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

by Ryan, Shari J.

“Thank you again,” I say as he heads down the staircase.

  He doesn’t respond. Why? Why?

  I already feel sick. I don’t need to dread going into work tomorrow, having to explain a whole lot more than if I were just sick.

  As the door closes downstairs, I turn for my bedroom, clipping my shoulder as I walk inside, but I hardly feel the pain shoot down my arm in comparison to the confusion buzzing through my head. This is why I don’t nap. It’s a good reason never to nap again.

  The urge to wake up Cora and find out what happened while I was sleeping is overwhelming, so I’m stepping into a cold shower before I do something stupid.

  Holy mother of—

  “Mommy.” There’s a cold hand on my face. “Mommmyyyy.”

  “Cora, what?” I open one eye and roll to the side, finding it’s six. It’s six. It’s time to get up and start the shit show. Shit show. Oh, no.

  “Cora, sweetie, go and get dressed. I don’t care what you wear today, but go get dressed and I’ll come find you in a few minutes.” What the hell is this? I thrash my covers off and run to the bathroom, making the base just as an explosion of crap erupts from the hollow insides of my body. Hell has landed inside of me. That’s what this is. Did I sin? I don’t know what the hell I did that was so wrong to deserve this.

  Okay, it just keeps coming. Yup, we can stop now. Ugh, and now I’m going to puke. I can’t sit here but can’t get up either.

  “Mommmyyy?”

  “Cora, go to your goddamn room, and I’ll be with you shortly. Shittttt.”

  “Why are you mad, Mommy?” I have my hand gripped against the cold sink, and my toes are curling beneath my feet. Sweat is pouring from every pore on my face, and my stomach has turned inside out. “Mommy?”

  The doorknob twists just as another gush of wonder floods through my pipes. “Cora!” I scream.

  She continues to open the door, and a look of horror and shock fills her face. “There’s poop everywhere!”

  “Cora get out of here, now!”

  She doesn’t move. She just wraps her arms around her stomach and lurches forward as vomit pours from her mouth.

  That’s all takes for the tears to start. I can’t freaking do this. “I’m sorry,” she says, quietly, while wiping her arm under her mouth.

  The pain in my stomach eases for a moment, and it’s enough time to clean up one mess so I can tend to the other.

  It takes me a full hour to clean the bathroom, but by the time I’m done, I feel better. All the pains in my body have subsided, and another quick shower rinses off every memory of the last twenty hours of my life.

  I find Cora downstairs in the living room, sitting quietly on the couch with her backpack. “Are you okay, sweetie?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, again.

  “Did you eat breakfast?” I ask.

  “I had two granola bars, and I can buy lunch today.”

  “Okay. Let’s get you to the bus.”

  As we’re walking down the street, I recall my curiosity from last night. “Hey, Cora?”

  “Yeah?” she says, shuffling the gravel beneath her little Ugg boots.

  “Why was Logan in a bad mood last night when he left?”

  She shrugs and doesn’t lift her head. “Beefcake Batman seemed fine to me.”

  Ugh. Why? “Well, he seemed angry to me. Did you say anything you shouldn’t have said, maybe?”

  Cora looks like she’s thinking about my question for a minute. “No, the last thing I remember him saying before I fell asleep was, ‘I’d do anything for this life.’ I don’t know what he meant by it, though, and I was too tired to ask any more questions.”

  Clearly, the man is delusional, or was delusional. Who the hell thinks like that after witnessing what he saw yesterday. For the simple fact that I need to somehow face him today, part of me wants to call up all those nice men I work with and tell them to screw off because I quit. Except, I can’t. I need money. I need to adult and be a mother and crap—well, I’ll skip the crap. Had enough of that for now …

  We reach the bus stop just as I hear the rumbling engine echoing from the other side of the hill.

  “Are you sure you feel good enough to go to school? You can’t tell anyone you got sick this morning or they’ll send you right home.”

  I kneel in front of Cora and look her straight in the eyes, seeing she still doesn’t look right. She’s a tough cookie. I’ll give her that.

  Cora places her hands on my shoulders. “Are you sure you’re well enough to go to work today?”

  “No, sweetie. No, I’m not.”

  “Then you should stay home in your jammies like I did yesterday.”

  “I wish I could,” I tell her.

  Missing a half day of work for being sick isn’t my thing. The men in the office do it weekly to the point where I think they eat up more of their vacation time being sick than they do taking actual vacation days.

  I kiss Cora on the head and watch her hop onto the bus as if nothing’s wrong. I feel a little like death, which means she probably feels at least half of that since she’s a day ahead of me. “Thank the cesspool at school for me,” I mutter as the bus chugs by.

  I move as quickly as possible back toward the house, spotting Rick and Tiana outside with their dog, Chicklette. How freaking cute are they in their bathrobes, walking a rat through their freshly sprinkled grass.

  It’s about time I find a back entrance into the house so I can avoid them whenever possible. Sometimes, I feel like they just wait outside to torture me—make me feel a little worse about my sorry life. That would be too easy for Rick, though. He could just call me up and say the words, “There’s someone out there for you, Hannah Banana. Don’t give up.” It’s been a year. I’m in my thirties. I’ve had a daughter. I have a full-time career, and oh, I live next door to my ex-husband and Princess Tiana. Mothertruckers.

  “Good morning, Hannah!” Tiana shouts with her hand flopping in the air as if I were a long-lost friend she hasn’t seen in years. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I grunt. “Thanks.”

  “Aww, Hannahbannana, the bug still got you down?” Rick coos.

  “You know what, Rick?” I say, stopping halfway up my driveway. “I hope you get this bug, and I hope it hits you like a sack of bricks. We all know how weak your poor little tummy is. Just wait.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Rick,” Tiana says, cheerfully, “I’ve been giving him vitamins in his power drinks in the morning. His immune system is like ‘pew pew,’” she says, making shooting motions, using her hands as pistols, like an idiot. “He has nothing to worry about.” She smiles, flashing her blinding veneers.

  I wonder what would happen if one of those things fell out of her mouth. I heard they usually end up filing the tooth all the way down to the nub or something before they attach them. So, there’s a nub there somewhere, I bet. Oh, it would be so unfortunate if her nub was showing.

  I don’t have the stomach to continue this conversation, so I offer my fakest smile and head into the house.

  I’m not sure how I’ll make myself look human in the next fifteen minutes, but I pray I have enough makeup to do so.

  It takes me less than one coat of lipstick to remember my car is at work. Logan is disgusted by me, or so it seemed … can’t imagine why, and there is no way in hell I’m asking Rick for help.

  I drop the lipstick tube into the sink, hearing the clang as it bounces against the porcelain. Why?

  As if it were an answer to my answerless question, the doorbell rings. What now? Let me guess, Rick needs to come spit in my face? Maybe it’s Tiana still jogging in place so I can watch her boobs bounce in synchronicity. It’s hypnotizing, really.

  I hobble down the steps while trying to get my shoes on at the same time. “Coming!”

  Every stair is another small reminder of the hollowness in my stomach and the fire that might still be burning somewhere in that area.

  I open the door and take a step back f
rom surprise. I didn’t think I’d see him here after last night, and certainly not with a smile on his face. “Logan?”

  “Need a lift?”

  “Well—”

  “You have no car. I remembered at about four this morning.”

  “Right,” I tell him.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks. There’s a definite switch in his mood. Maybe he turns into a jerk after dark or something. It’s a common issue I’ve found in men throughout my life.

  “I’m better, not completely cured, but I’m heading in the right direction, I think.” If my stomach doesn’t explode again today. “Thanks again—”

  “Don’t mention it. Really.” Really. I got it now. I won’t mention it.

  “Did I do something to upset you?” You know, besides projectile vomit all over you and my house, among everything else I put you through.

  “Not at all. Why would you think that?”

  I laugh, trying to hide the nervous inflection I can’t control. “You just seem—”

  “Tired?”

  Okay, maybe he’s a jerk during the day too. Maybe I’m just being sensitive. I shouldn’t care what he thinks anyway. I’m his boss, and he’s already seen way too much of me.

  “Let me just grab my bag,” I tell him.

  He stands at the door politely as if he has never been inside before. It’s like yesterday didn’t happen. I probably imagined the whole thing. Maybe my sandwich was drugged yesterday, or maybe that bitch at the coffee shop slipped something in my coffee. That would explain everything.

  Let it go. Just let it go.

  I grab my bag and head back to the door. After locking up the house, I find Rick and Tiana still pacing along their lawn. Does he even go to work anymore? Or is he a full-time caretaker for a miniature dog?

  “Hey man,” Logan calls out, waving at Rick. I guess I wasn’t lucky enough to imagine that part of yesterday happening.

  “How’s it going?” Rick replies. “What a guy, picking up the leftovers.” My eyes bug out of my head. Did he just say that?

  “I forgot I left them here last night,” Logan says with a chuckle.

  Confused for a moment, I finally spot a Chinese food bag in Logan’s hand. “They brought over some food for Cora and me last night since your fridge was empty.”

  Dear God, why does my life have to keep shitting on me? Please, make it stop.

  I climb into Logan’s truck without offering anyone another word. I just can’t come up with anything of any intelligence at the moment.

  “You two BFFs now or something?” I ask as Logan climbs in. Oh, it all makes sense now. That’s why he’s acting this way. Rick must have filled his head with made up shit last night. “What did he tell you about me?”

  Logan starts up the truck and backs slowly out of the driveway, offering Rick one more wave before shoving the gear into drive. “He didn’t say a thing.”

  “You’re a liar,” I tell him.

  He looks over at me and grins. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  10

  Thursday … Friday Eve. Yeah, we’ll go with that

  If I had my car, I could convince myself that this was all just a bad nightmare, but I don’t have my car. I’m in his car, and the nightmare is still alive. “Are you hanging in there?” he asks, halfway to the office. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since we got into his truck.

  “I’m fine,” I respond in a way that mirrors his coolness.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today, boss?”

  We’re all the way back there now. I shouldn’t care. I should focus on the discomfort of having this completely out-of-my-league man sitting just a car seat away from me. It’s not like I have a chance, had a chance, or ever will, so the nerves and whatever else is floating through my intestines right now should just go away.

  “Um, just preparation for the event next week.” I think I need to stop talking. It’s suddenly apparent that speaking is only highlighting the internal battle between my organs, making their sore presence known.

  “You look like you’re pretty deep in thought over there.”

  I am. More than he knows. “I—don’t know. I’m just trying to wake up, I guess.”

  “We have time for coffee,” he says.

  Coffee will loosen things up in my gut; not so sure I need that after this morning’s blowout, but if I don’t caffeinate, I’ll have a migraine before noon. There is no winning. None. Tea, maybe that’ll be the easiest on my stomach. I don’t normally drink tea, but I’ve wanted to give it a try. I pull out my phone and start a Google search for, “Does tea cause the shits.” I’m super classy this morning, but I need to get a direct answer to this question.

  “No, tea does not cause the shits,” Logan says, stifling a laugh.

  I close my eyes slowly, twist my head, and look over at him. “How did you see that from over there?”

  “Your text is quite large for a woman your age. I just glanced over, and there was your question. You don’t need Google, you can just ask me.” He’s smirking, and while I enjoyed his smirk at one point yesterday, I’m not enjoying it right now. He’s making fun of me and knows I’m worried about shitting myself.

  “So, I’m at the point right now where I want to leave the state and cross out any chance of ever running into you again after what you’ve witnessed in the last day. That’s how I feel. Except, I can’t do that because I have a job, a daughter who can’t leave the state without permission from her father, and a mortgage, which means I’m stuck.”

  “Why does this all bother you so much?” he asks, simply. I’m sure he’d be totally fine if I watched the bowels of hell expelling from his body yesterday.

  “I’m mortified,” I tell him.

  “Why?”

  “I wouldn’t even want my ex-husband seeing what happened yesterday, and he watched me giving birth. That’s why, never mind … you.”

  “Have you considered that may be the reason he’s your ex-husband?”

  Did he just go there? He did. He totally just went there. “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t mean it in a rude way,” he says, peering into the rearview mirror as he switches lanes. “It’s just that … if you’re so closed off, maybe that put a barrier between you and Rick, you know?”

  “From one divorcée to another, do you really think you should be giving me advice? Especially since I was cheated on and replaced by some Barbie bimbo, who can hardly spell her name. What’s your excuse? Where did you go so wrong, Mr. Perfect?” I snap at him defensively.

  He stalls, looks over at me, and swallows hard, before returning his gaze to the road. “I never said I was perfect.”

  “That wasn’t the question.”

  “I know why my marriage went down the shitter. That’s the difference between the two of us.”

  I reposition myself in my seat, feeling the heat rise through my neck and into the backs of my ears. “How do you have the nerve to make that kind of assumption after knowing me less than a week and having very few facts about my life to go on?”

  “I’ve seen a lot in the last week,” he says.

  “So, you’re blaming me for getting cheated on? I just want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly. I guess Rick is still as slick as ever with his greasy salesman spiels. I should have known you’d take his side when I heard you two laughing together yesterday.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he says.

  “Then just say it, Logan. What have you figured out about me while watching me puke my brains out? I’m honestly intrigued.” By the anger searing through each of my words, I doubt he believes I have any sort of curiosity about what he might say, but I do want to know where this crazy assumption is coming from.

  “You don’t want anyone to care about you,” he says. “Just as men act like they don’t want to be cared about, it’s never the truth, so I can only assume you do want to be cared about. However, the big difference between men and women is that women still have a sense
of nurturing even when pushed away. Men don’t have that sixth sense, so if they think a woman doesn’t want to be cared for, they may walk away.”

  I open my mouth to snap back with something, but nothing comes to me. No thoughts. No words. He just described me, but did he describe Rick’s actions too? Rick never struck me as the type to want to feel needed. He’s always been the one who has the needs and wants.

  “I—” I still have nothing to say.

  “Look at Tiana as an example,” Logan says. “She clearly needs more attention than the average woman. I mean, I heard her tell Rick at least once last night that she needed some attention. I wasn’t a huge fan of the baby talk that accompanied it, but I kind of thought … wow, it’s nice to just be told what she wants instead of making a man play the whole guessing game. I can safely assume that Tiana is just easy.”

  I laugh because he hit the nail right on the head with that one. “That, she is, Logan.”

  He raises a brow and looks over at me briefly. “I’m serious. I mean easy as in simple, not high maintenance emotionally.”

  “Well, too bad for me, then. I am who I am, and if someone doesn’t like it, they can go find another Tiana.” I cross my arms, feeling defensive for the way I am, even though I don’t care—I’ve never cared about what anyone else thinks.

  “Look, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying you are the reason for your divorce, but I’m telling you it’s okay to need help sometimes, and no one is going to judge you for it.”

  “Okay, thanks for kicking me when I’m down,” I tell him. I don’t want this conversation to continue. I’m even more uncomfortable now than I was when I got into the truck.

  “For the record, I think it’s hot when a woman can take care of herself, but there’s still a time and place to lean on help when it’s there. Sometimes we men need to be needed.”

  I let him help yesterday. I don’t understand why he’s being so pushy about this. I was helpless, as a matter of fact. Rick had to have filled his head with so much shit, I can’t even process what he must know about me.

  Did he just say it’s hot to be independent?