by kj lewis
Fucking motherfucker. If he was off chasing dick, I would be the one zipping her up. I would know what—if anything—she has on under her dress. My finger would be guiding a path against her smooth skin for the zipper, ensuring it didn’t snag on anything.
Instead, I watch a gay man with zero appreciation for this situation zip her into a dress that she looks like she was sewn into.
“Wow,” Finn says, admiring her when he is done. “You look delicious.” He says the last part like a cheesy character from a BBC show, eliciting an eye roll from Sam.
“I thought the festival was outside?” I frown at her attire. “Aren’t you overdressed?”
“It’s inside and I’m not overdressed. I’m just dressed.”
“Like sex,” Quade adds, entering the apartment. He struggles to take his gaze off Sam and focus on me. “Ready?”
“Ready for?” I ask.
“Meeting? Prospective client?” he says, like I’m supposed to have known this.
“I have the girls,” I remind him.
“You’re meeting is on the calendar. Zinnie is watching Poppy until you get home,” Sam says, sliding into a pair of heels with Finn holding her elbow. She smooths her dress and the buzzer rings for the lift.
“Claire?” Sam says when a young girl with a soured expression walks out of the girls’ wing. “I thought you were hanging out with Zinnie tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am, I was but Zinnie isn’t up for it. She said we can hang next week after school.”
“Is everything okay?” Sam asks. Claire answers despite appearing hesitant.
“She caught Darren kissing Lauren Myers.”
“That little fu—” Sam’s hand clasps over Quade’s mouth before he can finish, then pats his cheek when she’s sure he knows better than to continue.
“I tried to help take her mind off it, but she’s just not ready.”
“The doorman will make sure you get a cab,” I tell her, showing her to the lift just as Jason is coming out. By the way Claire bats her eyes at him, I assume we could say he looks dreamy.
“You look unbelievable,” he says, admiring Sam. Blarmy arsehole. I leave the two love birds and head towards my office with Quade, but when I hear her response, I can’t help but pause as I round the corner and eavesdrop.
“So do you, but I’m sorry I can’t go tonight,” she says.
“What do you mean? You’re dressed, you’re ready to go.”
“Something’s come up with Zinnie. She needs me tonight.” It surprises me when she doesn’t offer him more of an explanation.
“You’re really sharpening those creeper skills,” Quade whispers behind me, causing me to jump. I shush him and he leans in, propping his chin on my shoulder to get into a better listening position.
“She can need you tomorrow. Let’s go,” Jason says with irritation.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“But that’s just it. You can. And if you don’t, then that’s it. I won’t be with someone who isn’t committed to putting us first.”
I almost dance a jig. I know Sam, and this ultimatum won’t fly.
“Then I’m doing you a favor,” she says without an ounce of regret or question in her voice.
“These girls don’t care about you. You’re a damn nanny. The fucking hired help. I can’t believe you are choosing them over me.”
“Yeah. You should go.”
I know that tone. I have come to speak “Sam” fluently. This man needs to get on the lift quickly before Sam tells him how she really feels.
We hear some shuffling of feet and a few mumbles. She must be walking Jason to the lift. Quade and I trip over each other to get to a spot where we can hear more of the conversation, but Finn catches us, so we pretend like we were just walking out of the office.
“Idiots,” Finn mutters.
“So, I called them and said—” Quade pretends he was mid-sentence when Sam steps back into the room. “Oh,” he says, feigning surprise, “I thought you were leaving?”
“I don’t want to leave Zinnie when she’s upset,” she says stepping out of her shoes and yelling for Finn, who magically pops his head around the doorframe like he wasn’t standing there listening. “Can you unzip me?”
“How the hell would you have gotten out of this tonight?” he asks her.
“I had hoped to have someone else to do it for me,” Sam grunts on her way into her room.
“Another night maybe,” Finn offers, and I hear Sam tell him there will be no more nights with Jason, before she closes her door.
“How bad do you wish you were Finn right now?” Quade jabs.
A minute later Finn opens the door and informs me Sam said to go to my meeting, and that she would be here with the girls.
“You guys go ahead,” I tell them. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
I, regrettably, give Sam another minute to be presentable and knock on her door. I hear a muffled command to come in and when I open the door I hear her say, “I’m in here.”
I wind my way into her bedroom. All of the other nannies had a few photos out, maybe a bag here or there. The room looks like she’s been living here as long as I have. I feel a comfort wash over me just being around her things.
Her mobile rings when I enter her bathroom, and she puts it on speaker.
“Hello?” Sounds like Grace.
“Hey. Code Blue,” Sam says with a hair tie in her mouth. She’s combing her hair back with her fingers.
“What? Jason already?” Grace asks. I hear a muted shuffling on the other end.
“Actually, yes, but the Code Blue is Zinnie. Darren.”
“That little shit. I’ll cut his balls off and sew them to his face.”
“Oh my God, Grace. Leave the tough talk to Zoe.”
“I can totally pull off the trash talk.”
“Sew his balls to his face?”
“Fine. I’ll call the girls. Be there in twenty.”
“Sorry. What’s up?” Sam says, disconnecting her call before she begins washing the makeup off her face.
“You didn’t have to cancel for Zinnie. I could have taken care of her.” I pretend this is what my visit is about when clearly that’s not why I’m in here. I actually don’t know why I’m here. But instead of standing here with my dick in my hand like a total tool, I pretend this is about Zinnie.
“It’s her first breakup. She sent her best friend away. Of course I’m staying.” She runs a washcloth over her face one last time before turning off the water. She props her hip against the bathroom counter and looks at me. I can tell she knows I have something else to say. She’s missed a couple beads of water and my eyes trail them as they trickle off her cheek and fall to the curve of her breast below.
“Yes. Well. I’ll just be around the corner if you need me. Um, I mean if Zinnie needs me,” I stammer and attempt an exit that hopefully is less awkward than I feel. Her hand on the crook of my arm stops me.
“You really are doing great with the girls. I can see the difference in them.”
“Silly Sam. Don’t you see?” I lean closer to her. “The difference is you.”
I’ve stunned her into silence. This woman who has a response for everything. Before she can lessen my words with a quirky response I leave her room and freshen up in my own. The lift dings as soon as I press the call button, but it’s not empty. It’s carrying Grace and Charlotte.
“Zoe’s on her way. She’s picking up the pizzas. I brought ice cream,” Grace says. Charlotte adds, “And I brought cookie dough and Kit Kats.” She holds up a tub of raw chocolate chip cookie dough.
“Ooh, Kit Kats make everything better!” Sam says behind me.
Oomph. I grunt bumping into Quade’s back when he comes to a complete stop just inside the door. It would be a lie to deny I manipulated our meeting to end early, and Quade insisted on coming back to the apartment to see how Zinnie was doing.
He holds a finger to his mouth and cocks his head to the side. Then he quietly s
neaks us into the kitchen undetected, allowing us to eavesdrop on the scene in the living room. He hands Finn and I a beer before snagging one for himself. Sam and her crew, the two girls, and Claire, who apparently was invited back, are strewn about the living room. Alanis Morisette is playing in the background.
“And the whole time he was trying to make me think I was the crazy one. Like I was being emotional or irrational every time I said that he was hooking up with someone else,” Zinnie says. “I am so over men. I’m going to be a lesbian like you.” She points a spoonful of cookie dough towards Zoe. The area around them is filled with every comfort food you can fathom.
“Not all men cheat,” Charlotte reminds her.
“Who came up with code blue?” Claire asks.
The women each furrow a brow in thought before Zoe declares it was Grace, to which they all nod in agreement.
“Because of Benji,” she recalls.
“Ugh. He was a total dick…tator.” Zoe catches herself, eyes darting to Poppy as Sam bounces a pillow off her head.
“Watch it. This Code Blue is G rated.”
“Fine. Then let’s dance some more. Dancing makes everything better,” Zoe declares standing. “Zinnie. This is the last thing I’m going to say, then we’re going to eat and dance—the prettiest thing a girl can wear is confidence.”
And she’s right because confidence looks damn good on Samantha.
“To Zinnie!” They raise their glasses and dancing commences.
“That’s my cue, boys.” Quade tosses his coat on the island, rolls up his sleeves, and kicks off his shoes. They shriek with surprise when Quade barges in and then swarm him as he throws himself at their mercy.
While Quade basks in the glory of feminine youth, I have spent the last few hours actually working on the issues that came up during our meeting. I’m spent. I lean back in my chair and stretch, checking the clock. I need a break, so I leave my office in search of a snack of some kind.
The music has been turned down but is playing softly. There are wrappers scattered everywhere, pillow and blankets strewn about. The guys have left, but there are still sleeping women strewn about the living room. Zinnie and Claire are bunking on the floor. Poppy is on a couch with Zoe and Grace. Charlotte is wrapped around Sam like a flag.
We grew up in a tidy, reserved house. In turn, I have always had a tidy, reserved house. It should feel unsettling to me to see a living room that cost more than these women make collectively in a year in shambles. Instead, it feels right. I dim the lights and turn off the music all together. Something calls at me, something powerful, and I head back to my room.
I place my watch on the top of the dresser in my closet, and I notice Everett’s letter. The letter has been here all along. I always place my watch next to it at night when I prepare for bed, but I’ve always ignored it, pushed it away. But tonight, I can’t ignore it. I pick it up and the weight it carried just weeks ago is no longer there. The thickness that was once overwhelming now boasts of information and guidance.
I carry the letter into the bedroom. Propping my back against a bank of pillows, I take a long drink of my bourbon. Then another. My thumb traces Everett’s chicken scratch. Walt. A line drawn abstractly under my name. I slide my finger under the sealed lip of the envelope and pull the thick vanilla-cream paper from its confines.
Walt,
Yep. I’m dead.
That’s the only reason you would be reading this. That and the girls haven’t turned 21. I really didn’t want to write this letter. Felt like it wasn’t necessary. Needed. But if you’re reading this, then Jenny was right. Better to be prepared than to have your arse blowing in the wind.
I know I should have asked you. Told you. Given you some kind of clue that if something happened to both of us, you would be raising two girls. But where does one start a conversation like that? How does one say to a man who never intends to have children, “Hey, by the way, you don’t want to have kids, but there’s a minute possibility you will be raising mine. And, oh yeah, they are ten years apart. And, oh yeah, they’re girls.”
God, when Jenny got pregnant with Zinnia, we were kids. We didn’t have a clue what to expect or how to love something more than ourselves. How to be responsible for something that needs oxygen and nourishment to survive. Are you fucking kidding me?
So, I did what I always do. I researched. I went to the university library and read everything I could get my hands on. I talked to people who had paved the road before us. I crunched numbers and solved all the mathematical equations that told me just how much I was going to fuck this up. Anything to give me an inkling what I was getting into. This is what I learned: Nothing.
Nothing that taught me how to be a parent. Nothing that gave me the security I so desperately needed and craved at the time. Nothing. There are no guarantees when it comes to parenting. Sure, there are ways to hedge the odds, but nothing with any surety.
Once I realized there was no guarantee, I went in search of best practices.
I found it talking to Jenny’s grandfather. He told me, “Son. The only thing you have to do is love. Love them more than yourself. The rest will fall into place. You’ll make mistakes, then you’ll correct them, and then you’ll make more.”
I remember looking at him like he was delusional. How does someone love something more than themselves? But I knew I could figure it out. I fell in love with their mom, right? I would eventually learn to love them. It was the only thing I had to hold on to.
Turns out the crazy bastard was right. What he failed to tell me is it would be instantaneous. One minute, I’m Everett. The next, I’m so head over hills in love with the tiny creature placed in my arms that I know there is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure her wellbeing. And then her sister’s. Their happiness, their sense of security.
So, I wrote this letter, because I do love my girls. I do care about their wellbeing. I want them to be happy and secure. To feel loved and cared for. And when I had to choose who to give the most precious commodity I have to, it was easy to choose. You.
Jenny and I never hesistated. There was no discussion for either of us. We chose you from the beginning. So, don’t fuck it up you fucking asshole.
Sorry. A little beyond the grave humor.
You are going to fuck this up. I can’t tell you how many times I did, because I lost count. And I will let you in on a little secret. Most of the time the girls don’t know when you are.
Also, you’re welcome. I had to figure out that little nugget all on my own.
I’m sure you’re wondering why two people would choose a man who has said so many times that he never wanted children to be my children’s guardian. One word: Finn.
September, first year at uni. It was pledge weekend. We were surrounded by women and prospects. Every guy wanted us in his fraternity and every girl wanted us in her bed. We were on our way to having exactly what we wanted. Your phone rang. You could have ignored it, but it was Finn, so you answered it. He didn’t say anything alarming. He just wanted to talk to his brother for a minute. The senior classmen were giving you shit about being on your phone. When you hung up you told them you had to leave. They threatened you with everything in the book. You wouldn’t make it into any fraternity. You would be black-listed. You would be the one everyone laughed at. I remember thinking, what the hell are you doing? And I said as much, but without an ounce of hesitation, you said he needed you and you were going. I asked you what he said, and you said, “Nothing. I just know he does.” And you left with no regards to what it meant for your future.
To love our kids is programmed, hardwired into who we are. But the kind of man, husband, and sibling we are is a choice. And time and time again you chose Finn. Hundreds of times you put him before yourself.
So. You can blame Finn. Go ahead. I won’t tell anyone the truth. That you love another more than yourself and that is why we chose you.
I know our girls will miss us. I know it will be difficult. But it will get better. You will
get better. They can and will come to see you as their dad. And that, my friend, is how you honor me.
You were my greatest friend,
E
I read. And read again. It explains the whys, but the answers to how aren’t in here. For some reason, that’s comforting. Everett didn’t know them either and learned it as he went like I am. I trust he would not have left out anything of value. He wasn’t the kind of guy to leave something to chance. He gave me the map. Love them more than myself. Which, I do. I didn’t at the beginning. And I’m not sure I even did a month ago, but there is no debate about it now. I love those girls like they were my own.
The weekend is controlled chaos. The girls want for nothing, yet I still found myself with a list of items to purchase before school started. After hour three of Zinnie trying on no less than a hundred outfits, I found myself wishing I had hired a personal shopper to have everything delivered to the house. I’m quite sure I vetoed more outfits than I approved. Jesus, there was an outfit that I swear made her look like she could be Sam’s age. I’m not going to get through these teenage years unscathed.
Every free minute Sam had this weekend was spent studying. She mentioned being behind, but I don’t think I realized to what extent. I haven’t been able to pinpoint if she is truly behind or if she is putting more pressure on herself than warranted. My hope is that, with the girls starting school, her time constrictions will open some. I make a mental note to talk to Finn about her work schedule. I don’t want her pulled into so many directions. Every part of her adult life has been hard work. I want to make this chapter as easy for her as possible.
“Alright,” Sam says, handing the girls their lunches. Today is the first day of classes. Zinnie begged to go to school on her own. I finally relented, but only because she will have security discreetly following her. I don’t want to alarm her, but she is never totally out on her own.