Stuck With You

by Graham, Abigail

  "Hay is for horses," Mills cuts in. "You know better, Becky."

  Becky rolls her eyes and turns back to her video game.

  "I don't have all day," she says to me, curt but not harsh. "I have to get her to her father's house. Her school is reopening tomorrow."

  "Doc, are you sure? The roads are a mess."

  "Not where she lives," Mills sighs. "It's a little more, ah…"

  "Fancy," Becky says.

  "Right," Mills sighs.

  "Are you driving that little Miata out there? I don't know how you're going to get out of the parking lot."

  "I'll manage."

  "I could—"

  "If you're going to offer to dig me out, that's fine, Tyler. I can handle it. I'm a woman, not an invalid."

  "I know you're tougher than a little snow. I was going to suggest I drive."

  She blinks.

  "You know I can't accept," she says, lowering her voice. Yet there is an odd, lilting note to it, like she's not sure she knows she can't accept.

  "I have an old Ford Bronco. It's not the most luxurious car in the world but it'll do better in the snow than your dinky little car."

  "My car is not dinky," she says.

  "Is it a stick?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  I curl my lips and a slight pink tinge enters her pale cheeks.

  "If you make a joke about handling sticks, I swear to God—"

  "I was just going to say that's pretty butch. In a good way. Even if it is a Miata."

  She huffs. "Fine, you can give us a ride."

  "Give me twenty minutes to go get the car. I have to walk back to the parking lot."

  She nods, folding her arms over herself, looking worried.

  "What is it?" I say.

  "Nothing," she says, "I appreciate this, even if I should know better."

  "I'll be right back."

  I pull my parka and boots back on and trudge back to campus, over to the parking lot. The Bronco snorts and snarls as I back it out and navigate the cratered moonscape of ice that has locked most of the cars on campus into the lot. It even slides a little on the icy patch just past the gate.

  Slowly, I make my way over to Mills' place. Becky spots me from the balcony, already in her coat, and rushes back inside. A moment later the two of them come out, carefully navigating the slick steps. I rush over and lift Becky into the back seat and offer Cassandra a hand.

  Even gloved, her dainty hand and long delicate fingers send an electric chill up my arm when I boost her into her seat.

  "Nice car," Becky says as I mount up in the driver's seat.

  "Where we headed?"

  "I'll direct you. It's not far."

  Out on the main highway, the road is clear, slick only on the shoulders, but largely deserted. There's so much ice everywhere but the main roads that no one has anywhere to go.

  Becky's father's neighborhood has cleared streets. There are, I notice, no sidewalks. Each house is one of three different styles of colonial, and one of three colors. It looks like no one actually lives here, like we're driving through a model landscape.

  She has to point out the house, and I swear she can only tell by the super expensive luxury SUV parked in the driveway with not a speck of snow or salt on it.

  I come around and help them down and don't make her ask me to wait at the car.

  Of course, this means I can watch her walk up to the door. I don't mind at all.

  Chapter Eight

  Cassandra

  As soon as I step inside, Barbara looks past me, out at Tyler. She tut-tuts but doesn't say anything, her sparkly blue eyes narrowing. Even though she isn't going anywhere and has nothing to do, she's all made up and dressed in an annoyingly old fashioned dress, and I can smell cookies in the kitchen.

  "Hi Barbara," Becky says, a note of sadness in her voice.

  My little girl throws her arms around me. I hug her back, hard.

  "I'll see you again on Friday, huh?"

  "Yeah," she says.

  Tears glitter in the corner of her eyes. I told her once not to make these into goodbyes. I'll see her again in a few days, and she can spend lots of time with me over the breaks and summer vacation. I've already told Bill that she's spending her spring vacation with me, since it lines up with my own.

  Once Becky has jogged up the stairs, Barbara looks me over.

  "Who is that young man?"

  "A young man with a car that can handle the snow. I didn't want to drive back here in my car, it's not safe."

  She snorts. "Oh, so you admit it."

  "It's not safe for this weather."

  "What do you mean? The roads are clear."

  "Not where they're plowed by the city. Trust me on this one, Babs."

  She frowns prettily.

  "I'd invite you for a cup of coffee and a fresh scone, but you wouldn't want to keep your ride waiting."

  I turn.

  "He's not a student, is he?" she says.

  I whirl around sharply and lower my voice to a hissing growl.

  "What are you implying?"

  She sighs. "You already pawned off your daughter on Bill and now you're bringing strange men half your age around with her?"

  "He's not half my age," I snarl, "he's more like two thirds my age."

  She rolls her eyes.

  "Do you think I don't want Becky? I let her live here for the schools and so I don't have to make her be a latchkey kid like I was. I'm doing it so she can have a better life than I had. Every time I have to bring her back here it's like ripping my heart out. I live for my little girl. She's not a pawn in some power game for you to play with your husband's ex wife."

  Barbara smiles thinly.

  "Don't give me that fucking look," I snap at her. "I know what you've been saying to her. You will not poison my daughter against me, you arrogant bitch."

  She shrugs her shoulders. "Well, thanks for clearing that up. I can give you a scone for the road if you like."

  "Cover your scone in tabasco and shove it up your dry twat," I snap.

  "Tisk tisk," Barbara says. "I'd be careful, Cassie. Bill and I have been talking. I don't think you're a very positive influence in her life. Feeding her garbage food, letting her play video games all night."

  "Reading to her, encouraging her creativity and curiosity about the world, teaching her she doesn't need to know her place like some people think they need to. I'm the bad influence? Come on, Barbara. You've never even had a job!"

  "I sell houses."

  "When was the last time you sold one?”

  "That's none of your business."

  "Your only clients are your friends flipping houses for money!"

  "That's enough, Cassandra. You need to leave before Rebecca overhears this. Remember, there are a lot of things she doesn't know."

  Frowning, I turn and storm out, giving the finger over my shoulder.

  At the car, Tyler takes a step back. He opens the door but, sensibly, lets me pull myself up into the seat. He closes the door for me, very gentlemanly, and gets in next to me. He starts it up without a word and we rumble off down the street.

  "Are you shitting me?" he says when he realizes it's a cul-de-sac and has to turn around.

  I say nothing.

  "Are you okay, Doc? You look like you just swallowed a pine cone hole."

  "That malignant shrew wants to take my daughter away from me," I say. "She as much as said it."

  He's quiet until we stop, out of sight of the house, at a stop sign.

  "Can she do that? You're her mom. Everybody says the judges don't like to take kids from their moms."

  "It's more complicated than that," I say. "They have a lot over my head. It's a delicate balance."

  He nods, slowly.

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "Not now."

  He drives.

  When we reach my apartment, he walks up with me but stops at the door without pressing to come in.

  "What about your questions?" I say, just insi
de the door.

  "Not now, professor. You're tired and upset and it's a snow day. Another time."

  Stunned, I gape at him momentarily.

  "Al...alright," I say and swing the door shut.

  It's not closed for thirty seconds when the tears come, followed by an explosive sob. I sink against the stove and sit down on the floor. Barbara is right, I am a shitty mother. I don't know how to cook, I work all the time, my apartment is smaller than Becky's closet, and she's living with the Leave It to Beaver family, but they're also rich. She is better off with—

  A soft knock at the door.

  "Doc? You okay? I thought I heard, ah, I thought I heard something."

  I strangle a sob in the base of my throat.

  "I’m fine, Tyler."

  "You don't sound fine. If you're sure, I'll go. Are you sure?"

  Every rational part of my mind wants to scream just go, you don't belong here, you're my student for God's sake, and the emotional part of me is screaming, too, I don't want him to see me like this, not like this, never like this.

  I reach over and unlock the door, turn the knob, and open it a fraction.

  He swings it open slowly, peering inside. When he sees me, his handsome face goes slack, then pulls into a stunned, confused expression, like he genuinely doesn't know what to do, like he's absolutely unprepared for this.

  He slips inside. He closes the door. He picks me up, bodily scooping me from the floor, and carries me into the living room. Once there he tugs me out of my parka and pulls off my boots, throws my blanket around me, and Hamilton jumps up into my lap, purring loudly and banging on me with his head.

  Tyler hangs the coat and sets the boots aside and steps into the kitchen. I hear him working the microwave. He comes out a few minutes later with two cups of hot cocoa, handing me one filled with too many tiny marshmallows, but I don't complain.

  Sitting beside me, he waits expectantly.

  I can't stop crying. It just won't stop. I squeeze my whole self until it feels like a vein will pop but it won't stop. Gingerly, he smooths my loose hair away from my face and runs his big, heavily calloused hand down the back of my head. I look away from him, mortified.

  "Talk to me."

  All I can manage is a long, ragged sigh.

  "I'm more scared of losing her than anything," I admit. "More than anything. Having her is the only worthwhile thing I've really done."

  "Don't say that. You're pretty accomplished, academically, right?"

  "What good does any of that do me if I'm completely alone with it? You can't get in a snowball fight with a diploma."

  "Huh," he says. "You have a point."

  "She's drifting away from me. I know she's supposed to as she gets older, it's natural. Soon there will be boys, and they'll buy her a car, and I'll be her boring professor mom. I'm fine with that. I just know Barbara is going to get her hooks in my little girl and I'll lose her completely. Why would anyone look forward to spending a week with me?"

  "She seemed thrilled to me."

  "I can't compete with Barbara. She's rich, she's younger than I am, she's better looking, she's in better shape—"

  "Doc," he says, tracing fingers along under my jaw. "Trust me. Home Owner's Association Barbie has nothing on you."

  "You're just saying that."

  "I've really never met a woman like you."

  "How's that?" I say.

  "Every other gorgeous girl I've been with has used her looks as a bludgeon. A way to get over on others and put them down. You don't even know how good looking you are, do you?"

  "You wouldn't be hitting on me if you knew what I was really like. Before."

  "Why would I care about that? I only know you now."

  Biting my lip, I drop the blanket and yank my t-shirt up to my chest, baring my stomach and the embarrassing tattoo that wraps around my waist like a belt.

  "Doc, I hate to break this to you, but inked girls are hot now. That's a nice tat."

  I yank it back down and frown.

  "The rose is a coverup. On my stomach. It used to say, ‘Property of Brett’ in stupid looking gothic letters."

  "Who the fuck is Brett?"

  Pained, I press my eyes shut.

  "It's okay. I shouldn't have asked. I—"

  "Becky's real father."

  "I—Wait, what?"

  "Bill isn't her father. He's my first husband but I had Becky when we got married. I was not the best person when I was younger. I was rebellious, I was stupid, and I did a lot of things I am not proud of. The pregnancy test snapped me out of it. I was finally responsible for somebody that mattered."

  "You don't think you matter?"

  "To who? Brett didn't give a shit, he was fucking ten other girls. I'm lucky I never caught anything. I was stupid as hell. Lucky, really. It could have been worse. I moved in with my aunt and she helped me take care of Becky while I got my GED and started college. I met Bill in grad school. Becky is too young to remember me being with anybody but Bill, so he's her dad now. It works."

  "Why'd you guys split?"

  "Barbara is his business partner's daughter."

  Tyler frowns.

  "Did they—"

  "Only after the separation was formalized. He never fucked around on me while we were actually sleeping together or married. He got tired of me being a fucking basket case and traded me in for a Stepford wife."

  "Jesus," he says. Then adds, "So he married his boss's daughter. Is that like, an alliance? Like Game of Thrones?"

  I scowl at him. He shrugs.

  "I don't have anything against stay-at-home moms, Tyler. Hell, I'd do it if things were right. Not her, though. She's weird. I don't know what it is, but she's strange. Things have been tense lately. It's only by luck that we haven't started a catfight in front of Becky."

  "Now I'm imagining you rolling around on the floor with her."

  I give him a wry scowl.

  "You'd kick her ass, Doc. You're pretty fit."

  He pokes my stomach for emphasis.

  "I run. It's cathartic. Runner's high."

  "You can tell," he assures me.

  I stare at the thrifted coffee table for a moment.

  "You know the worst part? She's right. My apartment is shitty, I make next to nothing compared to my student loan debt, and I do eat like shit. I'm surprised I don't have beef gravy for blood."

  "I saw you with your kid. You adore her. That's what matters. Trust me."

  My eyebrow twitches.

  "Oh?"

  Leaning back on the couch, he extends an arm to toy with my hair. My hair was always my best feature, Mom said.

  "My dad was really cold, distant. No affection, no hugs, rarely even an attaboy. If I looked like I wanted praise for something he'd smack me down, tell me effort is worth the effort. It's why I gravitated towards sports. I'm good at it. I don't need him to tell me I'm good at it. I just know. Look where that got me. You're really close with your daughter, and that's what she needs. She looks perfectly healthy to me. I'm sorry I gave you shit about the Cheesy Beef. A little bit won't kill her, and it's not like you have time to make beef wellington every day."

  "Or sliced cucumber sandwiches with rosemary aioli or whatever the hell Barbara feeds her," I grunt.

  Tyler laughs. "Like that shit is any healthier. She needs protein, she's growing."

  "I'm sure you know all about protein."

  Extending a hand, I jab his bicep. His muscles are, frankly, enormous. The jab turns into a little caress and I give his arm a squeeze.

  "Want to look at my teeth, too?"

  "Has anyone ever told you that you're enormous? In a good way?"

  "Oh, you think you're saying that now," he says, in a low, hungry voice.

  "I'm not going to be that cliché, Tyler."

  "Cliché how?"

  "Break down crying and then sleep with the big strong hero for making me feel better."

  "Did I make you feel better?"

  I smile.

  "Y
es."

  "Cassandra, you are absolutely stunning when you smile."

  I frown.

  "Oh, what did I do now?" he snorts.

  "I'm touchy about people telling me to smile, that's all."

  He blinks a few times and curls a lock of my hair around his fingers. "Why's that?"

  I huff.

  "When I started graduate school and I was working as a TA, my advisor got a bunch of negative feedback about me in class. He told me to be nicer and smile more."

  "Yeah? I bet that went over like a fart in church."

  I snort. "I damn near bit his head off and switched advisors. My new advisor was an old veteran of the trenches. The academic trenches, anyway. She'd been where I was, and she told me when a man tells you to smile more in a performance review, he's saying he doesn't care about what's here," I poke the side of my head, "it's all about what's here," I poke my breast.

  Tyler tilts his head to the side, thinking.

  "Stop staring at my chest, Tyler."

  "Well, I mean, you did point to it."

  I roll my eyes and suppress a laugh.

  "Oh, did it work? Did I amuse the dragon?"

  "Is that what they call me?" I laugh.

  He shifts closer on the couch. Not touching me yet, but close enough to slide his arm along the back of the sofa so it's behind my head. His presence is overwhelming. He's hot like a furnace and I can feel the muscular energy coursing through his body, and I feel like a raw nerve now, and he's past the walls. I'm throbbing for touch, for contact, for a man. I haven't been touched, affectionately or sexually, by a man since my divorce. I’ve started to forget what it feels like.

  "So," he says. "You remember kissing me that night."

  I swallow, hard. "I remember. I thought maybe I dreamed it. I was too harsh throwing you out. It's good you did that for me. I might have been hit by a car or ended up walking twenty blocks the wrong way."

  "Maybe," he says.

  "I hope Barbara never hears about it. She'd love to tell that story to the judge if there's ever a custody hearing."

  "Do you think she'd take it that far?"

  "I don't know," I sigh. "Now that I've let all that out, I feel ridiculous thinking about it. Maybe I should apologize. She's just trying to give my daughter a good home. I should be grateful."

  "Is she?"

  I blink.

  Should I let this go? Do I let things go too much?