Look Again

When his blush grows, I know it’s true. “Here? In the chapel? Did you bring girls here?”

I can’t keep the laugh out of my voice.

“Not a lot of girls. Not like you’re making it sound.”

I pretend to be shocked. My hand goes to my throat. “Do you even remember their names?”

“Kate.”

“Okay, very good. One was named Kate.”

He gives me a sly grin. “They were all named Kate.”

“Oh, I see. You have a type. I like these Kaplan Confessions,” I say.

He’s laughing now, too. “There will be no more Kaplan Confessions. Not today. Not ever.”

How can I keep the conversation on this path—not necessarily talking about Dexter’s teenage exploits, but light and funny and comfortable?

“Did you ever think you’d be a teacher here when you were in high school?” I ask.

“I swore I’d stay as far away from this place as possible just as soon as they let me out.”

I nod. “Good to know. Remind me to ignore you when you swear to do something.”

“No fair. I grew up.”

“Right. Of course.”

He leans against a wall, his legs stretched at an angle. “Turns out I love this place. And I feel comfortable here. Known. Seen.”

“I bet you feel known and seen wherever you go,” I say, wishing I had something to do with my hands.

He laughs a very small laugh that does not convey happiness. “Not at all. Turns out I’m forgettable,” he says, his smirk and shrug moving his laugh a little closer to “funny.”

“Impossible.”

“Hardly impossible.” He directs his gaze straight into my soul. “You forgot me, even after we met in such a dramatic way.”

I think back to that first day, at the faculty picnic, where I panicked and pretended that I didn’t remember running into him in the airport, our scuffle over the suitcase. That stuck with him?

I can’t just say Oh, no, I was lying. That would make me look like a crazy person. I don’t need any help with that particular impression. So I choose something else. “I forget a lot of things.”

It’s not true.

Not even a little.

And I know I’m a terrible liar. Can he see it in my face?

If he can, he covers well, standing out of his lean and moving back into the center of the room. This time when he laughs, it sounds more real. But that could be his professional acting talent showing.

I know my comment went over badly. I try to laugh it off. “We’re all forgettable sometimes, Dexter. Even you.”

“Well, maybe less me than other people. They love me here. I’m everyone’s favorite at Chamberlain.”

It’s such a strange pivot, from humble to cocky in an instant. I can’t follow it fast enough to respond.

“Especially Moreau. She adores me. I have this chair position pretty locked up.”