May-December | Chapter Three

Throughout the next few weeks, Kyle picked Otis up from preschool. The toddler would rattle on about what he did in school, and Kyle couldn't help the tinge of curiosity that would spark in him anytime the boy mentioned Chaska. His son seemed to be fond of the teacher, and he now started most of his sentences with 'Chaska said' and 'Chaska did.' Kyle would just nod along as he spoke, humming from time to time so that the little one didn't feel ignored.

At first, he had been a little confused about how fixated his son was with the teacher, but his mother had told him that that was normal for children. They often liked their parents the most, and then their teacher, but it seemed it was the other way around in this case, though. Otis liked Chaska more.

Was Kyle a little jealous? Maybe, but he was also grateful. It was nice to see his son being eager to talk. For the past few days he had wanted to talk to Chaska about it, but the man kept their interactions and their exchange of words short, and Kyle never really knew when to bring it up.

"Chaska made a paper bird!" Otis said after Kyle picked him up from school on Friday. The boy jumped around as he waved the little paper bird he had in his hands. It was a pink chicken, and Kyle wasn't sure if he should tell Otis that chickens didn't fly. They were downstairs by the post office now, and Kyle was trying to get Otis to stop hopping around so that he could him into the care.

"It's a pretty bird," Kyle said, watching Otis skip around.

"I know!"

Otis turned around, holding the paper bird in the air. His t-shirt was riding up his stomach, and his shorts hiked up as he stood up on his tippy toes, trying to get the bird as high up as possible—which wasn't very far.

Some women smiled at Otis as they walked past, giving Kyle a wave. Kyle returned their smiles, even though they made him feel uncomfortable. That was the thing with young children. It was like having a pet everyone stared at as they walked by.

"Come one, enough of that, let's get you in the car," Kyle said, reaching down to pluck the paper bird from his son's hand before lifting the boy up from the ground. "I'll give it back to you when we get home," Kyle said in a soft voice before Otis could cry. It amazed him how much tone mattered. He had started copying his grandmother's tone when talking to Otis, and it made their interactions a lot smoother. He helped Otis into the carrier chair in the back before getting into the driver's seat and starting up the car's engine and driving into the main road.

Before they could head home, Kyle had to drop by his mother's grocery store to pick up some things. He pulled up at the small parking space before helping Otis out of his seat and dropping him on the concrete floor.

"We're going to see grandma, then get cookies before we go home," Kyle explained, looking at his son who was squinting into the parking lot as his blond curls got tossed about by the wind. At the sound of cookies his son grinned, clapping his hands in excitement. The grocery store was an old place that shared its building with the local bakery. It was early in the afternoon now. Preschool ended at two in the afternoon, and it was currently around four thirty.

"You're happy about that, right?" Kyle asked, making Otis nod his head as his father reached for his hand before pulling him along with him towards the store's entrance.

Kyle pushed the door open, setting off the small bell attached to the door. He walked in with Otis before letting his hand go. Otis had been here a few times and knew his way around. Kyle went straight for the counter to ask his mother for the things he was supposed to top pick up and take home. They were discussing things when the doorbell went off again. Kyle and his mother turned towards the door to find

Otis let out a high-pitched screech as he hopped up and down a few times before running towards the entrance. "Chaska!" he yelled in excitement, catching the man's attention right on time. Chaska opened his arms, squatting a bit so that he could catch the running toddler.

Kyle stared at them, taking a good look at Chaska. He hadn't seen the man outside the preschool before, but he dressed just as sporty. He had on a white tank top and black jogging pants that hugged his lower legs. Kyle wondered where he was heading to dressing like that, but once he spotted the boxing gloves that hung from the black strings, he had over his shoulder Kyle got a rough idea.

Newfront didn't have a proper gym but people could use the high school gym facilities when school hours were over. Kyle wondered if Chaska was a proper boxer or if he did kickboxing. For some reason, he couldn't picture Chaska boxing, but he could picture the young man kickboxing. Kyle wasn't too self-aware about how much he was staring until Chaska and him locked eyes. Kyle felt his throat choke up as he looked at the man's lean face and sharp features. He found himself staring a little too long at the man's lips. His top lip had the perfect cupid's bow.

He's handsome. Kyle blinked, surprised at his own thoughts. He looked away quickly, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the brown tiles.

Why did I think that? He wondered. He was so in his head that he didn't notice when Chaska walked up to the counter to stand by his side. He went still at the sound of the man's soft voice when he asked his mother a question.

"Did you move the fridge?"

"Yes, it's at the other end," the old woman said. Kyle looked up just in time to see Chaska walking away with Otis hot on his tail.

Stupid. Kyle scolded himself as he thought of his behavior. They most definitely came off as odd to Chaska, and it was embarrassing.

Chaska came up to the counter with two ice creams and a jar of yogurt after a while. Kyle watched him and stiffened up again when the young man turned to him.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask, can I get this for Otis?" the teacher asked, raising up one of the ice cream sticks.

Kyle nodded. Use your words. He reminded himself. "Yes, yeah," he mumbled just high enough to be audible.

"You can't have cookies anymore, though," Kyle said, turning his attention to his son. The toddler frowned, but he seemed to are with the terms and conditions.

"Yes, too many sweet things are bad for you." Chaska smiled, and that alone was enough to make Kyle look away. He hadn't seen Chaska smile before. That was new.

"It's nice to see that you're getting along with him," Kyle's mother said, making Kyle look over at her as she handed Chaska his bag and bend down a little to hand Otis his ice cream. "I'm Otis" grandmother in case you didn't know," the lady explained, making Chaska let out a small 'oh' as he nodded his head. He turned to look at Kyle, and then at his mother, as he seemed to put to obvious together.

"Yes, it's nice to see that you two are getting along," Kyle said, realizing that he was just standing there. He was the one who was supposed to be thanking Chaska, not his mother. "Thank you," he added, getting the words out before Chaska could leave.

"I'm just doing my job," the younger man said, patting Otis' head before making to turn.

"Wait!" Kyle said, causing Chaska to turn back. "Are you heading to the high school? It's on our way, I could drop you off," Kyle offered, and Chaska stared at him.

"Please, let me do that. It's the least I could do," Kyle insisted when Chaska didn't give him an answer.

"Alright."

Without another thought, Kyle picked up his bag of groceries from the counter before urging Chaska and Otis to follow him.

"Is Chaska coming home with us?" Otis asked as his father strapped him to his carrier seat.

"No, sorry," his father answered, making the child frown and Chaska chuckle as he got into the passenger seat up front.

Kyle got in the car soon after, and they started their drive towards the local high school.

"So, do you do kickboxing or boxing?" Kyle said in a raised voice after a few minutes of complete silence. It was unnerving to talk to his son's teacher, but the silence made him more nervous.

"Kickboxing," Chaska said. Kyle smiled a little at having guessed right. The young man turned his head to the side to stare at him. Kyle knew that it was to read his lips and give his right ear a better range, but he felt nervous under the man's gaze and just tired his best to look up ahead.

"I used to live here," Kyle said, not wanting the conversation to die even though he didn't feel too comfortable under Chaska's gaze. "I never saw you around. I wonder why," he rambled, wishing Chaska would jump in and save him the words.

"When?"

There it was.

"I left Newfront twenty-four years ago after high school," Kyle said, and laughter filled the car. It was Chaska's laughter. Chaska was laughing—that was something new. Kyle's throat clogged up again as his stomach turned. He didn't understand the feeling, and he didn't understand his need to catalog Chaska's firsts with him either.

"I was a toddler when you left," Chaska said, getting his words past his chuckling.

"How old are you?" Kyle asked.

"Twenty-two, you?"

"Forty-two."

"Oh."

The car went silent. Chaska didn't say anything after that, and Kyle wasn't sure what to say either. The rest of the drive to the school gym was quiet. Otis had slept off after finishing his ice cream, and the only noise was coming from the dirt roads outside.

"We're here," Kyle said, pulling the car to a stop just outside the school gates.

"Thanks for the ride," Chaska said as he got down from the car.

"No problem," Kyle said, feeling the side of his lip tug into a smile when the younger man shut the door and waved at him. He didn't start driving home until Chaska had disappeared behind the school gate with his gym back and kickboxing gloves.

Throughout the ride home Kyle tried to arrange his thoughts. He had finally gotten to thank his son's teacher properly, but he felt more anxious than before after everything.

He started to think that maybe he felt that way because of how their conversation in the car had just stopped, but a part of Kyle knew that was a small part of it. His anxiousness had more to do with his own weird reactions to everything—to Chaska.