The Offer

by Karina Halle

  Actually I texted him while I was in the washroom, just checking up on Ava. He answered back that she was asleep and he was watching porn in preparation for my return and that he hoped I was having fun.

  I assume the whole porn thing was a joke but part of me started fantasizing over the idea of it not being a joke at all. I mean, I know I don’t have porn on my TV, I just have basic cable, but what if I returned to the apartment, all tipsy and hot and bothered and he was there, ready to go. What would I do?

  I think I know the answer but it’s all the more reason to hook up with someone else.

  “All right girls,” I announce. “Time to move on.”

  Next, we go to a bar called Dirty Habit, which seems to be more subdued than we’d like but still stay for serval more beers and martinis before we end up at some no name place outside of Chinatown where a rowdier crowd thrives.

  Things are getting a bit spotty now. We’re sitting in a booth we managed to snag after eyeing the couple in it like a hawk for an hour. There’s a lot of dancing happening on the dance floor and it’s becoming too hard to hear what we’re each saying, so we sit in silence while the music thrums around us. I stop drinking at this point because it’s getting too expensive but before I know it there’s a guy standing in front of the table and whispering something in Kayla’s ear.

  He’s pretty hot. Athletic with big round shoulders and short dark-blond hair. A nice smile. Bright eyes. Young. Wearing a Giants shirt. Pretty standard stuff but whatever Kayla is saying to him has him eyeing me appreciatively. I would have thought she wouldn’t have been a very good wingwoman herself but she genuinely seems interested in Project #Dicks (hashtag needed) as she ended up calling it. I noted she called it plural, but I suppose there could always be one for her at the end. After all, Steph has her #dick at home.

  Okay, I think I’m drunk. The guy is leaning forward and asking me something but I can’t hear him so I just nod. Then he holds out his hand for me and takes me to the dance floor. I look behind my shoulder at the girls and I can tell Kayla is yelling “Dicks!”

  “What’s your name?” the guy asks, as he wraps his arms around my waist and brings me up to his chest.

  “All yours,” I tell him with a smirk. I can’t believe that came out of my mouth.

  And next thing I know, the guy is kissing me. He tastes like beer and his tongue is too sloppy but I’m into it. The alcohol, the music, the feeling of anonymity on the dance floor. I can be anyone, he can be anyone.

  Yet, no matter how hard I try, he can’t be Bram.

  The next thing I know, we’re in a cab. Steph is here. Flashes of Kayla. She’s making out with some guy, sitting on his lap. I’m on this Giants guy’s lap.

  Then we’re in another bar. Woodbury or something. There are two bars inside. We stay at the one that’s just for beer and shots.

  I do a lot of shots. After a while they don’t burn anymore. I make out some more with Giants guy and then he takes me into the handicapped restroom, a place I know is tailor-made for having disgusting bar bathroom sex.

  The guy lifts up my dress and asks if I’m on the pill. I am – I’ve been ever since Ava – but I lie. I don’t know why. I tell him I’m not.

  “You should be,” he says as he pulls down my underwear. “You don’t want to end up pregnant.”

  I look around the bathroom and stop at my reflection. She looks like someone else. Drunk and pretending to be unafraid. The girl in the mirror breaks my heart.

  So, I look down at the guy who is grinning up at me and I say, “Doesn’t make a difference, I already have a kid. Ava. Want to see her picture?”

  That stops him dead in his tracks. He lets go of my underwear and I widen my leg to prevent it from falling to the dingy floor. I pull it up as he stares at me with panicked eyes. He’s young, too young for the truth.

  “Look, uh,” he says, nervously running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mess around with moms. I’m only 24 and I—”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him, pulling down my dress. I’m too drunk to try and pretty up my face though, so I just punch him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Thanks for the make-out session though, it was fun.”

  “Yeah,” he says, looking sheepish now. “I had no idea. You’re just so fucking hot. And young.”

  I nod him my thanks and then unlock the door, heading back out into the bar.

  “What happened, did you score?” Kayla asks as I walk over to her and Steph. I notice her boytoy isn’t around either.

  “No,” I tell her. “And it’s fine. I just…fuck it, let’s drink everything.”

  We immediately order another round of beer and shots of Jameson and we drink until things go back to being blurry again.

  When reality starts to fade in a bit, I find myself being walked to the door of my apartment building, my arms draped over both Kayla and Steph. We go up the stairs and now I’m standing in front of my door, wobbling back and forth, trying my hardest to look as sober as possible.

  Steph goes to knock on the door but it’s already open. I guess we are being loud, giggling, in the hallway.

  Bram looks at the three of us and my God is he a sight for sore eyes.

  “We brought her home,” Steph says, motioning with her hand for Bram to get out of the way, “your shift is over.”

  “No,” I tell them as they shuffle me inside. “He can stay.”

  I know the three of them are exchanging a look over my head.

  “I’ll make sure she goes to bed,” Bram explains. “No funny business, I swear.”

  “Pinky swear?” Steph says and I turn to see her holding out her pinky to him. “You know I don’t break those.”

  Ugh, Steph and her damn pinky swears. She wouldn’t even be married to Linden if it weren’t for one.

  But Bram does a pinky swear with her.

  “No funny business,” Steph warns him.

  “Good thing I’m not funny!” I yell as I flop down on the couch. The room is beginning to spin.

  “Nic, that was, like, five minutes ago,” Steph says. She reaches over the couch and pats my head. “Do you want us to undress you because Bram’s not allowed.”

  “No one undresses me but me!” I yell, throwing my fist up into the air.

  “Have fun with her,” Steph says to Bram. “And remember, she’s untouchable. Don’t make me make your brother punch you in the junk or something.”

  Bram makes a scoffing noise. “Last time he tried to do that, I got him back good. You just ask him what happened on January 16th, 2005 and why he’ll never eat pudding again.”

  “I mean it,” Steph threatens and I hear her and Kayla leave and the door closing.

  I close my eyes too. Drift away for a moment. The spinning has stopped and there’s a beautifully cool breeze wafting over my skin.

  “I’m not supposed to touch you,” Bram’s gruff voice says and when I open my eyes, he’s crouched in front of me, a lock of dark hair over his forehead. His face is shadowy in the dark, the only light now being from my bedroom behind him.

  “That’s okay,” I mumble into the couch. “You can touch me. I say it’s fine.”

  “How about I bring you something to sleep in? Do you have a favorite nightshirt? I always see you in that top that your nipples try and poke right through.”

  “No, not the nipple shirt.”

  He goes to get up. With a lazy hand, I grip his shirt. “Don’t leave. I’m fine here.”

  “I can’t imagine you being comfortable.”

  “I’m drunk. Everything is comfortable. Except I wish I had a cheeseburger. I would eat it and use it as a pillow. Or maybe use it as a pillow and then eat it.”

  “I see.”

  I raise my brow at him. “You just want to go through my underwear.”

  “Oh, I’ve already gone through your underwear.”

  “Lies.”

  “I wore them on my head and danced around your apartment.”

  “Did you really?” I ask, totally serious
.

  “Come on,” he says grabbing my forearms. “If you want to sleep in your clothes, that’s fine. But I’m bringing you to your own bed and taking off your shoes.”

  “Can you brush my teeth too? I need clean teeth.” I let him pull me to my feet and I pitch to the left, heading right for the coffee table. But I’m in his arms, his capable arms, and he’s holding me to him.

  “You have capable arms.”

  “You have an exquisite arse,” he responds and half leads me, half drags me out of the living area and into the bedroom.

  “I like the way you say arse,” I say with a giggle, exaggerating his accent. “I like the way you say everything.”

  “I’m glad, because I foresee a lot of arse talk in the future.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I try and swat him away. “All talk and no arse pinching.”

  “You’re as tipsy as a loon,” he whispers into my ear. “Otherwise, I’d be all over you and in you. You wouldn’t be able to walk for days and I’d just be getting started.” He lays me down on my back and then starts to take off my shoes.

  “Sounds painful,” I comment, feeling my whole body turn into a jellyfish. For a moment I think I don’t even have fingers and toes or arms or legs, I’m just this squishy, nebulous blob.

  “Nebulous blob?” Bram asks.

  “You can read my mind!” I’m offended at the violation of privacy.

  “No, you just said nebulous blob,” he says. “Aloud.”

  I take in a deep breath, trying to protect my thoughts from his mind-reading abilities. Then I blurt out, “I made out with something. I mean, someone.”

  “Okay,” he says slowly, placing my shoes on the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed. “And you’re telling me this because?”

  “Because you can tell the things I did.”

  His breath hitches slightly and I roll my head to the side to peer down the bed at him. “I let a guy almost have sex with me in the bathroom. He was twenty-four and a Giants fan.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Sounds like half the boys in the city.”

  “But I didn’t have sex with him.”

  “No? Are you an Oakland A’s fan?”

  “I’m a Giants fan,” I snipe, getting defensive. “And he wasn’t you.”

  He tilts his head, studying the nebulous blob on the bed. “So why did almost have sex with him to begin with, if you knew he wasn’t me?”

  “Because,” I say, frustrated. I place my hand over my eyes. My hand smells like beer. It makes me want to vomit. “I didn’t want the last person I kissed to be you. I wanted to wipe you from my lips.”

  A heavy silence fills the room. I feel like I’m sinking further and further into the bed and I want to panic, thinking it’s swallowing me whole. Man, I haven’t been this drunk in ages. I’m going to regret absolutely everything in the morning.

  “I was the last man you kissed?” he asks, his voice light and unbelieving.

  I nod. “Yes. At the wedding.”

  “And why would you want to erase that kiss?” He puts his hand on my bare leg, just beneath the hem of my dress. I want his hand to go up higher. I want the energy to do something about it.

  I also want to pass out.

  It’s a conundrum.

  “Because,” I tell him. No use in holding back now. “I saw you with that girl later. You took her behind the bushes, to where we just were. You were a fucking asshole. Arsehole.”

  I can hear him lick his lips. It sounds so loud in this room. My heart is thumping loud too, like a hammer against a padded wall. “She was second choice,” he eventually says. “You turned me on like nothing else that night, sweetheart, I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Go home and jack off like every normal person,” I tell him snidely.

  “You know very well that it’s not always a good substitute. And certainly not for a woman like you.” He leans forward and puts his warm hand on my face, his fingers trailing down the side of my cheek. It brings out a shudder in me that I can’t suppress. “I only had eyes for you that night,” he tells me.

  He’s a liar. He had eyes for everyone that night. I roll over on my side, away from him, and the room makes this whom whom throbbing sound. I think it’s my brain. I broke it.

  “I’m serious, Nicola,” he goes on, voice gritty and soft all at once.

  Whatever. “Only an idiot would fall for a line like that,” I mutter into the sheets, sleep coming for me now, wanting me even when I’m feeling slighted.

  A pause. I feel his weight lift off the bed and know he’s standing up, bearing over me. “Even smart girls can be fools sometimes.” He sounds almost sad.

  I can hear him leave the room and for a moment I think he’s gone and something in my chest seems to be snuffed out. Then he comes back in and places a glass of water on my nightstand and shuts off the bedroom light.

  “Ava is asleep. She did fine all night. Her blood was normal. I’m sure she’ll wake you bright and early and you’ll feel like absolute shit. But if you need anything, you know where I am.”

  Then he leaves the room and leaves the apartment and I’m swept away into a spiral of beer, shame and regret.

  I wish I had the drunken courage to have made him stay.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Nicola

  “Mommy, are you dead?”

  “Almost,” I croak, attempting to open my eyes and roll over at the same time. I fail at both. The room swims and my head feels like it’s full of quicksand. My stomach churns. I don’t want to get up – I fear death by spinning room if I do – but if I don’t, I’m going to puke all over my child.

  I can’t believe she’s seeing me like this. I can’t believe I was such an idiot last night.

  Memories seep in.

  Bram.

  Bram.

  Bram dragging my drunk ass to sleep.

  Bram telling me he only had eyes for me.

  Me, who told him I made out with someone else in order to get over him.

  Shit.

  Now, I’m really going to vomit.

  I cover my mouth with my hand, throw back my covers and run into the bathroom, making it to the toilet just in time. Somewhere in the back of my head, behind all the vile grossness being evacuated from my body, I hope that Bram can’t hear me. The bathrooms seem soundproof so far – thank God – but this is definitely something I wouldn’t want him to hear.

  When I’m done and it feels like I have nothing left in my stomach, I flush the toilet a few times and stagger to my feet. The mirror shows me a hot mess. No, not hot – just a mess.

  My hair is somehow still in its updo, but it’s completely askew and fuzzy like one giant dreadlock. My fancy eyeliner is halfway up my temple and the red lipstick is a smudge around my mouth and chin. I look like a creepy clown lady.

  I look like a terrible mother.

  “Are you sickie?” Ava asks. “Do you need the ouchie now too?”

  “I’ll be alright, sweetie,” I tell her, quickly brushing my teeth and attempting to melt off my makeup with cream cleanser. I spend a few minutes trying to make everything right in the world but nothing works. I strip my clothes off, take a hot shower and then get into loose boyfriend jeans and a long grey tunic, all comfy. Anything tight today can just fuck right off.

  It’s 7:15 am, so luckily I’m not too behind on Ava’s monitoring. I prick her finger and breathe a sigh of relief when I see the numbers in the normal. Then I get set on getting some egg and avocado in her, with a small slice of wholegrain toast, part of her carb counting to keep her levels in check.

  As for me, I can’t eat and I can’t fathom drinking coffee, so I sit on the couch and finish a whole carton of orange juice, feeling sorry for myself. And all the while, I wonder if I’ll hear a knock on the door. I wonder if Bram will come over. I wonder if he still likes me – if anything – after being such a drunken fool last night.

  Even smart girls can be fools, I hear his words echo in my head. I know it’s not
what he meant, but I’m definitely feeling the fool right now.

  When lunch time rolls around, I’m only feeling better enough to have a packet of chicken noodle soup, the fluorescent yellow one that comes in the packet and contains no chicken at all. That, plus Bragg’s soy sauce, plus hot sauce, plus a hit of Worcestershire and a side of toast, and you should be feeling right as rain in no time.

  Only I’m not. I lament everything I drank, everything I did, and when Bram still doesn’t show, I start annoying Steph and Kayla via group message.

  Steph assures me that Bram used to be worse than what I was last night and that was part of his nightly routine. There was no way he could be looking down on me.

  Kayla thinks it’s a shame I passed out before I could get some and when I tell her it wasn’t even on the table because I was so drunk, she says that Bram was more of “the man” than she thought.

  But neither have any answers and when I finally have a bit of strength, I go over to his apartment. I knock on the door and wait.

  No answer. I put my ear to the door and listen but can’t hear anything inside except the faint hum of his fridge.

  It’s completely silly to take that as a sign of rejection but somehow I do. I plod back to my apartment and decide to busy myself to take my mind off of things. Because Ava is bored and a light rain has started outside, which is something of a relief in a city that always seems to hold it in, I try and make assembling an IKEA couch sound like an exciting adventure.

  She falls for it. She always does. We open the boxes and then get to work. It’s only when I see the two drawn figures in the instructions saying this is a two-person job that I wish again that Bram was home. But still, I do what I can, even the instructions have me completely confused and things would be so much easier with an electric drill.

  Eventually I tire out and give up. So does Ava. We retire to my room and the both of us pass out on my bed. She always loves it when I have naptime with her and I can’t remember the last time I treated myself to such a luxury. Sometimes it’s the easiest, most simple things in life that bring you the most joy. The good, pure kind of joy that just makes you feel human and proud of it.