by Lindsey Hart
That kiss was trying to erase something. We were trying to use sex so that we didn’t have to deal with actual emotion, maybe? Why is adulting so hard? But even so…even if there aren’t rules about when to start getting involved with someone who probably isn’t over the person they lost and is very deeply affected by it, then there are rules about not banging your boss. He’s kind of my boss. At the very least, I care about Shade, so there should be rules about not banging Shade’s dad.
Ugh, it sounds so dirty.
Why are my lady bits throbbing even harder now? Why do my nipples feel like they’re going to cut through my bra and shirt right now? Dirty should not be hot. But oh, who am I kidding? Dirty is always kind of hot, but not this kind of dirty. I can’t let it be hot.
“You’re…you’re entirely everything we can’t do. I mean, I can’t do. God. Chicken nuggets. I mean…that…there are…it would be too complicated. It would mess things up.”
“It wouldn’t have to. Maybe it could be nice. It could be good for Shade. I can tell he likes you. And you like him too. So, what’s wrong with sticking around? You get paid, and Shade gets to have a mother type figure in his life who he can trust and who looks out for him and cares for him. Then I get…well…”
“Sex?” I hiss. Wow. I am so epically stupid. “You get what? A nanny with benefits? Do you even know how gross it is because you are paying me to be a nanny?”
“That’s not paying you for the other stuff.”
“So, it’s just a bonus? My body is just a bonus to you?”
“No! That’s not…that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not even talking about sex. I just…would it be so bad to just let yourself be close when it feels right?”
“Yes! Because if Shade found out…”
“He would find out because I would talk to him and explain how adults sometimes have relationships with each other. They can learn to care about each other, and it doesn’t mean we wouldn’t care about him.”
“What the fuck!” I stamp my foot but tone it down because I remember that Shade’s sleeping and waking him up is the last thing I want. “Can you even hear yourself?” I whisper scream.
Never underestimate the power of a good whisper scream. To Luke’s credit, he keeps a straight face. He has the most annoyingly perfect—no. Shit. Just the most annoyingly perfect poker face. That’s what I was trying to say. He has this blank expression that drives me nuts. Not only can I not read him, but I also can’t tell if he’s serious or playing some twisted joke on me. This is the last thing I expected. How can someone who doesn’t even like me be all mopey and enjoy torturing me, baiting me, and waiting for me to fail, before just basically straight up asking me if I’d like to be his fuck buddy?
“I do hear myself. I think the arrangement would make sense.”
“An arrangement? Are you for real? Ugh. That’s so gross. Please don’t use that word.”
“The relationship would make sense.”
“Don’t use that word either.”
“Okay. Having you in my bed to combat the emptiness that keeps growing inside us when we are both lonely, and also for companionship and mutually shared pleasure would make sense.”
“I’m not empty inside!” I point an accusatory finger in his direction. “I’m not empty at all. I’m actually quite full, thank you very much, and I’m not lonely. I just…it was…I don’t know. A lapse in judgment.”
“It’s Christmas. You’re alone, and you’re away from your family. I know all about it. Sam filled me in before you even showed up here. I wouldn’t just let a stranger into my house, so I know all about it. I know you probably want to talk to your parents but can’t. You are probably filled with a sense of dread and loneliness and emptiness. You’ve lost something, just like I have. We’re standing here right now, and this holiday sucks, being alone sucks, and life sucks. We’re both moving forward because it’s really the only direction to go. You like my son and care about him. I like that about you. I like that you care because it’s something he needs. God, he needs it. And I…maybe I need someone to care about me too.”
“Falling into bed and calling me a nanny with benefits isn’t the way to go about having someone care about you.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. You were the one who said it.”
“You said it would be an arrangement.”
“Because no other word makes sense. Fine, call it a blank—a blankety-blank-blank, the word that has no word, the wordless term. Call it nothing, call it something, call it whatever you want because the kiss felt right. Okay, it felt so right, and it’s confusing to me because I feel like I’m betraying Britt’s memory by actually enjoying something again, but I also know she’d kick me in the nuts for moping around for two years. On the very day she found out she had cancer and told me about it, she made me promise I’d move on, be happy again, and make a family for Shade. She knew it wasn’t good for me to be alone. She didn’t want that for me.”
“Dear freaking chicken nuggets. How can you tell me this?” I’m about to go full-on waterworks here. My nose is burning, and my throat feels like someone jammed a whole box full of nuggets down it faster than I could swallow. Must not let the tears out. Don’t get emotional. Emotions are bad. Emotions triumph over reason. Don’t lose your reasoning.
Unfortunately, my reasoning is fading fast. I can already feel myself softening, and no, not toward being a nanny with benefits. Oh no. I just feel bad for Luke. He’s confused, alone, empty, and hurting. He had a life he had to keep up and a son he had to care for. He had to be normal when his whole world was never going to be normal again. He lost all those little things he was talking about, and he lost the biggest thing of all. He lost part of his heart, and that’s really, really sad.
I’ve never really truly loved someone that way. I mean, I’ve cared about guys—guys who turned out to be assholes, guys who wanted my money, guys who just wanted to get laid, and guys who lost interest. But I’ve never loved anyone. I can’t imagine losing anyone, but I can kind of imagine the hurt and the pain, and it makes me soft, even though I don’t want to be.
“I…Luke… I think the whisky was pretty strong, and you’re not acting like yourself right now. The kiss happened, yes, and it may or may not have been a mistake, but we can’t continue on. If you’re lonely, then reach out to me as a friend. I can get to know you and learn to care about you, and it doesn’t mean we have to do the bedroom stuff. Uh, that’s just…that’s really complicated, and if you know everything, then you already know I have enough complications going on.”
“I know your parents want you to marry a complete stranger. I could save you from that complication. We really could have an arrangement.”
“Okay, that’s crazy. Goodnight, Luke. Seriously.”
“I’m sorry. That was crazy.” He runs a hand through his hair, now messy and disheveled as all hell. But still hot as all hell too.
This is just further proof that the universe hates me.
All of this.
“Okay. Well, maybe let’s just forget about the bad parts of tonight and go with the good parts. I’d be happy to be a friend. I hope you can talk to me when you need someone to listen, and that you won’t feel so lonely. I hope I can talk to you too, seeing as how you know all about the crap I have going on, and you’re right. It is hard. We both care about Shade, so that’s a common interest at the very least. I…err…I don’t know. I just can’t let it become anything more than that. Okay?”
“Yes, I agree, and you’re right. I’m sorry. Maybe it is the whisky. No, it’s definitely the whisky. I never drink. I don’t know why I did it.”
“Because you’re fucked up, it’s a fucked-up time, and everything is fucked?”
“What happened to the chicken nuggets?”
“Fuck ‘em.”
“Yeah.” Luke sighs. “Everything is fucked. It is. But while I’m still buzzed and having extreme lapses of judgment, can I convince you to—”
“No!” Why do g
uys never get the message? Are they just completely deaf? I just said I wasn’t going to—
“I was going to ask if you’d like to play a round of racing with me. Shade’s asleep, and I could use a good game with a lackluster competition I can easily beat.”
“Thanks. Thanks for that.”
He grins at me. This might be the first actual smile I’ve ever seen from Luke, and it’s like someone plunged a red-hot blade that simulates instant ovulation, straight into my ovaries. I feel buzzed as if I had some of that whisky. I feel…I feel like I’m riding some strange kind of high. Like an afterglow kind of high, except I didn’t have the after or the glow. Maybe I’m glowing.
“Okay.” It would be smarter to go to bed. Tonight’s already been the wildest, craziest, and most bizarre night of my life. Other than when my parents had the talk about me marrying a total stranger because that was also pretty weird. “Yeah. Alright.”
Luke sighs like he’s relieved. “Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all. Thank you for the gifts you picked out for Shade, for covering for me when you weren’t sure if I’d get the job done, for the tree and the decorations and the rice, and…and everything else, for picking up the groceries, chicken, and the beer for the chicken, for not letting the opossum die, for all of Shade’s smiles today, and especially for not getting weird tonight when I told you all that stuff about Brittany. Just…thank you.”
I’m pretty sure I’m as fire red as a fire-roasted tomato. “I can’t take much credit for the opossum. He was actually fine the whole time.”
“For all of the other stuff, then.”
“Okay.” I feel strangely warm, and the glow is back. It’s an inner glow, something I haven’t felt before. I’m scared Luke might be able to see it, so I powerwalk straight into the living room and grab the controller. I park hard on the far side of the couch since I know Luke hates sitting there because he’s complained many times about how he can’t see the TV properly. “You’re welcome,” I grind out. “For the rest.”
CHAPTER 14
Luke
Well, at least that’s one more Christmas done and over with. I can live with being absolutely exhausted and going through the motions of putting Shade to bed like I’m a damn robot. Lucky for me, he falls asleep after page two. I gently tuck his quilt around him and place a kiss on his forehead. I do the same thing every night, whether he’s awake or not.
I linger in Shade’s doorway for just a few seconds before I turn out the light and pull the door almost all the way closed.
Feeney’s room is just down the hall. I don’t have to pass it on the way to mine, but I do have to use the washroom. Actually, no. No, I don’t. I just want to go and stand at her door for some inexplicable reason I can’t even begin to fathom.
What the hell happened last night in the kitchen? An arrangement was the plan, the idea—what I thought could work. I wasn’t supposed to just blurt it out after no time at all had passed. No wonder she looked at me like I’d lost my mind. She was right. It was the whisky I gulped down. Or maybe it was the beer in the chicken too. Dear god, Shade ate the chicken. No, I’m pretty sure the beer just made the meat moist. I’ve cooked it before, and nothing’s happened. I learned last night that whisky is a terrible idea. I knew it was all along, but whatever happened was just further proof.
I walk slowly to Feeney’s room. I know I should tell her I’m sorry for last night even though she set me straight and extended some sort of olive branch by playing a round of video games with me. I did beat her badly, but she just laughed at me, set the controller down, and told me goodnight like nothing even happened in the kitchen right before that.
Like our whole worlds didn’t just go spinning wildly off into the wider universe. I’m surprised we didn’t see Mars or Jupiter or something along the way. Shit. Maybe it was just my world that spiraled out of control, maybe it’s just me I don’t even recognize anymore, or maybe for her, it was nothing—just a few seconds of whisky fueled irresponsibility and irrationality brought on by the stress of the holidays.
Feeney’s door is closed tight, and the light is off underneath. I’m not surprised as it’s just about midnight. Trying to do two Christmases in one day is ridiculous but doing it with my dad and Britt’s parents was a nightmare. This year, I got lectures from both of them while Shade was preoccupied with presents in a different room. My dad called me a fuck up and an asshole. Not in those exact words, but the point was made. Dad told me I was doing only half of what I should be doing. He went a step further and said I’ve been this way before I even met Britt. Also coded in there was that I’m a massive disappointment because I’m not like him, which is not bad for just a few sentences on his part.
Britt’s parents aren’t open the way my dad is. And by that, I mean, they’re not openly rude. They just subtly hinted all night that Christmas is never going to be the same for any of us again. Not without Britt. That her memory is sacred, and I’m not doing enough to honor it. She’s gone, but she’s not gone. It’s like she’s still here when I go over to their house. Her mom talks about her like she’s going to walk in the door any second, and the walls are filled with her photos. I think they’re half living in denial, but maybe not, though, because I do notice how they never look at Shade. Shade is a part of Britt, and instead of loving that part, their grief makes it hard for them to handle the memories he evokes. It doesn’t really make sense, but not much about grieving and loss does. Losing your daughter in the prime of her life doesn’t make sense. They pretty much think I shouldn’t give myself a right to be happy when she’s gone even though we all know it’s what she would have wanted. I’ll always have that guilt.
The guilt of knowing I’m the one who survived. That I’m the one still alive.
I keep trying to get my thinking around to the side of living for her. I know it’s what she wanted because she demanded it of me right after she was diagnosed with cancer that very first meeting. She demanded that I find a way to be happy without her, have a good life, and also give Shade a good life. She made me promise I wouldn’t let her absence wreck me because she couldn’t stand to think she’d caused the people she loved so much pain.
God, parents are so exhausting. Grief is exhausting, life is exhausting, and I’m just so tired.
All of a sudden, the world really does shift. I feel drunk because there’s a sound, and then I’m teetering forward and falling, falling into thin air that wasn’t there a second ago. I must be seriously drunk. Blacking out, I feel myself going down.
“Mmm-hmm.” A soft mutter comes from above me. “I thought I heard you out there creeping on me like a first-rate stalker.”
I’m not drunk, and I’m not blacking out. The world didn’t tilt. Feeney just opened the door suddenly, and I’m so tired that I didn’t even hear it coming. Now I’m flat on my face, sprawled out on her beige carpet, and I have to admit that the shit feels good. It’s soft, tickling my cheek, and it broke my fall. Instead of getting up, I dig my palms in and just lie there.
Feeney squats down right beside me, where I can see her bare feet. God, she has cute little toes. They’re so small. Her feet are tiny, but the rest of her is pretty petite too. I notice her toenails aren’t painted, and I like how they aren’t. I expected them to be fake ones—gel or pink and glittery or something, but nope. They’re just plain, average, everyday toes.
“What happened to you? Are you okay? Why aren’t you getting up? Did you have a drink again? Please tell me—”
“Nope. It’s not a habit. Last night was a one-off and one I regret. I wanted to apologize to you for that. Properly.”
“That’s why you’re face down in the carpet?”
I sigh hard, my chest hampered by the floor, so it comes out sounding more like a long belch. Ugh. “I’m just tired.”
I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of fighting so hard. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of having to be an asshole to protect myself so that no one gets close to me again. I’m tired of not being go
od enough for some people while being too good for others. I’m tired of just not being able to get it right. I’m also so exhausted. I’m exhausted from trying to raise Shade alone, I’m exhausted from work, and I’m exhausted by what I’m doing right now with Feeney. I need her in ways she can’t imagine, and I need to get her to understand that, but right now, that’s what makes me feel the most exhausted.
“I can see that. You look awful.”
“How can you tell? You can’t even see my face.”
“Umm, because it’s pressed into the carpet. I imagine it must look awful. Do you want me to get a stick and pry you up?”
“I’d actually really like to see that.”
“You’re different. Last night and today. You’re not so mean to me.”
“I’m not mean to you.”
“Yes, you are! Well, maybe not overtly, but you’re like…it’s like you’re always waiting for me to fail or something. You look at me like you find pleasure in all my mistakes. It gives me freaking performance anxiety, and you’re also mean because you know so much about me while I know nothing about you.”
“You know lots about me. Everything that matters anyway.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything.” Her foot taps in impatience. “I seriously don’t, which is fine. I can deal with that. But I want to know what you know about me because maybe you haven’t been told correctly. You seem to have some pretty big assumptions about who I am, and I think you’re wrong.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes!” Her foot taps again. “Are you going to get up now?”
“No.”
“Argh!” Spinning around furiously, she goes and sits down hard on the bed. I can almost hear her footsteps with my cheek pressed into the floor, even with the carpeting.
It’s not that I don’t want to. I’m just physically so exhausted and worn-out that I need a few minutes to pick myself back up. I almost want to take her up on the offer of a good prying, but I’m not sure she’d find anything appropriate to pry with. It’s not like we have any spare lumber lying around. If we did, a two by four would probably work wonders on my inert ass.