The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns

by Ryan, Shari J.

  As I lug Cora into the office, I begin to question if she does need to be seen by a doctor. She hasn’t woken up yet, but I can’t miss this meeting. I check my watch for the thirtieth time in the past hour, knowing I now have less than fifteen minutes until the meeting starts.

  “Just hang in there, kiddo,” I tell her as we enter the elevator. While heaving against the wall and holding my forty-pound child like a baby, I can’t help wondering what Rick is doing at this moment. I can imagine him sitting in his office chair with his feet up on his desk, shooting the shit with someone about golf.

  For every minute longer this stupid elevator takes, my arms threaten to give out entirely.

  The door opens, and I hobble into my department and down the corridor to my office. However, I have no idea what I’m going to do with her now that we’re here. Spinning around, I kick one of the two chairs out from the wall and pin it against the other to make a bed, but I can’t seem to make them straight.

  Logan turns the corner and doesn’t say a word before straightening out the chairs and peeling Cora out of my arms.

  The release on my shoulders is pretty much the most incredible thing I’ve felt in forever, but I must look like a sweaty rat right now after running all over while carrying her.

  “You have five minutes to freshen up and another five to prepare,” Logan says. “I’ve got her.”

  I touch the back of my hand to her forehead, feeling the heat that wasn’t there this morning. The fever is radiating from her now. “I need to get her some Tylenol.”

  Logan stares through me for a minute. “Okay, you’ll only have like three minutes to freshen up, but hold on.”

  He jogs out of the department, disappearing without a mention of where he’s going or what he’s doing. I probably should have told him she can’t take adult Tylenol. It’s something only parents probably think about.

  I kneel by Cora’s side, allowing the fear factor in me to take over all other thoughts and concerns. I want to wake her up, tell her I’m here and make sure she’s just sleeping off whatever this is, but maybe it would be better if she slept until after my meeting.

  As promised, Logan returns within a solid ninety seconds, handing me a bottle of Children’s Tylenol. “Um—dare I ask?”

  “The receptionist downstairs has two small kids at home. That’s why she only works half days. I figured if anyone had Children’s Tylenol on them, it would be her.”

  I should have kids Children’s Tylenol with me too. I’m failing so badly at this game, it’s just sad.

  “There’s a better mom than me?” I ask with nervous laughter and a hint of sarcasm. I’m such a moron.

  “Is Cora shy?” Logan asks, ignoring my question.

  That requires a true laugh. “Definitely not,” I tell him.

  “Okay, I got this. Go do whatever you ladies do in the restroom, and I’ll take care of this cutie-pie.” I think my ovaries just skipped a beat.

  I remove my hand from Cora’s back and gaze up at Logan. “I don’t know where you came from or how you ended up here in my office, but thank you. Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you,” I say, feeling a bit emotional, as tears threaten to appear in my eyes. Receiving help is something I’ve long forgotten about.

  Logan places his hand on my shoulder and looks down at me with his hooded eyes. “You got this.”

  He isn’t real. The warmth of his hand isn’t real. The sensation running through my body like warm water after a coming in from the cold isn’t real either.

  The opening and closing of the department door is real, though, and my vendor is here.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself. I guess there’s no time to freshen up. I just have to hope I don’t have raccoon eyes.

  I head out of my office, but before I have one foot out the door, Logan grabs my arm and pulls me back in, closing the door behind me. My heart is beating in my throat, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what is going through his head or what is happening right now.

  “I’m not trying to be inappropriate,” he says.

  Um, at this moment in time, he’s free to be inappropriate, but I’m almost positive no one would want to be inappropriate with me in the current state I’m in. Words can’t find their way out of my mouth as he presses the pad of his finger under my lower lashes and gently sweeps to the side. “Happens to me all the time when I’m running around. Damn eyeliner,” he says with a wink.

  “You wear eyeliner, huh?” It’s the only sensible response I can conjure at the moment. My face has gone untouched for the last year and a half of my life, and having him fix my makeup like this feels almost like foreplay.

  “No,” he snickers. “My ex-wife did, and I’ve pretty much heard the pros and cons about the varieties of makeup more times than I care to share. She was a Clinique girl. My house smelled like new perfumes every day, and she never looked like the same person two days in a row. It was weird.”

  He’s divorced. “That sounds terrible,” I tell him. Terrible? We’re talking about perfume and makeup. He didn’t just say he had walked in on his wife cheating with someone hotter than he is, if that’s even possible.

  I glance over at Cora once more, watching as she turns over in the makeshift bed. “Go,” Logan says. “They’re waiting.” He shoos me off.

  I walk at a fast pace down to the conference room, then calmly make my way inside to find a group of casually dressed younger women—younger meaning, I must be at least ten years their senior. “Good afternoon, ladies. It’s a pleasure to meet with you. I’m Hannah Pierce.” I reach my hand out to the first woman who appears to be in charge, judging by the look on her face. I can take a guess that she’s an all work, no play kind of gal.

  “Caroline,” she says, affirmatively.

  “Nice to meet you, Caroline.”

  I take a moment to shake the other three women’s hands, and we all take seats around the table.

  I had the overhead projector set up so they could present their pitch, even though I’ve been the one eager to bring in their company as an advertiser.

  The video takes just over ten minutes, and I made the mistake of shutting the lights off before hitting play. Now, I’m fighting my heavy eyelids, hoping I don’t begin to snore, as well.

  After the long drawn out explanation of why organic and BPA free are the two best combinations that earth has to offer right now, the video ends, and I lean back in my seat to hit the light switch.

  With the research I’ve done, I know this relationship will be profitable on both ends.

  “Ladies, I’m thoroughly impressed with what I’ve seen here today. I’ll need to run some numbers by the rest of the executive team, but I think we can reach an agreement that will be favorable to both of our companies.”

  “I’d actually like to ask you some questions if you don’t mind,” Caroline says.

  Facing the conference room window with the blinds only partially closed, I happen to see Logan running by with Cora cradled in his arms. What the hell is going on? “I uh—”

  “Is everything okay, Ms. Pierce?” Caroline asks.

  “No,” I say, cupping my hand over my forehead. “My daughter is very sick.”

  Not one of them says a word. If they were moms, they’d say something. But they’re all like twenty-three.

  “So, can I still ask you some questions, or—”

  My baby is sick, and I’m stuck in here with these tweenybots. I look down at my watch, which is such a no-no for sales, and in general, it’s just a rude habit when talking to someone, but it is what it is. I pull in a deep breath, placing my trust in the hands of a hot stranger, who oddly enough likes to be around kids but doesn’t have any of his own. People like him don’t exist. I’m sure of it. At thirty-three, I think I would know. “Of course,” I say, hearing the high-pitched bite of my voice.

  “So, say we purchase the space of a web banner for the duration of three months—” I’m not sure I completely hear what comes after the first f
ew words because my mind is spinning with worry.

  “Yes, you’re correct,” I tell her. “A web banner for three months will offer you the highest exposure.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Caroline deadpans.

  “I’m sorry, could you repeat your question.” My head is not at this meeting and not on veggies or ad space, or—shit, is she talking again?

  “Would you be willing to negotiate in with a link on your sidebar as well?”

  “Typically, that isn’t something we do, but I like you, so yes, we’ll offer that incentive for the first month of your plan.”

  “Great, so what about—”

  “Caroline, normally, I wouldn’t do this, but as I mentioned, my daughter is very sick, and I’m going to need to end this meeting a bit early today. Please don’t take this as any form of disrespect, but my daughter must come first, before I can give you my full attention. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, we’ll—” Caroline looks around to the other three. “We’ll be in touch, I suppose.”

  I ignore the frustration in her voice and jet out of the meeting room to go find Cora and Logan.

  The moment I exit the department doors, I find them in the corner, hovering over a large plant.

  “We didn’t make it too far,” Logan says.

  Cora is leaning over the plant, vomiting.

  “Oh, baby.” I run over to her and take her hair from Logan’s hand. “I am so sorry.” I’m apologizing to both of them, but I’m looking at Logan.

  “You think I haven’t seen puke before?” he asks with laughter.

  “I suppose.” I’ve never been a fan of watching anyone else vomit their guts up, but it comes with the mom territory. I don’t have a choice in the matter, but I want to spare Logan from the experience as much as possible, especially after all he’s already done for me today. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

  “She woke up, interrogated me for a full two minutes, finished by asking who the ‘hell’ I was, then told me she was going to be sick.” Oh, Cora. Why? Why? Why?

  I place my hand on my forehead. “That’s my daughter.”

  “Feisty little thing,” he says.

  Cora stands up and wipes her arm across her mouth, with a sickened look tugging at her sad eyes. “I think I feel better now,” she rasps.

  “Oh good, sweetie. Let’s get you some water, and I’ll take you home.”

  “Who is this beefcake? Is this the Batman man, Mom?” My eyes nearly fall out of my head, hearing her mention the words beefcake and Batman, which was only said by me late last night when I was talking to Brielle on the phone for a whole two minutes. Cora had been asleep for at least three hours when I made the call.

  “Cora!”

  Logan looks up toward the fluorescent lights and bites down on his bottom lip. I’m absolutely mortified and have nothing to say in response to this. I’ll scold her later when we aren’t standing in front of the beefcake.

  “I’m just kidding,” Cora says, dryly. “I already know his name is Logan, and he’s your term.”

  “Temp,” I correct her.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Same thing.” Cora sighs and looks back over at Logan. “Do you know he was a baseball player?”

  How did I produce this kind of spawn? “I may have noticed it on his resume,” I say, realizing Cora has no clue what a resume is.

  “Yeah, Logan and I are going to play when I’m better. I told him I’d kick his butt.”

  “Cora, we don’t talk like that,” I remind her. Why am I constantly reminding her how to not be like me? I feel like I read something when I was pregnant about every child being born as a cave-person, and it’s our job as parents to teach them how to act like civilized human beings in the twenty-first century. Considering I still haven’t figured it out for myself, how the hell am I expected to raise another human to act civilized?

  “Sorry, I’ll just beat him good,” she corrects herself.

  Oh, please stop, child of mine.

  “Well, that sounds like fun, but Logan has a job to do,” I say, trying to place some separation into this playing house situation we seem to be in at the moment. I don’t know a thing about Logan, other than the simple fact that he’s gorgeous and good with kids. I can take a simple guess that he’s every woman’s dream man, and I’m not part of a crowd he’d enjoy choosing from. Plus, I’m his boss, and I shouldn’t even be having this internal dialogue thing going on. Shut up, Hannah.

  “Does he work all day and night?” Cora asks.

  “So, I’m going to head back into the office now,” Logan says, pointing toward the doors. “How did the meeting go?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I blew it,” I tell him.

  His lip quirks downward, seemingly bummed. “Sorry about that,” he says.

  I kneel at Cora’s side and pull her into me. “It happens.” To me—the mother of one, the wife to no one, and a woman with the kind of luck she should have a black cat named Lucky.

  5

  I made it to Hump Day … minus the humping

  The alarm goes off again. Crap. I knew I shouldn’t have considered the slight possibility that Cora could be better this morning. That’s not how these colds or viruses go. No, she’ll be down and out for at least three to four days before she’s well enough to play right before bed, then wake up like a zombie with green boogers draining from her nose the next morning.

  I tiptoe down the hall and press on the white wooden frame of Cora’s door, allowing in just enough light to see she’s still sound asleep. She’s usually a light sleeper, but when she’s sick, alarms can be blazing, and she will not budge. As I kneel next to her bed, I touch the back of my hand to her forehead. Warm, but not as hot as yesterday. Her face is covered with dried boogers, and she’s snoring louder than a grown man. Today isn’t going to be pretty.

  Whatever the case, she’s not going to school. I leave her room and climb back into my bed like the child I wish I could act like. Maybe I can’t act like a child, but I can hide under my covers and play Words With Friends for a bit. I open the app, wishing there was a new game request from Dickle, but I’m almost positive the fun from that game has passed. But hey, Aunt May wants to play another round.

  This is what my life has come to. That, and Rick’s living his happy little fantasy next door, blissfully unencumbered by his parental responsibilities. Mom thinks Rick cheated on me because I didn’t try hard enough to please him, and Dad won’t admit it, but I’m nearly positive he still likes Rick because he’s an “old-fashioned kind of …” douchebag “who wears a suit and tie every day.” Plus, divorce wasn’t part of Dad’s grand plan for me. As far as they’re both concerned, I probably should have been more understanding of Rick’s desires, apparently including his desire to sleep with more than one woman.

  When has it ever been acceptable for a man to cheat on a woman and carry on like it was nothing? It makes me wonder about Mom and Dad’s marriage. If that crap is cool with them, great, but I don’t want to know. I’m a monogamous type of person, and I don’t think it’s too much to expect the same out of a partner.

  I need to figure something out … something I don’t want to figure out. I rip my pillow out from beneath my head and smother it over my face, pressing firmly into my eyeballs, which causes little black circles to swim in front of my darkened vision.

  Just get it over with.

  With a toss of my pillow, I blindly reach for my phone and search for the name Douche Nugget Rick. The phone rings once. You’re a douche. Twice. You’re a douche. Three times. You’re such a damn douche.

  “Hannahbananna, how are you, ex-darling?”

  “Really?” My voice couldn’t sound flatter or less affected by his insults if I tried.

  “What’s going on?” I hear a blender or something in the background, which strikes me as funny since Rick would never eat anything green or something that had a natural source of vitamins in it when we were together. He was a “meat and potato” kind of guy b
ecause that’s still a thing and all, and it made him feel more like a manly man. As a result, I ended up making three dinners every night. Cora inherited his limited tasted buds but hates meat and potatoes. She prefers only pasta, and I can’t eat like that every night, not at my thirty-three-year-old, post-child state of life. So, three meals it was, and not one, thanks. Ever. Now … now Rick drinks green smoothies for breakfasts and enjoys “cleansing his palate” with a nice hearty salad before lunch and dinner. Why? I almost laugh out loud while thinking my atrocious thoughts. Because Tiana is a size negative zero, she only has one chin, and she has make-up tattooed onto her face, so she never wakes up looking like a freak like the rest of the goddamn population. Oh, oh, and the best part, yeah, the best part of it is she has this Cuban, silky dark hair that makes a hair model look like they stuck their finger into a socket. There isn’t a flaw to this chick, so Rick watches every calorie now. He needs to make sure he can remain suitable to be her arm candy or else— “Hannah?”

  “Uh, yeah, um, are you busy today?” I sound caught off guard even though I’m the one who called him. This happens often. My anger is still present a year later, but thankfully, that’s the only emotion I have left for this man.

  He chortles at my question, which enrages me more. However, Rick could pleasantly say, “Good morning, how are you?” and I’d still hate him enough to want to kick him repeatedly in the nuts.

  “Yes, I typically work during the week.”

  He doesn’t even ask why. Why else would I be calling him unless it had something to do with Cora? He’s not asking “why” because he knows what this is about. He knows I call in sick way more often than he does, and he’s the boss of his own penis—I mean company. Same thing, really.

  “Cora is very sick, and I basically lost a sale yesterday because I had to bring our daughter to work for a few hours. Is there any chance you can have someone fill in for you today? I’m sure it has to be hard finding someone to lean all the way back in your desk chair and casually rest their feet on your desk for eight hours while you smile at every double D secretary that walks by, but I could use a hand.”