by Abby Jimenez
She set my wineglass in front of one of the chairs at the table and grabbed some plates from the cabinet. “She’s nineteen. No idea who the father is. Gave the mom thing about a week and then came over, dropped Grace off to run an errand, and never came back.” She paused. “She struggles with some addiction issues.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, taking a seat in one of the chairs.
She set down napkins and silverware. “Thankfully she didn’t use while she was pregnant. She was doing really well. She’d been in recovery for almost two years before this relapse.”
They’d given us butter for the bread, but Vanessa pulled out two plates and poured olive oil on them. Then she drizzled them with balsamic, ground fresh pepper over it, and tore open two Parmesan packets and sprinkled it on top.
I rummaged our to-go containers from the bag and served her marsala onto her plate and set it down in front of her seat. “So who were the other two?”
“My half brother, Brent. And my dad.”
I stopped and looked at her. “That was your dad?”
She shrugged. “He wants to see his granddaughter. I don’t really blame him—but I’m not letting Annabel in here when she’s high. He didn’t mean to bump my lip, by the way. He sorta fell into the door and it hit my mouth. Anyway, I have no idea what I’m doing with this baby. Half the time I think I’m just messing everything up.” She sat down and scooted in her chair.
“Well, you should know that the reason she was crying this morning was because there was a plastic tag fastener stuck to her pajamas. It had nothing to do with you or your lack of parenting skills.”
She stared at me. “Are you freaking serious?”
I opened the lid on my ravioli and served it onto my plate. “I never lie about plastic tag fasteners.”
Vanessa burst into laughter. A sparkling smile lit her face. “Oh my God.” She shook her head. “Poor Grace.”
“I only thought to look because I can’t stand tags on my clothes. I figured that might be it. It was easy to miss.”
“Well, I’m grateful you showed up.” She hovered her fork over her food. “You know, you’re kind of a legend around here.”
I cut a ravioli in half. “Really. Why’s that?”
“You’re the sexy single guy in this building. And you’re all brooding and aloof. You have that whole smoldering alpha male thing going on. You came over here all like ‘give me the baby,’” she said with a hard face in a fake male voice.
I snorted. I was neither aloof nor brooding. At least I didn’t think I was. But then when I thought about it, I didn’t really talk to anyone in this building. Not because I wanted to be rude. I just left early and came home late and was usually in a hurry.
I made a silent vow to smile more in the hallways.
She took a bite of mushroom, chewed, and swallowed. “They’re not going to believe I’m actually hanging out with you.”
“Who’s they?” I asked, picking up my wineglass.
“The ladies.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The ladies?”
“Yeah. There’s the yoga lady in 303. There’s the super-early-morning jogger lady in 309. And the two lesbian ladies in 302—who by the way want to see if they can have some of your sperm.”
I started to choke.
“They’re family planning,” she said, going on. “They told me to ask you if you’d be open to it if I ever met you, seeing as how we’re next-door neighbors and all. But don’t worry, I told them it was a long shot. I mean, you can’t just come at a complete stranger like, ‘Can I have some sperm?’ I was like, ‘Come on, guys, at least buy the man dinner first,’” she said out of the side of her mouth.
I coughed into my fist, my eyes watering. “Thanks?”
“You’re welcome. I mean, I don’t blame them. If I was in the market for sperm, I’d probably want to ask you too. You’re obviously intelligent. Good bone structure, and green eyes are very nice.”
I cleared my throat and took a large swallow of wine. Well, at least I had that going for me.
She grinned. “So, tell me about yourself. Are you the sexy single guy in this building? Or are you dating someone? We should put this rumor to rest.”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “I did have a girlfriend. Rachel.”
“Did? What happened?”
Normally I wouldn’t volunteer the details of my love life. Especially to a stranger. But I don’t know what it was, I just didn’t feel like filtering. Maybe because Vanessa didn’t seem to feel like filtering.
“We met on a dating app eight months ago. She lives in Seattle. She’s also married. I found out this morning.”
She sucked air through her teeth. “Ouch. That sucks.” She looked genuinely sorry to hear this news. “So was it serious with you guys?”
“It was the most serious relationship I’ve had in a while,” I said honestly.
“Are you gonna get back out there? Fire up the dating app?”
I laughed dryly. “No. I’m officially done dating for the foreseeable future.”
I’d had enough. At least for now. I was completely and utterly drained. I wouldn’t say I was heartbroken—we hadn’t been together long enough for that. But I was hurt and disappointed and seriously questioning my ability to trust people. To say I was emotionally unavailable at this point would be an understatement.
She changed the subject. “So you own the building?”
“I do. A management company runs it for me. I don’t deal with any of the tenants. Actually, I offered your apartment to my assistant, Becky, before you rented it.”
“Was that the woman who brought you the dog?”
“You saw her?” I asked.
“I heard talking. I looked through the peephole. She’s pretty. You guys ever date?”
I shook my head. “No, we’re just colleagues.”
“Why? Does she have a boyfriend or something?”
I scoffed. “Sometimes.”
“She never wanted to date you?”
“Not that I’m aware. And the feeling was mutual.”
“Well, she must have some Herculean self-control.” She waved her fork over my chest. “I mean, you’re not exactly a hard sell. This body looks like you just got out of prison.”
I snorted. She just said whatever popped into her head, didn’t she?
“What about you?” I asked. “You said you don’t date.”
She sighed dramatically. “Well, the women in my family have a tendency to die young. I figure it’s not really fair to make someone bury me, so single it is.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Would you like to elaborate on that?”
She shook her head. “Nope, not really.”
“Okay. So what do you do?”
“I’m a YouTuber.”
I drew my brows down. “A what?”
“A video blogger? I have a travel channel. Basically I go places and I make videos about it.”
She started cutting her chicken. I noticed she was having a hard time with the knife. Her right hand didn’t seem to be gripping properly. She was getting the job done though so I didn’t ask if she needed help.
“And how do you get paid for that?” I asked, looking away, not wanting to be rude. “Sponsors?”
“Yup. That and people pay to run ads during my videos. I also do appearances at cons and stuff. I get a percentage from products I sell on my Instagram and a lot of resorts invite me out for free in exchange for vlogging my experience.”
“Huh. So where have you been?”
She shrugged. “Everywhere. I’ve traveled the world. I’ve been on a safari in Uganda and on a gondola in Venice. I’ve climbed volcanos and ridden a donkey up a mountain in Greece. You name it, I’ve done it.” She skewered her chicken and took a bite.
“Wow. How’d you get into that?”
She chewed and swallowed. “Well, my sister Melanie got sick when she was twenty-seven. She died less than two years later. Afterward, I decided that sta
rting on my twenty-sixth birthday, I was going to travel the world like I had one good year left to do it. So I started a GoFundMe, liquidated my meager 401(k), and got ready to go. And right before I left, I made a video about what I planned to do and that went viral. The rest is history.”
“Can I check out your channel?” I asked.
“Sure. It’s called Social Butterfly.”
I’d never heard of it. But then I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d been on YouTube.
“And what did you do before that?”
She shook her head. “I don’t tell anyone that.”
I arched an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
“I make people earn it.” She smiled. “It’s too good to just give away.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind.” I poked at my food. “You must enjoy your current job. I’ve always wanted to do more traveling.”
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Do it. What’s stopping you?”
I laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I don’t fly, for one. And life.”
“Life is no excuse,” she said. “You should always have an adventure lined up. Having something to look forward to is tantamount to happiness.”
I cut another ravioli in half. “Oh yeah?”
She looked at me matter-of-factly. “Yeah. Even if you have no money or time or the weather is bad, you can still live an exciting life if you try.”
“Okay,” I said. “How? Give me an example.”
She set her fork down. “All right. Today, for example. The weather’s bad, so play hide-and-seek in this building. Or poke around in all its nooks and crannies.”
I gave her an amused look.
“What? I’m serious. This building is so cool. I mean, I know you own it, but have you actually ever explored it?”
“Of course. It was a flour company in the late 1800s. There was a loading dock for the train where the lobby is now. It’s one of the things I loved about this property. They put flooring over the railroad tracks in the public areas, but if you go into the boiler room, it’s still there.”
She beamed. “I looove this building. Did you know the broom closet in the lobby by the mailboxes has the original brick where the workers for the mill graffitied their names?”
I hadn’t known that…
“You can pick a name and google him. See how he lived.” She went back to eating. “You can always figure out a way to have fun. Even if you can’t go anywhere.”
Huh.
I bet she was good at her job. She had this bottomless-energy thing about her. Something perky and shiny, the thing news anchors pretend to have on air.
“So that’s why I don’t really see you around,” I said. “You’re gone a lot.”
“Oh, I’m around.” She gave me a wry smile. “You probably just weren’t looking.”
Grace started making noises from her swing. Vanessa got up and grabbed a bottle from the dishwasher. I watched her as she had her back to me. She had a nice ass. A nice everything, actually.
I tore my eyes away from Vanessa leaning against the counter to get formula from a cabinet. “How old are you?” I asked, looking for something to talk about.
“Twenty-eight.” She measured formula with a scoop. “How tall are you?”
“Six-two.”
“So tall,” she said, filling the bottle with water. She twisted her lips into a smile. “If I need something from a high cabinet, can I text you to come grab it for me? Or would that be abusing my new phone number privileges?”
I chuckled. “Sure.”
“And I have a hard time with jar lids. Weak hands.” She wiggled her fingers. “Can I count on you for that too?”
“Why not.”
“Sweeeet,” she said, scooping formula into the bottle. “I’m going to do that, you know.”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and nodded at the swing. “I’ll feed her. You eat.”
She shook the bottle with her finger over the tip. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I got up to wash my hands and joined her by the sink. “You just have to show me how to do it.”
“You’ve never fed a baby?” she asked, looking up at me.
I dried my hands on a paper towel. “I’ve never done anything with a baby. This is the first baby I’ve ever held.”
“Really? Well, you’re a natural.”
I walked to the swing, leaned down, picked up Grace the way Vanessa had showed me this morning, and sat back at the table.
Vanessa crouched next to me. “It’s pretty easy.” She put the bottle in Grace’s mouth and the baby sucked on it hungrily, making little cooing noises. “Just keep it angled like this so she doesn’t get bubbles in her stomach.”
Vanessa’s head was just a few inches under my nose as she leaned over Grace with the bottle and again I thought about how good her hair smelled. It was better without the vomit.
I took the bottle, and Vanessa sat back down to her food.
“Hey, do you wanna watch a movie?” she asked. “Here? After we eat? I feel like I’m in solitary confinement. I am bored out of my mind, and I just wanna hang out with somebody.”
Now that I’d torn off the Band-Aid and come over, I realized I wouldn’t mind staying. I’d officially had about all I could handle of the Keller transcripts for one day. And frankly I didn’t love the idea that I’d be going back to my empty apartment in a few minutes to sit around dwelling on the Rachel/Mom/Richard situation until I got tired enough to go to sleep. Why not.
“Sure,” I said, looking at Grace but talking to Vanessa.
“Yay! So what do you want to watch?”
“Whatever you want is fine,” I said, smiling down at Grace. She was falling asleep while she ate, nodding off with milk pooling around the sides of her little mouth.
She was so small. Trusting.
I’d never really been sure I wanted kids. I’d always been worried I’d screw it up. That I’d somehow fail them. I hadn’t really had a good childhood myself. My parents had a tumultuous marriage. Then Dad left, and I’d practically raised myself from that point on. I hadn’t exactly been shown a good example.
I rubbed Grace’s tiny pink cheek with a knuckle.
But maybe being a father was like this. Just being there and doing what needed to be done, one small task at a time until they added up to something good.
Maybe if you started at the beginning and stuck around…
Vanessa picked up the remote. “I know exactly what we should watch. You cannot go wrong with The Office, even though you’ve probably seen it a million times.”
“I’ve never seen it,” I said.
She blanched. “You’ve never— Are you serious?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “Where have you been? How do you understand memes?”
“Memes are not really a large part of my day-to-day operations.”
She blinked at me. “Oh my God. This is…Okay, you know what?” She waved a hand. “We’re gonna set this right. We’re going to start now so that starting tomorrow you won’t have to walk around and tell people you’ve never seen The Office like some kind of lunatic.”
I laughed. Again.
* * *
Three hours later, I was standing to stretch. The TV was asking us if we were still watching, and I hoped we were. I liked the show—and Vanessa was easy to be around. She was one of those people who just sort of rolled with things. The kind you didn’t have to work at hanging out with.
Grace spit out her pacifier, and I leaned down over her swing and put it back in her mouth.
I’d changed my first diaper today. I was here, might as well help give Vanessa a break. She showed me how to do it, and I took the next changing off her hands.
Vanessa was holding Harry Puppins.
About an hour into the show my conscience got the better of me and I went to go get him. I figured as long as someone was holding him, he wouldn’t have any accidents. Vanessa had been more than happy to do it. Apparently she loved dogs.
He
bit her when she picked him up.
He didn’t have any teeth. It didn’t hurt, but it was the thought that counts. I was worried it would put her off, but she couldn’t stop laughing. She said he was like an angry potato with legs.
“So is this your bedroom?” she asked, pointing to the wall at the head of her bed.
“Yup.”
The headboard of my bed was pushed up against the same wall. We were separated at night by only about a foot of bricks and plaster. It was a little weird to think about.
I had a retroactive twinge of relief that Vanessa hadn’t heard me having sex with Rachel through the wall. I didn’t realize they were so thin.
Vanessa had been renting this unit for only three months. When Rachel came out in September and October, we’d stayed in the hotel her company put her up in. And this trip she was on her period and didn’t want to have sex. That was her preference, not mine. I couldn’t care less what time of the month it was. But now I wondered if she’d been honest about that excuse. Probably not. She must have come out here knowing she wanted to break up with me and she was trying to make some space between us.
We hadn’t slept with each other since early October. It was almost December.
I should have known something was wrong.
I couldn’t stop looking for all the signs. Scouring the last few months for red flags or things I should have picked up on. We were both busy. She was a software engineer and just like me she worked long days and irregular hours, so not being able to reach her wasn’t exactly eyebrow raising. But it was hard not to be angry at myself for not noticing something wasn’t right.
I had to shake it off and try to focus on something else before I let it drag my mood back down.
I looked around Vanessa’s studio. She had a wall of art. “That’s a nice photograph,” I said, nodding at a framed picture. It was a copper-colored dog on the shore of a lake. Looked like up north.
She closed the space between us to stand next to me. “It’s not a photograph. It’s a painting.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really.”
“Yeah. I got it at a MADD fund-raiser. I had to pledge a fortune for it. It’s a Sloan Monroe.”
“Oh, Jaxon Waters’s wife. I know her,” I said, studying it.