Boy Toy

by Bowen, Sarina

  I’m feeling a little more like myself. Steady. Solid. Dependable. Boring. I put on my pajamas and twist my hair up into a towel. Whatever makeup I had on has all washed away, along with the bad taste from my evening with Earl. Earl. What was I even thinking? Maybe I’m just not ready to date. Maybe that part of my life is done with.

  That’s depressing, though.

  Liam is sitting on the couch, flipping through Psychology Today, surrounded by pillows. He looks good on my couch. Like he belongs there.

  I shake that idea off.

  “Thank you so much,” I say. “For, uhm, everything.”

  “No sweat.” He stands up. He’s awkward all of a sudden and suddenly I see young Liam there, the Liam of that summer I watched him and all his siblings.

  “I’m sure your crush on me is fully cured after witnessing that little episode.” I motion to the bathroom. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “There’s no need to be. I’ve had plenty of those nights, especially when I was an undergrad. Maybe you needed to let loose a little.”

  I consider this. He’s right. I’ve spent way too much of the last year being perfect and dependable, and that’s not sustainable or healthy. One must strive for balance. Or at least that’s what my fortune cookie said yesterday. “Maybe I did need to let loose. Sorta. As practice?” I say.

  “Okay then. I think I’ll just…”

  “Head out?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “I made you coffee, but it’s cold.”

  “That’s okay. That’s sweet. I’ll heat it up. I think I’ll make something to eat before heading to bed. Soak up the residual alcohol.”

  There’s a little pause here and we listen to the baby monitor. The tick of the house.

  Liam grabs his bag and heads for the door.

  “See you later,” he says. Just before heading out he says, “Hey. How do you take your coffee?”

  “With soy milk. No sugar,” I say.

  He nods and smiles and then disappears into the night.

  I heat up the coffee. Make some toast with natural peanut butter.

  I sit on the couch, in the same place Liam occupied a few minutes ago, and think I can still catch the scent of him. You’d expect something musky or piney, but Liam, as always, is a surprise. He smells like lemons. I love lemons.

  Before I head to bed, I realize he never agreed with me about the barfing curing him of his childhood crush.

  Even if I’ve scared him off, it helps me to know I was the star in someone’s fantasy once, even if only for a while.

  6 Ulterior Motives

  Liam

  Over the weekend I run seven miles, read four academic articles, and then visit my parents. Since my parents are a couple of nightmares, afterwards I run another eight miles just to clear my head.

  On Sunday I go to the climbing gym, and work out until every muscle in my body is shaking. But even so, if anyone asked me, “Hey, Liam! What did you do this weekend?” the only honest answer would be that I thought about Sadie.

  Seriously. I’m Mr. One Track Mind when it comes to her.

  I thought about kissing Sadie for fifteen miles of running. And I thought about stripping her naked while I collated three hundred mailers for my father’s political campaign. And on that climbing wall? I thought about fucking her in the shower. And on the bed. And on a picnic blanket.

  Even while reading scientific research she was whispering in the back of my head. Fuck me, Liam. Someday she’ll say that for real. It’s going to happen.

  The weekend went fast, seeing that every waking hour and some of the sleeping ones were dedicated to ravishing her. And it wasn’t fourteen-year-old Liam making the plans. Twenty-nine-year-old Liam has learned a few things about how to please a woman. If she gives me the chance, I’m going to pleasure every square inch of her body. By the time I’m done, she’ll be moaning my name and begging me to marry her.

  Whoa, okay. Not sure where that last idea came from. Let’s walk before we run. But I’m very invested in her. Always have been. If I kept a To-Do list, Sadie would be at the top of it. And she would have stayed there for the last fifteen years.

  It isn’t until Monday that I’m able to put her out of my mind. A guy can’t chase toddlers and think about sex at the same time. And that’s a good thing. My poor libido needs a break, and these kids deserve my full attention.

  Sadie’s daughter Amy is clingy today. Maybe she’s coming down with a cold. Usually she lives by the Ernest and Julio Gallo saying: we will have no whine before its time. But today she’s whining it up with the best of them. At nap time, she won’t lie in her crib with Piggypoo. I have to rock her in the chair until she passes out on my shoulder.

  I close my eyes and relax under the warm weight of her little body. I let the rocking chair slow to a stop and just breathe. There are few moments of perfect stillness in a daycare setting. But the quiet in the room is a testament to the trust these little kids show us. They close their eyes because they know we’re here to watch over them.

  My little brother is at the top of an office tower somewhere making buckets of money trading derivatives. Whatever those are. My father is a rich lawyer who’s running for a judgeship. That’s the kind of job they expected me to get, too. “We raised you to be a leader, son,” my father often says.

  He doesn’t understand, though, that my interest in childhood development is a direct response to the way he raised me. Or, rather, to the way he didn’t. Nannies raised me. And babysitters. My parents were a power couple—two corporate lawyers out to conquer the world. I swear they only had children so we could look good on their Christmas cards.

  I grew up with nannies, and those women were amazing. Wanda, who was with us from the time I was two until I was twelve, still calls me every year on my birthday. She taught me to read and how to cook and how to take care of the people I love.

  My mother taught me… God. How to yell at the interior designer. How to order wine. How to look the other way when your husband strays.

  Most kids, though, don’t have their own Wanda. There are millions of American kids in daycare. They matter, too. So I’m doing some graduate work in child development, with daycare as a focus. This job at Small Packages is part of my research. As someone who spent a lot of time being watched over by paid help, I’m trying to give back.

  Also, little kids are hilarious. Who wouldn’t want to make macaroni art professionally?

  Amy shoves a thumb in her mouth and sighs. I listen to her soft breathing and feel at peace.

  * * *

  A day later, I’m watching the daycare door for Sadie. Like always.

  But last night she ducked me. Somehow she arrived while I was busy with Blade and his dad. So Sadie did checkout with Mary Jane—the other sitter in the two-year-old room. And she did it fast, too. By the time I said goodbye to Blade, she and the twins were gone.

  It’s not easy to gather up two squirmy toddlers, an assortment of lunch gear, extra clothing, and one stuffed pink pig in ninety seconds, flat, either. That’s like ninja-level toddler management.

  So I know she’s avoiding me.

  Tonight, though, she’s going to have to speak to me. I have a permission slip that I need her to sign for her girls.

  Naturally there are other things we’ll need to discuss. I’m going to be the guy who breaks her dry spell. Maybe she thinks I was just kidding, or maybe she doesn’t even remember the conversation. But I’m not going to let her duck me forever.

  I walk around the room, tidying up. I break up a wrestling match between Kate and Amy. Both their faces are red and crabby. “What’s the problem, girls? Is there a toy that needs sharing?”

  They look at me and then back at each other. It’s that hour of the day when you can wrestle your sister to the ground and not remember why.

  “I need help with the copy machine,” I tell them. “Somebody needs to push the big green button for me.”

  “My
do it!” Kate yelps.

  “No,” Amy says.

  “I could use both your help,” I explain, because I am not a stupid man. “Amy, get Piggypoo and meet me by the door. Kate, come here now.”

  I scoop up Kate, step over the half-door and carry her to the copy machine. My permission slip is already on the uptake tray. “Bombs away, sister.”

  She pushes the big green button and the machine hums to life.

  “Awesome. Now it’s your sister’s turn.”

  I swap kids and repeat this little procedure. That’s when Sadie comes through the door. Because I’m standing in a different spot than usual, I have a perfect view as she tiptoes toward the two-year-old room and peeks around the doorframe.

  “Looking for us?” I say, sneaking up on her.

  Sadie jumps. “Hi, Liam! I didn’t expect to see you over there; usually you’re in the middle of the two-year-old room in the middle of the two-year-olds,” she stays much too quickly.

  “Why Sadie, I believe you’re avoiding me.” I smile, because she’s just so freaking cute. Even before I finish the sentence, her cheeks are on fire.

  “Why would that be? It’s not like I got rip-roaring drunk and puked all over the place while you held my hair.” She lets out a little groan. “Over the weekend I actually considered shopping for another daycare center. Just so I wouldn’t have to look you in the eye.”

  Oh, please. If I have my way, it won’t be just my eyes she’s looking at. But we’ll get to that later. “You wouldn’t deprive me of Kate and Amy’s company just because of a little puke, would you?”

  “If it didn’t make me a horrible mother, I probably would.” Her smile is sheepish. “And it wasn’t just a little puke. It was…” She gulps. “Nevermind.” She declines to finish that thought, and yet her eyes take a quick trip to my chest, as if she remembers fondling my muscles.

  I grin.

  She looks away.

  “Look, Sadie. Eyes up here. I have a couple of things to catch you up on. Childcare things.”

  Reluctantly she turns my way again. Amy is reaching for her mother, so I hand her over. Then I unlock the half-door so we can all go inside and grab the girls’ things.

  “First of all, Amy was little happier today.”

  “She wasn’t happy yesterday?”

  “Not so much, no. Which I would’ve told you if you hadn’t run out of here like the place was on fire.”

  “Oh,” Sadie sighs. “She was a little sad last night. But I don’t think she’s sick.” Sadie sets her daughter down and waits for the little girl to wander off before she finishes the thought. “My ex-husband was supposed to spend all of Sunday with the girls.”

  “And he didn’t?”

  “Yes and no. He told them he was taking them to the zoo. But then he realized that required a bit of actual effort, so he took them to the playground near our house instead. He spent 45 minutes of his precious time with his two children, before dropping them off again. When I saw his car pull up in front of my house, I assumed he’d forgotten something. But no. He’d had his fill of parental responsibility.”

  Ugh. That asshole. I hope I never meet him. “Amy was upset?”

  “She was. They’re too little to articulate it, but they know when a promise has been broken.”

  Having been on the wrong end of many such promises, I totally get it. “I’m so sorry about that. But she seemed okay today.”

  “Good. I’m done announcing his visits, though. Half the time when I tell them Daddy’s coming, he lets them down.” She crosses her arms over her luscious chest. “What else?”

  Have sex with me. Lots of it. But that’s a conversation we’ll have another time. “Here.” I show her the forms I’ve copied. “These are for you to read, and hopefully to sign.”

  “What is it? A permission slip?”

  “For participating in my study.”

  “Your…?” She looks baffled.

  “I’m doing research. For my Ph.D. in childhood development.”

  Now her eyes bug out. “You’re in graduate school?”

  “Sure. I’m working here for a year while I do research. And I’ve helped to design a global study which attempts to analyze how easily children can learn a task when it’s taught to them by a human, versus by a video.”

  “Wow,” she whispers. “What a cool thing to study!”

  “Yeah. We want to learn whether videos are useful teaching tools or whether we’re sacrificing our toddlers’ attention spans for the sake of convenience.”

  “Yes! And what about eye contact?” she asks. “And normalized reactive traits!”

  “Oh, baby,” I whisper. “Whisper it in my ear.”

  Sadie laughs, low and throaty, and I feel it in my cock. “I had no idea you were a nerdy academic.”

  “The nerdiest. This fall I’m going overseas to work on the big group project. Sixty Ph.D. candidates in fifteen locations, testing kids on two continents.”

  Her eyes widen. “Wow. Where are you headed?”

  “I don’t know yet. We got to list our top choices, but the letters don’t go out for a few weeks. The UK maybe. Or Rome.” I nudge her with my elbow. “You thought I was just an hourly childcare worker, huh? No ambition?”

  She tilts her head to the side and smiles. “I thought that was really nice, actually. There should be more Liams in childcare.”

  I think so, too. And now we’re just standing here smiling at each other like fools.

  That’s when Kate does a face plant off the playhouse, landing with a thud that is going to haunt my dreams.

  “Oh my God!” Sadie gasps as we both dash over there. Sadie gets there first, scooping her daughter off the rug before the first scream.

  And it’s a doozy.

  “Oh, baby. Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” she croons.

  It’s all my fault. I’m such an asshole for not paying attention before these kids are out of my care.

  I swoop over and get Kate to show me her owey. She’s crying and she’s got a little rug burn on her forehead. “Kate,” I say in my serious voice.

  She stops crying for a beat and looks at me. Tears just on the edge of spilling over.

  “I think this requires a Golden Band-Aid!” Then I do jazz hands. Actual jazz hands.

  Kate’s frown turns into a smile and those tears magically dissipate. Amy gasps a little at the significance of this moment. A Golden Band-Aid is highly coveted in this childish kingdom. It’s a sign that you have an injury and you are tough.

  I head over to the first aid kit and return with the Golden Band-Aid on a plush velvet pillow. It’s just a regular Band-Aid with a gold sticker on it, but the kids imbibe it with magical power. I place it gingerly on her forehead. It doesn’t really cover the rug burn, but that’s not the point. “All better?” I ask.

  “I’m tough!” she says.

  “Golden Band-Aid tough!” And we fist bump with a nice boom at the end of it.

  Sadie looks at me. “Thanks,” she says softly.

  I offer to help her load the girls and all the gear into her car, but Sadie politely declines. She’s gone from view in a few minutes.

  And I never got her to sign the paperwork I need for my study.

  I smile. Perfect.

  7 Achievement Unlocked

  Sadie

  “No, you shouldn’t keep dating him. Not with all those red flags!”

  I’m on the phone with my baby sister, Megan, and she’s asking me for advice. This is part of our routine. Weekly check-ins that help us stay connected but fall just short of being enough. I miss her, even when she’s making terrible choices.

  “But he’s so cute,” she whines. “He’s a doc-torrrr.”

  “Yet he’s emotionally un-avaaaaaaailable,” I sing back.

  “I don’t want to marry him, Sadie. I just want to fuck him a little longer.”

  “Megan!”

  She sighs.

  It’s a shame that we have to have this conversation over the ph
one. I’m angling for her to move back to Grand Rapids, but she insists that Atlanta is the place to be right now for actors. There’s a zombie TV show she’s trying to get cast in.

  “Please don’t let this man break your heart,” I repeat, strongly and firmly in my mom voice, since my therapist voice has no effect on her. “When a guy runs so hot and cold, it’s a sign. If he loves you on Monday and then doesn’t return your texts on Tuesday, he’s probably a raging narcissist. A nice guy doesn’t string women along like that…”

  “He’s got a big dick…” she adds.

  “Meg!”

  She takes a deep inhale that makes me wonder if she’s smoking. What, I’m not exactly sure. She’s a bit of a wild child. And she does not have a good track record with dating. It’s like she’s choosing guys from the Hi! I’m An Asshole catalog. “You’re right,” she says eventually. “This is probably going to end badly.”

  “Gosh, you think?”

  “But Sadie! I’m really…” She’s searching for the word, I can tell. Lonely? Unsatisfied with her gypsy lifestyle? “Horny,” she concludes. Aren’t we all, I wonder. “Plus,” she continues, “he’s super hot. Like, Grey’s Anatomy hot.”

  I can understand her dilemma.

  “You say you just want a sexual relationship, but every time you try it, it turns out badly,” I say. “I mean you can, of course, it’s your life, but maybe try something different? Maybe try actually dating for a while...with no sex, and see if the guy is actually worthy of you.”

  “Worthy of me,” she says and giggles.

  “Worthy of you!” I repeat. “You are amazing and you deserve someone who will stop looking in his own mirror and worship you.” I could use a little of that myself, I think. “Why don’t you date that other guy you mentioned?”

  “What guy?” she asks.

  I’m having trouble remembering his name. She’s been interested in a lot of guys over the years. “That guy you met at Jimmy John’s?”

  She laughs. “It’s not a guy at Jimmy John’s. It’s a guy named Jimmy John. And no. Ew. He’s not my type. He’s, like, twenty-two and plays baseball.”