A sharp noise jolted me out of sleep, George flailing next to me in his bed.

The sheet had gotten wrapped around us, and through my brain fog, I wondered how it happened—and what the hell the noise was that'd woken me up.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I have no idea, but it doesn’t sound good,” George said, scrambling out of the bed and reaching for his robe hanging on the back of the bedroom door.

“What if it’s Parker?” I asked, my heart sinking as I thought about it. If it was, I didn’t know what I would do. Parker knew George and I had gone home together, but that didn’t mean I wanted to face him.

“It probably is, just stay put. I’ll go out and look, don’t worry,” George said as he threw the robe around his naked body. Just seeing him that way again, lit up from the sun peeking in through the bedroom window, made me want to repeat our romp. I still couldn’t believe we'd done what we'd done, and that it'd been as good as it had, but seeing him that way reminded me that it was all a reality—as was Parker being right outside his bedroom door.

George stepped out and closed the door behind him quickly. I heard him call out to Parker, but couldn’t understand the rest of their conversation. It just sounded like muffled noise. All I could think about was having to face Parker again, having to look in his eyes while knowing he knew what happened here the night before. It was embarrassing, the same feeling I'd gotten when I walked in on my parents doing it as a teen. That must’ve been what this was like for Parker, and just the thought of it made my throat tighten, and my face burn.

George came back in with a smirk, shaking his head.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You ain't gonna believe this,” he said as he stripped off his robe again and climbed back into bed with me.

“Tell me, I’m coming unglued here,” I said.

“He’s cooking breakfast for us,” he laughed.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked.

“No, definitely not kidding. Can’t you smell it?” George asked. Now that he mentioned it, and now that I stopped to take a whiff, I did smell something—but it wasn't good. It smelled like something burning, like whatever Parker was trying to cook had gone wrong.

“Has he ever cooked for you before?” I asked. He looked at me with his brows furrowed and shook his head.

“No, why?” George asked.

“Because I think whatever he’s trying to cook for you might burn the house down if we don’t get to it first,” I said, and George cursed under his breath before he jumped out of bed and put his robe back on. He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and came back a few moments later with another robe, which he tossed at me. I slipped into it, and together we stepped outside.

There was a thick haze of smoke hanging in the air, and its source was unmistakable. While it was cute that Parker had tried to make breakfast for us, it apparently hadn’t gone the way he planned. I looked at George, he looked back at me, and we ran to the kitchen.

Inside, Parker stood in front of the stove, smoke pouring out of the pan he had on top of it. George dashed to Parker, pushed him away from the stove, switched off the burner, and threw the pan into the sink where he turned on the faucet and let the water run nonstop. The pan sizzled and cracked, but the smoke only got worse thanks to the condensation.

“You trying to send us all to hell or something, boy?” George shouted at Parker, who recoiled and backed away from him.

“I’m sorry, I just was trying to make some scrambled eggs for us, I thought it would be nice,” Parker said. George opened his mouth to fire back at Parker, but I stepped between them and put my hand on Parker's shoulder.

“That was nice of you,” I said with a smile. I didn’t blame George for being angry, but now really wasn’t the time to scold the poor kid. After all, he'd woken up to his dad in bed with his band teacher. No doubt he was just looking for a way to distract himself, and I couldn’t be upset with him for that.

George eyed me, looking angry as hell, and I fired a look right back at him.

“You know what? Why don’t I give you a hand and we can try this again,” I said. Parker looked down at the floor, seemingly defeated, but he shrugged his approval nonetheless. I shooed George out of the kitchen and led Parker back to the stove. “Have you ever cooked before?” I asked Parker, and he shook his head.

“Not to worry. It’s a lot like playing an instrument. There's a rhythm to it,” I said. I looked over my shoulder to find George leaning against the bedroom door frame, watching us both. He shook his head at me, but I winked at him to convince him what I was doing was right. It would be a learning opportunity for Parker, and a way for all three of us to bond.

We'd have to bond because the thing was, if whatever was going on between George and me was going to continue, it would inevitably involve Parker. No matter what happened between George and me, we had to keep that in mind, always had to keep Parker at the center of everything.

More than anything else, my career included, I didn’t want to put Parker in an awkward position. He'd already been through enough with his parents separating, and he needed stability. The three of us would have to work together, no matter what.

“Are there any more eggs left in the fridge?” I asked Parker, and he went to it without answering, pulled out the carton, and passed it to me. There were only six eggs, but that would have to do. Between the three of us, that meant two eggs each, which wasn’t a huge serving, but it was a good enough start.

“That’ll be fine. Why don’t you grab me a bowl from the cupboard so we can crack these open?” I asked, and Parker went to the nearby cupboard and pulled out a giant glass bowl. He handed it to me, and I smiled at him, patted him on the back. It felt strange to be teaching a sixteen-year-old boy how to cook, but it reminded me that Parker’s growing up had been anything but ordinary. He needed somebody like me, somebody like George, to show him how to do the adult sort of things he hadn’t learned how to do.

“Have you ever cooked an omelet?” I asked.

“No,” Parker answered. “Is it difficult?”

“No, not at all. George, do you have any ingredients we could put in them?” I asked, trying to include him. George sighed and went to the fridge, rummaged around, and came back with half an onion and even less of green pepper. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. It was better than nothing at all, that was for sure.

“Thank you,” I said. “Do you have a cutting board and a knife we can use to chop this up?” I asked George and he went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a small cutting board and a dull looking knife. Evidently, George didn’t do much cooking himself, but I wasn’t surprised by that. Most bachelors didn’t.

“Watch carefully, Parker,” I said and set the onion's flat side down on the cutting board. I sliced it into four sections and lined them all up. “Now I’m going to dice these, it’s easy, just watch,” I said and took the knife to the four quarters of the onion, chopping until the pieces were fine slivers.

“See? Easy as pie,” I said.

“You make everything look easy,” Parker said dejectedly.

“Well, we all have to start somewhere. I bet not even your dad was good at this kind of stuff when he was your age, right George?” I asked, and George nodded, though I couldn’t tell whether he was acting or meant it.

“Clay’s right, I was a disaster in the kitchen. To tell you the truth, I still am, that’s why I’m letting you two handle it,” George said, and I smiled at him. Somehow I didn’t think he was lying.

“Okay, Parker, do you think you can do the same thing with the green pepper?” I asked.

“I can try, but I don’t know if you should trust me with a knife,” he said, and George and I both laughed.

“It’s okay, I’ll watch and let you know if you’re doing anything wrong,” I said. I passed Parker the knife, handle first, and he took it before staring down at it uncomfortably. “Go on, it’s okay,” I said, still smiling. He cut the green pepper into four quarters like I'd done with the onion, so far so good, but as soon as he tried to start dicing, things fell apart. The pieces were erratic and didn’t match, but I didn’t dare say anything. He’d done a pretty good job overall, and it didn’t matter if it was perfect or not.

“Is that okay?” Parker asked.

“Perfect,” I said. "Now we need to get the eggs going. Have you ever beat eggs before?” I asked. Parker shook his head, another fact that didn't surprise me. I cracked the eggs on the bowl he’d already given me, disposed of the shells, and reached for a spoon from a nearby drawer.

“We also need some cream. Do you have milk or sour cream in the fridge?” I asked George.

“I’ve got some milk, but I don’t know if it’s still good,” George said. He went to the fridge and pulled it out, opened it, took a whiff, and shrugged. “Seems good enough to me,” he said and passed me the jug. I poured some of it into the eggs and began stirring.

“See, this is easy too. I’ll leave the rest to you, just stir it up as good as you can until it’s more of a mixture than a lumpy mess,” I said and passed the spoon to Parker. He tried to imitate my stirring but ended up splashing the mixture all over the front of his shirt. He seemed annoyed, but he kept going, almost like he wanted to prove himself to me. I looked over my shoulder to find George smiling at me, and I smiled back.

It was strange, the kind of thing an average family probably did every morning, but there was nothing ordinary about this family.

Family. The word stuck in my head like a catchy song, repeating over and over again as I watched Parker trying desperately to wash the egg mix off his shirt with a damp rag.

Were we a family now? Maybe not, but it felt like we were heading in the right direction.

Maybe it was possible; we could be the kind of family I'd always wanted if we worked at it. It wouldn't be easy for any of us, but then again, nothing else had been so far. People say that the best things in life are worth fighting for, and as I watched Parker fight with the eggs, I realized wanted to give it my best.

We didn’t talk much as we cooked the rest of breakfast, and though the omelets turned out to be pretty small and unsatisfying, Parker seemed to be happy he'd done something for himself. We set the table, plates, forks, napkins and all, and sat down to eat together.

“I think this is the first time we've had a meal together, or at least a home-cooked one, huh Parker?” George asked and Parker laughed with a shrug.

“Dad doesn’t like to cook much,” Parker said.

“I’m not surprised,” I said, and George fixed me with a look. “What? Do you expect me to lie?”

“That’s fine, just wait until I have the chance to get you back,” George said, throwing his wadded up napkin at me. Parker chuckled, and I threw it back. George smiled at me, looking at me like I was the best thing that'd ever happened to him—the feeling was mutual.

My dad came to my mind, the way he'd disapproved of my choices, but while I sat sharing breakfast with two guys who'd grown as significant to me as my own family, I realized how little it mattered what my parents thought. If I hadn’t gone to school for music, if I hadn't decided to take a job at Beauclaire High, I would never have met Parker, and he would never have led me to George.

For better or worse, the two of them had changed my life, and I didn’t want to go back to the way things were before. It was impossible for me to say how our relationship might look going forward, but the only way to find out would be to give it a try. I'd never felt this way about anyone before, much less two people, and try as I might, I couldn’t imagine my life without either Parker or George.

“So, how did I do?” Parker asked, breaking the silence between us as George and I stared and smiled at each other.

“Perfectly,” I said, and Parker beamed.

“I’m glad you two are together,” he said and immediately my face caught fire.

“Really?” I asked, looking over at George. He seemed like he wanted to melt into the floor, but I couldn’t blame him.

“Yeah. Dad’s happy, I can see it, and that’s really all that matters. It’s just nice to see people being themselves and being happy,” Parker said.

“Well, I can’t speak for your dad, but at least in my experience, it’s always best to be who you are if you want to be happy,” I said.

“Clay’s right,” George agreed. “There ain’t a damn thing to be gained by pretending to be something or someone you aren’t.”

Parker fell silent for a few moments and toyed at his omelet with his fork. Though he hadn’t said anything, the look on his face said it all. There was something he wanted to say but was afraid to do it.

“Something on your mind?” I asked.

“Can I tell you guys something?” Parker asked.

“Of course, you can. You can tell me anything,” George said and pat Parker on the shoulder with a smile. “I mean, I’m your dad, if you can’t tell me stuff, then who the hell else have ya got?” Parker smiled and set his fork down.

“I think I’m gay,” he said and George squeezed Parker’s shoulder.

“Well, I guess that makes two and a half of us, doesn’t it?” George asked. Parker rolled his eyes and groaned while I tried to keep my laughter to myself.

“That was easily one of the worst jokes I’ve ever heard,” Parker said. “But what are you saying?”

“I’m bi,” George said. I reached for his hand under the table. He took it and rested it on his thigh, massaging the back of my knuckles with his thumb.

“Oh,” Parker said. “Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool,” George said, his face blushing. Neither of them seemed to know what to say or how to end the conversation.

“How many people do you know who have conversations like this at the breakfast table on a Sunday morning?” I asked and Parker laughed.

“Well, I’m not gonna lie, if more people did, we’d probably live in a much better world,” he said.

“Amen,” George said, pounding the table with his free hand and making the silverware rattle. I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. A father and son, who barely knew each other, had just revealed something deeply personal about themselves to one another like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

I loved it, and I felt right at home with both of them. It wasn’t a surprise that Parker approved of me, not really, but it still felt amazing to hear him say it. There were a number of reasons why he might not’ve been okay with it—our age difference and me being his teacher, for starters—but he didn’t seem to care.

It was amazing.