by Karina Halle
She nods and picks up her purse from the counter. For a moment she looks like she’s going to cry.
“I’ll text you as soon as I’ve got something lined up,” I tell her and she gives me a quick smile before she walks out the door and closes it behind her.
The apartment is silent for a few moments and I can’t even hear Ava playing in the bedroom. Then comes her small voice, “Mommy?”
I get up, feeling extremely old all of a sudden, and shuffle over to the bedroom. I lean against the doorway and see Ava putting her doll in her bed. She looks up at me, full-cheeked and proud.
“See, I take care of her. Like you take care of me.”
It takes all that I have not to break down in front of her.
***
I spent last night in a daze, cuddling with Ava on the couch watching her favorite shows and trying not to think about anything except Dora the Explorer’s terrible haircut and fashion sense. After Ava went to bed, I finished half a bottle of wine, flipped through Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar and avoided texts from Steph and Kayla, also letting a call from my mom go to voice mail. They didn’t know anything and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. My father, before my mom left him and he jetted across the world to India to do charity work (wish I could have done that after Phil ditched me) used to tease me about my pride. My mom and I both suffer from it, never admitting our faults, never asking for help.
But now in the cold, grey light of day, as I’m able to sleep in for a bit and explain to Ava that her mother will be home with her for the next while, I know I have to face the music. I need to get my life on track as best I can. If I can do it without anyone’s help or anyone feeling sorry for me, then all the better.
I spend the morning going through Craigslist and a bunch of other job sites before the anxiety becomes too much and I take Ava to a playground in Little Saigon. After, we get Pho and I keep checking my phone, hoping to hear back about something already. It’s maddening applying for jobs. Each time I read a job description that I fall in love with, I become obsessed with it. All my hopes go riding on it as if the job will make my life a million times better, as if I even have a chance. Not being able to put Rusk on my résumé really put my career a step back, too.
After the fifth text gets ignored, Steph finally calls me just as I’m putting Ava down for a nap. I close the door to the room, take in a deep breath and answer the phone.
“Hey,” I say brightly. “You never call.”
“Because you usually answer your texts,” she says quickly. “Where have you been?”
“Here,” I tell her.
“Like in California, or somewhere more specific?”
“Just…here.”
“Are you okay?”
This is why I didn’t want to talk to Steph. She usually has a sixth sense about things.
“Mmmm.” A non-committal answer is best.
“You’re still coming out tonight, right?”
“Well…”
“Nicola!” she says. “I haven’t seen you for weeks.”
That’s true, though that’s more on her end. She’s been super busy with her new online business. She used to run her store, Fog and Cloth, in a bricks and mortar location but went online to go with the times. But, as it was for the company I used to work for, it hasn’t been easy. It’s very competitive and she’s a two-woman show so far, having only one person working for her in the warehouse. I rarely see her, especially coming into the summer season.
“Look,” I say, pushing my hair behind my ears and eyeing the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. I’d give my left boob to have a glass right now but I wouldn’t dare with Ava under my care. “Something’s come up and I don’t have Lisa to sit right now.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But I want to know.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you always want to know.” I take in a deep breath. “Okay, promise not to make a big deal about it?”
“Yeah…”
“Actually promise you won’t talk about it? At all.”
Silence. “Maybe.”
“Then I’m not telling.”
“Oh, come the fuck on.”
“Whoa, language, angry lady. Your husband is rubbing off on you.”
At that she giggles and I have to roll my eyes again. I believe that even if the person can’t see you roll your eyes, they can tell.
“Never mind,” I quickly say, “you pervert.”
“Seriously,” she says. “I won’t talk about it. Just tell me.”
And so I launch into it. To her credit, she doesn’t say a word until I’ve caught her up to speed, breathless and angry all over again.
“Wow,” she says. “That…well, I won’t talk about it. But…seriously?”
“Stephanie,” I warn.
She groans. “Okay, fine. But you have to come out tonight. You can’t be there alone.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear the part about me not having a babysitter.”
“Bring Ava along!”
I almost laugh. “Yeah, right. To a bar?”
“Well, maybe not the bar, but we’re meeting at our place first for an hour or two, for pre-drinks. At least you can come to that.”
“I can’t even afford a cab and my car is still messed up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I tell her, feeling my hackles go up.
“I know, but still. I’ve got you, okay? That’s what friends are for. I’ll get a car to you and you’ll come here and we’ll have a nice time with friends and we won’t discuss anything you don’t want to. Please. Don’t make me beg.”
“But I like it when you beg.”
“So does Linden.”
“Okay, TMI, I’m hanging up now.”
She giggles again. “Sorry. All righty, be ready at 6pm. We’ll have appies here so don’t worry about dinner either and I’ll fix something up for Ava. And by that, I mean Linden will since he’s the only one who knows how to cook. See you soon and hang in there. You’re going to be okay.”
I hang up the phone not at all wanting to be around people, even if they are my friends. But I also don’t want to have a staring contest with that half-drunk bottle of wine either and spend the evening wallowing in feelings of panic and inadequacy.
Luckily as I take a quick shower and get ready for the evening, I feel my spirit perk up a bit. It’s probably because I haven’t gone out in a really long time and there’s something about dressing up that makes me feel like I’m in my element. I bring out the waves in my hair, squeeze myself into a pair of skinny jeans and a white fluttery, off-the-shoulder top, add a pop of red lipstick and I’ve got this sultry señorita look going on, even though with the freckles on my nose and my English rose skin, I’m the furthest thing from it.
Ava is beyond excited to go to an “adult party.” She seems to copy my lead by spending a lot of time picking out an outfit, even though in the end she wants to wear her SpongeBob pillowcase. I put her in a purple dress instead and we head downstairs to wait for the cab to show up, booster seat in tow.
When I see a navy blue Mercedes pull to the curb, I wonder if Stephanie ordered the priciest Uber in town.
The car parks and I hold Ava’s hand, remaining at the door to my building until I know for sure they’re there for us. When the driver’s side opens and a tall gentleman in a suit gets out, I know it can’t be for me. No Uber driver dresses that well.
That is, until I see his face.
Bram. Fucking. McGregor.
I blink. My cheeks grow hot and I’m wishing this is all a huge mistake. Bram can’t be here for me, can he? I mean, the last time I saw Bram was at Steph and Linden’s wedding and even though we shared a hot make-out session, it wasn’t long before he found another pair of lips to hook up with. And by “not long,” I mean minutes.
“Nicol
a,” he says in his Scottish accent, looking incredibly dapper as he leans across his spiffy car. “Are you ready?”
Oh, fuck. He is here for me.
I nearly drop the booster seat.
I squeeze Ava’s hand and take in a deep breath. I want to kill Stephanie, even though I never told her I made out with her brother-in-law, so there’s no way she could possibly know that I hate Bram with a passion.
Remember what I said about pride and how it’s something I’ve got in spades? Well, Bram bruised that far more than he could possibly know.
And now I have to get in a car with him, with my daughter, when I’m at one of the lowest moments of my life.
He eyes the heavy seat in my hands. “Do you need a hand?”
I’m this close to telling him, “Thanks, but no thanks,” and that I’ve changed my mind all together about the party. But Ava pulls me forward toward the car, as if I’ve never taught her to be aware of strangers, and says, “Come, mommy. His car is shiny.”
She’s going to get herself in a whole load of trouble when she’s older.
My eyes briefly meet Bram’s and it brings out one hell of a jackass smile from him, a smile that boils my blood.
I guess I’m going to the party with Bram McGregor.
Shit.
CHAPTER TWO
Nicola
I steady myself, throw my shoulders back and hold my head up just like I used to do in high school when I was the new girl in the halls and not accepted yet into the throngs of mean girls with inflated self-entitlement. I flash Bram a confident, albeit hella fake, smile and walk over to his car, all prepared to handle the situation with ease.
But he’s fast and he comes around the hood and right up to me, quickly taking the booster seat out of my hands. I’m prepared for him to smell like cigars and mint again, but this time it’s just something fresh and earthy like the woods after it rains.
“I can handle it,” I tell him. I can’t help but snipe at him, aware that I’m being a bit of a bitch.
He doesn’t seem to notice and before I can ask him if he knows what he’s doing, he’s opening the back door to the vehicle and strapping the seat in like a pro.
I’m almost impressed. “You always give rides to moms?”
He raises his brow. “None as beautiful as you.” He looks at Ava and crouches down to her level. “What’s your name, little one?”
“I’m not, little one,” she says, frowning. “I’m Ava. And I’m a big girl.”
He nods, his face sincere. Now looking at him in the waning daylight, he looks different than I remember six months ago. Older, I guess, though I know he has to be around thirty-five. Maybe the suit and the way it cuts to his body perfectly is making him look more mature. Maybe it’s the car. Maybe it’s the few strands of grey I can see at the temple of his thick head of dark hair. Maybe it’s because I’m sober and so is he. At least, I hope so.
“So, are you the designated driver for the night?” I ask him, picking up Ava and placing her in the booster seat. “Or did you lose a bet?”
“I never lose bets,” he says smoothly as he stands behind me. I quickly look over my shoulder and catch him checking out my ass.
“Get a good look?” I straighten up and turn around.
“Of your arse?” he asks, sticking his hands into his pockets in a boyish gesture. “Yes. But only because I know it bugs you so much. You know, anything that’s remotely sexual.”
My eyes widen and I look down at Ava. She’s completely oblivious and I carefully shut the door. “Look,” I quickly say, pointing at him. “You may think you know me from our little…meeting, but you don’t.”
He reaches out and grasps my finger in his hand. His skin is warm and surprisingly soft, but then again, even though he may have the body for it, I’m sure Bram didn’t get his money from chopping trees all day or doing hard labor.
“Hey,” he says, voice gruff, still holding onto my finger. “I know we don’t really know each other and when we last, erm, talked, well, I may have been a few sheets to the wind. But how about we start again? I’m Bram McGregor.”
He turns my hand over so that he’s now holding it in a handshake. I’m not sure I can do this as easily as he can, but I find myself saying, “Okay. I’m Nicola. Price.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Nicola Price. Can I give you a ride?”
I nod. “That would be nice.” I know my voice sounds stiff, but I guess it’s a start. The problem with my pride, though, is that it rarely lets me forget when it’s been burned.
Luckily Bram is completely genial during the drive to Linden’s apartment in Nob Hill. He spends most of it talking to Ava in the rearview mirror, asking her questions and treating her like she’s an adult. I can tell Ava adores it and by the time we’re close to Steph and Linden’s, she’s all googly-eyed over him. This is not good. Can’t she be like her mom and be suspicious of the men who smile too brightly and say all the right things?
Though I guess with Bram, he has a habit of saying all the wrong things.
“So, Nicola,” he says slowly as we wind through traffic. “You know, I don’t know much about you. Linden says you work in fashion like Stephanie.”
I did, I think bitterly but I manage to say, “Uh-huh.”
“So what’s your job?”
“What’s your job?” I ask, deflecting it back to him. Besides, I’m curious. In the past, Linden only described Bram as a playboy (or “bloody manwhore” I believe were his exact words) who didn’t do much but party it up in New York City. He moved to San Francisco a year ago, I guess to be close to Linden who had a frightful helicopter crash at the time, but I don’t know what he really does except flash those perfect teeth at people.
“I’m an apartment manager,” he says and when he sees the disbelieving look in my eyes, he goes on. “I’m serious. Well, to be more correct, I own an apartment complex in SOMA. Folsom and twelfth beside a Thai restaurant.”
He’s looking at me like I’ll know, like most newbies to the Bay Area do, like we know every Thai restaurant in town and every person called Dan.
“That couldn’t be cheap,” I say, looking back out the window as we crawl past the cars. There are so many gorgeous buildings in this city, places to die for, and over and over again I can’t help but wonder who can afford to live here. I once met an Uber driver who used to drive trucks across the country, who grew up in the city. He said back then, San Francisco was full of children. Now, you rarely see them. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better for Ava. and for me, to just move to a small town where she can have a different kind of life. Then I think about my dreams for my future, my career, and wonder if it’s okay for me to give up on them. I know it’s selfish of me not to, but I still can’t quite let go.
“Nothing in life is cheap,” Bram says but I barely hear him. I have to bring myself back into the moment and stop my head and my worries from running away on me. I came out tonight to put those on the backburner. God knows I’ll have more than enough time to worry after this.
“Am I boring you?” he asks and I turn my head to look at him.
“No. Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
My brows lift up. “I don’t think we’re at that ‘let’s tell each other what we’re thinking’ stage.”
“Not yet.”
Not ever, I think. But I don’t want to answer any more questions about myself, so I ask him to tell me more about the apartment and I force myself to listen. The more he talks about it, though, the more I see this is something he’s actually stressing a bit over. I mean, it’s hard to tell if Bram is stressed or not because he always has that charmer expression on his face like he’s always trying to get in someone’s pants, male or female. But there’s a harder glint to his eyes when he talks about the rent of the building and how much he has to charge in order to make his mortgage.
“So why did you buy it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I needed to do something.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it,” I tell him. “Rent is phenomenal in the city even in SOMA. Everyone predicted it would be the next place to become the it place. Hell, I bet the Tenderloin will turn that way soon too. Hanging with crack addicts will become the cool thing to do and hipsters will take over the street corners. And my rent will go up once again.” He shoots me a quick glance at the hardness that crept up in my voice. I try to sound breezier. “Anyway, I’m sure you bought at the right time.”
“Maybe,” he says, running his long fingers over his dark stubble. He’s got a very manly-looking chin, but I quickly chide myself for noticing. “But when I bought the place, I was hoping to…well, doesn’t matter does it? What’s done is done.”
And luckily before he has any chance to ask me about my non-existent job, we pull up in front of Steph and Linden’s building. Just as I’m lifting Ava out of the car, the doors open and Steph comes out, wobbling a bit in her strappy heels and carrying two glasses of wine.
Married life looks good on her. She’s gained some weight, but it’s all gone to her boobs, so that’s not really fair. Her hair is dyed mermaid blue (or baby blue, to be more specific) and she always looks happy and flushed like she’s just had some good sex. It’s a wonder I don’t hate her.
“Nic!” she yelps and comes speed-walking over as fast as she can without spilling the wine. She hands me a glass of red and says, “Here, drink this. We’ve got you.” She looks me deep in the eyes and I feel momentarily calmed.
And that’s why I could never hate her. She’s pretty much the best friend a girl could have.
She glances over at Bram and gives him a quick smile before beaming down at Ava.
“Ava, you look like a princess!”
“I am a princess,” she says. “You’re just a mermaid.”
Steph lifts her head in mock supremacy. “No one is just a mermaid.”
Ava seems to consider that for a moment then eyes the glass of wine in my hand. “Can I have some? I’m thirsty.”
“You’re always thirsty,” I tell her. “This is mommy’s adult drink. I’ll get you some juice when we’re inside, okay?”