished Professor Doctor Marc Chester DuQuesne for embarrassing him in public.
“I’m sorry!” I blubbered. “I promise, I won’t ever do that again!”
Marc almost fell out of his chair laughing. “Not as an undergraduate! But, it is as good a way to begin a master’s, this fall, as any!”
I slumped in the chair next to his. What was he doing to me?
If you enjoyed this, buy me a coffee? If you really enjoyed this, buy the book?