by Tara Wylde
“It’d be...totally gross to fall asleep like this, right?”
I clap my hand over my mouth to hold back an indecorous snort. “Completely nasty.”
“Hate ourselves in the morning.”
“Mm-hm.” I should peel myself off him. I really should. Just one more moment, till my knees stop quivering. I feel like rubber from the waist down.
I feel his muscles tense and ripple against me as he stretches. Maybe he could just...carry me to the shower. Hold me up while he rinses me clean. Even better—if my bathtub were big enough for the both of us....
“All right. Okay. I’m getting up. Just....” I linger for a kiss, and another...and maybe a few after that. In a moment, we’ll be all elbows and sliding soap in my tiny shower, hurrying to beat that hard five-minute cap on the hot water. I take my time savoring this warm, lazy feeling.
He helps me to my feet, and we get caught up again, making out against the wall. He doesn’t seem to be in any more of a hurry than I am, pausing to play with my hair, wrapping a stray lock around his finger. “Can I brush this for you later?”
“My hair?”
“Mm...it’s really soft. I’ll be gentle. Start at the ends, work out the tangles.”
I like the thought of him taking care of me. Especially now, like this. “Yeah. You can brush it. Paint my nails too, if you want.” I mean that last part as a joke, but I feel his lips curve in a smile against my neck.
“Maybe I will. Like, a nice soft pink. Kind of a dusty rose, so it doesn’t clash with your hair.”
I bite my lip again. “Don’t make me laugh... I’m not one of those quiet, delicate laughers.”
“Mm, I know.” Nick gives my ribs a quick tickle, causing me to squeak and double over. “I like that about you. You love a good laugh: you forget yourself for a while. Get right into it.” He slides his arms around my waist. “I noticed that about you the first time we went out. At the comedy club. Wanted to make you laugh all the time.”
“We can go back when they do an open mic, then. Triple-dog dare you.”
He nudges me in the back. “C’mon. Let’s go shower.”
“Yeah, changing the subject—bok-bok-bok.”
“I’ll do it if you will.”
We’re still whisper-fighting over who has the guts to do the open mic and who doesn’t when we step into the shower. Honestly, in this moment, I’d swear I could face just about anything.
149
Nick
She must’ve had a burglary, and recently: that’s the only thing that can explain the complete lack of, well, much of anything in the kitchen, plus the brand new locks. The place looks pretty grim in the light of day. It’s neat and clean, but apart from the sky-blue spiders painted all over the walls—must’ve been the kid—there are no homey touches, no signs anyone lives here. In the cupboards, I find one pot, one pan, one mixing bowl, and...whew! One sad plastic spatula.
The Iron Chef kitchen it’s not, but I can work with this. Which is good, because I’ve decided the best way to make a good first impression on the kid is to be the guy feeding him pancakes.
After last night, I definitely want to make a good impression. I’m still feeling kind of sheepish after my meltdown at the opera, but what came after... It did feel good to get everything out in the open, to slide some of the burden off my shoulders. And later, in bed.... I can’t help but smile. This time, I know it was good for her, too. I think we’ve got something here, something promising.
I shake flour and baking powder into the mixing bowl, and a little sugar and salt. Been a while since I made these from scratch: Katie likes that Aunt Jemima pancake-and-waffle crap, which is total sacrilege, but what can you do?
Awkwardly, it’s the kid who wakes up first. He wanders into the kitchen in his Superman footie pajamas just as my bacon’s starting to sizzle. I’m fully prepared for him to scream bloody murder and get me in trouble, but he just rises on his tiptoes, trying to see into the pan. He’ll probably be tall enough to get a peek pretty soon...but not today.
He tugs on my pant leg. “Whatcha making?”
“Bacon pancakes.” I flip the bacon, holding up my free hand to keep any spatters off him.
“Can I have some?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I never had bacon pancakes.” He lifts up his arms. “Put me on the counter?”
“Your mom lets you sit on the counter?”
He nods.
“Really? She does?”
“No....” Sneaky little guy! He pulls at my pant leg again. “Are you my new babysitter?”
“If I am, would you say I’m doing a good job?”
Joey takes his time and thinks about that, standing back to take me in fully. “Well... You’re tall. And I like pancakes. But I don’t know yet if you’re fun or boring.”
Fair enough. “Okay—so what’s fun to you?”
“Going to the park or the beach. Feeding birds. Finding shells.”
“And what’s boring?”
“Watching TV on your phone.”
“Yeah. That is pretty boring.” I start crumbling the bacon into the pancake batter. Joe starts jumping up and down, trying to get a better look. I envy him. I never have that kind of energy this early in the morning.
Lina makes her appearance just as the first pancakes are fluffing up in the pan. She’s in a fuzzy pink dressing gown that someone seems to have gone to town on with a tube of yellow puffy paint. Must’ve been the kid. He seems to have a thing for adding his own personal touch around the place.
Joey jumps into her arms the second he spots her. “Mom! The new babysitter’s making bacon pancakes!”
She musses up his hair. “Is that so?”
“Yeah. I like this one so far.”
“Yeah, so do I.” She winks at me over his head. “You wash your hands yet?”
“I was just gonna.”
“All right—so go on then.” Lina gives him a little push. He bounces off in the direction of the bathroom.
“He thought I was the babysitter. Wasn’t sure what to tell him, so I kind of...went with it.” I ladle out more pancake batter.
“He’ll be disappointed when Maria shows up.” Lina retrieves a folding TV table from on top of the fridge. Hadn’t noticed that there. “She’s good with him, and all, but she’s in high school. Spends most of her time doing homework, or on her phone.”
“He might’ve mentioned something about that.” An idea occurs to me. “Hey, when do you work today?”
“Not till six. Why?”
“I don’t have anything pressing to do, and Katie’s got a half day at school. Thought we could pick her up at lunch, take the kids to the Museum of Natural History? Checking out the dinosaurs might soften the blow of me not being the babysitter.”
“Joey does love a good dinosaur. Yeah—yeah, let’s do that.” Lina digs out some plastic kiddie cutlery and a sippy cup, and sets them up on the TV table. “Sorry—there’s only enough table for Joey. We’ll have to balance our plates on our knees.”
I shrug. “No table, no problem. Did I mention I love camping?”
“I wanna go camping.” Joey’s back, holding up his freshly-washed hands for inspection. “See? All clean.”
“Good job, honey.” Lina kisses him on top of his head. “Go ahead and sit down—you want syrup or jam?”
“Syrup!” He starts toward the table, but screeches to a halt moments later. “I mean, syrup please.”
“You got it.”
I’m impressed: Lina’s got a happy, healthy kid. Polite too. Whatever her place looks like, whatever her life looks like, she’s doing something right. Joey’s positively bubbling with energy and good spirits, and there’s no mistaking the affection between them.
When we’re all crowded around the tiny table, passing the syrup back and forth, Lina nudges Joey. “Hey, you remember that picnic we had the other night?”
Joey nods, mouth full of pancakes.
“Nick here’s the one wh
o gave us the basket.”
His little face lights up. He chews, swallows, and jumps up to give me a sticky hug. “I liked the mouse brains,” he says.
“Mouse...brains?”
Lina laughs. “He means the smoked oysters.”
Of course. “They do kind of look like mouse brains, don’t they?” I make a mouse face, pulling out my ears and baring my front teeth. Joey giggles, especially when I start squeaking at him.
“Oh, God, don’t encourage him!”
“Mouse brains!”
“Ugh! Boys!”
Lina somehow manages to get breakfast back under control, but every time I catch Joey’s eye, it sets him off snickering again. Looks like I could be a bad influence.
Joey winds up quite spectacularly glazed with syrup and pancake crumbs, so Lina whisks him off for a bath while I tackle the cleanup. I text Katie, as well: can’t have her taking off with her friends and ruining my plan. She texts back right away, which tells me she’s got her phone on in class—what’d I tell her about that?
wat? y the museum? cant we go shopping? and whos ur friend?
Sigh. because, katie, shopping is not a leisure activity. it is something you do when you need supplies. and the museum is educational. also, why are you texting in class?
because im not.
Eyeroll emoji, eyeroll emoji, and...yep. Another eyeroll emoji.
im in home ec which is not a real class.
plus u didnt answer, whos ur friend? did u get a girlfriend????????
Did I? Maybe... I hope so. Still. Time to put on my stern dad hat: katie, can you get an F in home ec?
wat? i guess? if ur rly dumb?
then it is a real class. pay attention in home ec. and you’ll meet my friend this afternoon. :-)
I get a sticking-out-tongue emoji for that—and, a moment later, a line of thumbs-ups.
Guess we’re on for the museum.
150
Elina
“What’d you do, tell her it’d be good practice for babysitting jobs?” It’s cute, the way Katie is with Joey: she’s been helping him sound out the names of all the dinosaurs, and lecturing him on what they’d have looked like with their skins still on. He’s eating it up, even though I suspect she got half her information from Jurassic Park.
“Nah. She just loves an audience.”
“Ha—look at that!” They’re roaring at each other now, holding up their hands like claws.
“Katie, no roaring indoors.” Nick grins. “Besides, I heard this theory, a while ago, that they actually sounded more like birds. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!”
Joey and Katie look at each other and burst out laughing. They head off for the next exhibit, honking and whistling.
“Yeah... Not sure that’s an improvement.” I shake my head as Joey launches into his best crow-in-a-garbage-can squawkfest.
Nick leans in close—so close I feel his stubble on my neck—and does a Donald Duck kwaaaaaaa in my ear.
“Oh, not you too!”
Nick darts this way and that, quacking at me from all angles. The kids, of course, take note. In an instant, I’m the center of a storm of hoots and chirps and squawks. Reminds me of the time Joey got chased by a pack of aggressive geese at the park. Only I can’t distract these three with a well-aimed breakfast burrito.
Well... If you can’t beat them, join them.
I turn my back on the security guard, who’s looking at us like a pack of hillbillies invading a society ball, take a deep breath, and shut them all down with a hair-raising seagull shriek.
“Aw, Mommy!” Joey claps his hands over his ears.
Katie stares at me, round-eyed. “So, like, if we go out for lunch after, are you going to steal my fries?”
“Yep. So you’d better watch out.”
She smirks. “Hope you like vinegar and mayonnaise.” And just like that, she’s flouncing off, an adoring Joey in tow.
Nick’s watching them fondly. “Y’know, she hasn’t checked her phone once since we’ve been here.”
“Joey’s not even at that age yet, and he already knows how to take mine and look things up on YouTube.”
“Oh? What does he look for?”
“Spongebob Squarepants. Cat videos.” I grimace. “Farts.”
“Farts?” Nick covers his mouth, but I can still hear him laughing through his nose. “Sorry—I know that’s not great. But if I’d got my hands on a phone at his age, I can’t say I wouldn’t have looked them up too.”
“Can’t even imagine having one, at that age.” I really can’t—when I was Joe’s age, the hot toy was the Gameboy. And whenever I’d try begging for one, Vanya’d shoo me out in the yard to do “real kid stuff.” He and Mama had just moved in together, but he was never shy about playing dad.
Nick seems like a good father, too—the kind I’d want Joey to have. It’s way too early to be thinking along those lines, but....
He pokes me in the ribs. “Where’d you go?”
“Mm?”
“You were like—“ He taps his temple and stares off into space. “Pondering the mysteries of the universe.”
I feel myself turning a little red. I can’t possibly tell him what I was really thinking. “Oh, uh... Just thinking about when I was his age. Vanya wouldn’t let me have a Gameboy.”
“Wait, the same guy who just married your mother last year?” Nick cocks his head. “What’s the story there?”
I pounce eagerly on the diversion. “Oh, they’ve been together half a lifetime. But as far as marriage went, well, at first it was too soon. Dad was barely in his grave. I mean, it’d been a couple of years, but you know how people are. Especially with Vanya being his best friend. There would’ve been gossip. And after that... Honestly, I never asked. I think they just got comfortable.”
Nick gives me another poke and nods toward the kids. “Check that out.” Katie’s down on one knee, fixing Joey’s hair, which has somehow gone from neatly-combed to bird’s nest explosion between the last exhibit and here. Joey’s voice drifts over: he’s asking her to be his new babysitter.
“Looks like you just got replaced,” I say.
“Oh, that hurts.” He claps a hand over his heart. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve been fired from anything.”
“First time’s always the worst.”
Joey and Katie have found a display of trilobites. She’s trying to convince him they’re called that because they try to bite, but she can’t keep a straight face, and he’s having none of it. They both agree they have weird heads and look like aliens.
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
Well, that came out of nowhere. “Oh, the usual—family, presents, food coma. No one ever told Mama stuff the goose, not your family. You?”
“Same, only the family part sort of fell through.” He frowns. “Katie’s grandparents, y’know, on her mom’s side, were supposed to come down, but her arthritis is flaring up. And her mom—well, she’s with Doctors without Borders. We don’t see a lot of her.”
“How’s Katie taking that?”
“Hard to tell. She says she’s fine as long as she gets to go on her best friend’s New Year’s ski trip, but... Doesn’t that seem sort of...un-Christmassy to you?”
“Well, at least it’s a winter sport.” He’s right, though: you can go skiing any time there’s snow. Christmas is meant to be special. “That reminds me of something we used to do in our neighborhood—not sure if they still do, but it was a big deal when I was growing up.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mm... They’d round up all the pensioners with nobody left alive to remember them, and all the kids whose families were—who couldn’t afford much of a Christmas. And they’d rent a hall, throw this massive banquet, with all the trimmings. The kids got new coats, a toy or two; the old folks... Well, honestly, more than a few of them got drunk. Someone always snuck in a flask. But the idea was for them to have the next best thing to a family holiday, even if they didn’t have anyone.”
<
br /> Nick looks thoughtful. “We deliver a ton of food to people like that. Through the food pantry, I mean. Old people living alone.” He’s watching Joey and Katie with a faraway look on his face. “I did a lot of the holiday deliveries last year. Some of them... It broke my heart. Their faces lit up when they saw the Christmas extras in their boxes... But they didn’t have a single decoration up. Like they couldn’t see the point, just for themselves.”
“I wouldn’t, either, if it wasn’t for Joey. Not having anyone to share it with—I wouldn’t want to be reminded. Wouldn’t want to look at the decorations, and think....” I swallow hard. There’s suddenly a lump in my throat.
“The families with kids are just as hard—some of them are struggling so bad....” Nick turns to me. “We should do your neighborhood thing. Through the food pantry. I mean, they all come in there—the old people, the kids, the families. It’d just be a matter of getting them together. We could do a neighborhood party for each location.” He clears his throat. “If you want to, I mean. Sorry—I get carried away sometimes when I get an idea. Not sure if you have time, or—“
“I have time.” I really don’t. But I love the idea. And, hell, he should do it. This is what he’s truly passionate about. He should get to see the smiles he puts on people’s faces for once. If I can help with that—
Joey runs up, tripping over his shoelace and catapulting into my arms. I catch him neatly. “Hey. No running.”
“Sorry! But I wanna show you—“ He straightens up and holds out his hand, an expression of intense concentration on his face. I watch him walk a quarter over his knuckles—well, sort of. He helps it along with his thumb, and it falls off halfway through, but it’s still pretty impressive for a kid with tiny hands.
“Katie show you that?”
“Yeah. And she let me keep the quarter.”
“You remember to say thanks?”
He takes his time thinking about that. “I think so. Maybe? I forget.”
“Well, you’d better go back over there and make sure. But first—“ I bend down and retie his shoe. He knows how to do it himself, but he does a crappy job. I don’t want his memory of this afternoon ruined by skinned knees or a bumped head.