by Jewel Ann
“Bye, Romeo.” She hunches down in front of him and gives him a wrinkled-nosed smile.
Roman tackles her with a hug. She falls backward, lying stiffly on the ground with Roman’s arms encircling her neck.
“Whoa, buddy. That’s enough hugging.” I peel him from her body and hold out my hand to help her up.
She brushes off her backside and laughs. “He’s quite the little hugger. I’ll be ready next time.”
I bite my tongue as the words “you could learn a few things” sit idle between my pursed lips. But she said she’d be ready next time, and that means she welcomes more hugs from my son.
“Have a great walk.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She holds up her hand in an awkward wave as I carry Roman to the car. “All these leftovers sat in my car.”
“Oh … shoot. Can’t eat them if they haven’t been refrigerated.” She shrugs.
“Sorry. I know you were really wanting them.” I smirk.
She returns a tight smile, her weak version of lying.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gleaning 101
I make it three days before pressing SEND on my phone to call Dorothy. Aside from her random sexual demands, which happen with a moment’s notice, she qualifies as the world’s least needy girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
That’s a weird word for me to have in my thirty-eight-year-old head. Is she my girlfriend? I’m nearly two decades behind on the dating scene, so maybe girlfriend is an outdated term.
She doesn’t answer my call, even though it’s past her scheduled time at the car and dog wash. Maybe she’s still walking. Before I can speculate anymore, my phone vibrates with a text from her.
Dorothy: What do you need?
Me: I need to talk to you.
Dorothy: Texting not work for you?
I chuckle.
Me: I like the sound of your voice.
Dorothy: “What do you want?”
She sends a voice text. I mean … of course she does.
That makes me laugh more. It makes that infinite happiness bubble to the surface again.
I return a voice text. “I need a babysitter for Roman tomorrow night.”
Not a lie.
Granted, my parents or either one of my sisters will happily watch him, but that won’t give me a chance to see Dorothy again before work on Friday.
Dorothy: Sure! (beaming emoji with smiling eyes) What time? I get back from gleaning around eight. (high-five emoji)
Me: I have an appointment at seven. (thinking emoji)
Dorothy: Oh. Bummer. Sorry. (slightly frowning emoji)
Me: What do you have going on at seven?
Dorothy: Gleaning. (apple emoji, cookie emoji)
Me: Could you skip it one night?
Dorothy: Sure, I’ll let the poor, homeless, hungry people know I can’t help feed them because you need me. What is your appointment?
Me: Massage.
Dorothy: Oh! Yes, sounds super duper important.
Me: Calling you now. PICK UP YOUR PHONE!
I call her and she answers on the first ring.
“What is your deal? Texting was invented so people wouldn’t have to actually have verbal conversations.”
“Hi, Dorothy. I’ve missed you too. Have you had a good week so far?”
“Sure, make me sound insensitive.”
“What is your aversion to phone conversations?”
“Ugh! It’s just a time thing. Small talk. Chitchat shit that drives me crazy.”
“So talking to me drives you crazy?”
“No. Not yet, but if you refuse to text with me, it might get to that point. And emojis give context to words better than I can do with inflection. So when you take away my emojis, there’s a good chance of you misinterpreting the true meaning behind my words.”
“I’ll do anything if you skip one night of gleaning to watch Roman for me.”
That is code for I’d do anything to see her Thursday night.
“Um … again, no emojis makes this hard for me, but your anything sounds sexual. Are you pimping yourself out for a babysitter for your son? Gosh, what kind of massage is this that you’re getting?”
“Please.”
“You sound desperate.”
“Pretty please.”
“Yeah, that’s better. Not near as desperate. Eye roll emoji.”
I laugh. “Did you just verbal emoji me on the phone?”
“Yes. High-five emoji.”
“Enough emojis. The inflection of your voice is just fine for me. Just so you know, the please and pretty please is Roman. He’s begging to spend time with you again.”
“Wow, and I thought I sucked at lying. I know it’s past his bedtime.”
“He told me everything he wanted to say to you before he went to bed.”
“Okay.”
I choke on my next breath filled with more begging. Okay. She said okay. “Okay, yes you’ll watch him?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll be so excited.”
“Okay.”
Yeah, a few emojis with that monotone okay wouldn’t be the worst thing. I mentally insert my own smiley face and high-five emoji after her okay.
“Can you be here by six-thirty?”
“Okay.”
“Great! Goodnight, Dorothy. You’re the best.”
“Okay …”
I wait for the line to disconnect.
“Goodnight, Eli.”
Yes! High-five emoji.
* * *
Dorothy arrives by six and sits in her car until six-thirty. I let her because I think maybe she needs that thirty minutes alone in her car. It feels good to nudge her toward her limit without completely pushing her over the cliff. Great things happen when she allows herself to venture out of her daily norm—like doggy style sex and oral sex.
Yes, I’m still thinking about that. I’m certain I will think about that day every day for the rest of my life.
“Dorfee!” Roman tackle hugs her again, only she’s ready for it this time and stays on her feet.
“Little Romeo! Are you excited to hang with me tonight?”
“Yes!” As quickly as his excitement starts, he runs off to play, much like a dog greeting someone then running off when they realize no one brought them treats.
“Hey.” I take in her jeans, floral shirt, and green Nikes that match the stems on the shirt. It’s my first time seeing her in jeans. They’re not as inviting as her very accessible skirts, but she looks hot as hell just the same.
“Hey. So are you leaving his car seat … for emergencies?”
“9-1-1 is the best choice for emergencies.”
“Yes, but if you get in an accident or my mom or dad choke on something and die, I wouldn’t want to wait until you got home. And 9-1-1 is not a taxi service.” She shoves her hands into her front pockets, then her back pockets, then she folds them over her chest. Very odd for her.
“Yes. I’ll put his car seat in your car right now. Just don’t forget to have me get it out when I get back.”
“Cool.” She brushes past me and slips off her shoes.
Something feels a little off about Dorothy tonight, but I can’t quite figure it out. And I need to get to my appointment, so I switch the car seat and give her last minute instructions.
“There’s a list of numbers on the counter. He’s already had dinner, but there’s also a list of snacks he can have, but don’t give him anything later than seven-thirty. Bedtime is eight. There’s a list of that routine as well. Going pee is at the top of the list. Make him go first thing and again one more time before you actually put him in bed.
“Eli, I can read. And this is not my first time babysitting. Go.” She glances at her watch.
Again, I feel like something is not right with her. She gives off a nervous vibe that’s different than her other vibes.
With Roman in the other room, I move in on her, hoping to erase the weird vibe with a kiss. She stiffens at first. Then she grab
s my shirt and lets me kiss her, allowing her tongue to slide against mine.
Fuck the massage. I want to put Roman in his bed and get Dorothy naked in mine. When I release her mouth, my nose rubs against hers as I whisper. “Maybe when I get back you can kiss me … lower.”
She rubs her lips together and lifts her gaze to mine. A few seconds later, they widen a fraction as my intentions must make their connection in her brain.
“Oh …” She shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”
I chuckle, stepping back, feeling the burn of rejection. Maybe I should have texted that to her. Maybe she might have inserted a winking face emoji. Maybe the one with the tongue sticking out. Maybe an eggplant emoji.
Maybe … my blowjob days are over.
I sigh. “Well, thanks. See you in a while.”
She glances at her watch again, chewing on her lower lip, and nods. “Okay.”
“Bye, Roman. Keep an eye on Dorothy.” I slip into the living room where he’s surrounded by Duplo Legos and give him a kiss on the top of his head. When I get into my car, I whisper on a laugh, “Oh … No. I’m good.” My ego-crushing laughter continues as I pull out of the driveway. “You’ve lost your game, man. It’s just … gone.”
* * *
After my massage, I have a string of missed calls, messages, and texts on my phone from Julie.
Why does the hospital transporter have our child at the farmer’s market?
Where are you?
Why aren’t you answering your phone?
Why didn’t she know where you’re at?
Did she have a car seat for him?
I’m taking him with me since he’s on my watch again tomorrow anyway.
Dammit, Eli! Why did MY child have a fit when I tried to take him with me? OMFG, I’m so embarrassed that he threw a tantrum because he wanted to stay with her. A police officer asked HER if everything was OK, like I was trying to abduct my own child!
WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
I call her on my way to my car.
“Jesus! Where are you, Elijah?”
I rub my forehead. “I had an appointment. Calm down. What’s going on?”
“Are you fucking the transporter girl? Is that why she was at brunch on Sunday and at the farmer’s market with Roman tonight?”
“If only that were your business. Do you have another question for me?”
“That’s my son. You can’t leave him with just anyone. She had no fucking clue where you were.”
“She said that?”
“She said you had an appointment. I asked where, and after a few minutes of this deer in the headlight look, she shrugged. How is she supposed to get ahold of you in an emergency if she has no clue where you are? How would she get ahold of me or—”
“I got a massage. I tweaked my back on my hike the other day. And for the record, Dorothy has a full list of names and numbers, including yours, to call in the event of an emergency. Roman and I have been spending time with Dorothy for almost six weeks now. She’s not a random stranger. She’s a nursing student and an EMT. I’m completely confident in her ability to keep our son safe and act appropriately in an emergency.”
“Are you dating her?”
“So we’re done here. Good. Thanks for calling, Jules.”
I back out of the parking spot and drive home, organizing my thoughts to tactfully find out why the hell Dorothy had Roman at the farmer’s market. When I pull into the garage, the car seat is next to the back door.
I stop at the car seat, bending down to inspect it closer. The straps look dirty. And when I feel them, they’re sticky with white smudges like adhesive.
“What the hell?” I mumble before going into the house.
Dorothy looks up from the sofa and holds a finger to her lips. “He’s asleep,” she whispers.
But he isn’t asleep in his bed. And he isn’t in his pajamas. He’s asleep on the sofa with his head on her lap, food on his face, and a pile of books around him.
She smiles, stroking his hair.
I ease into the chair opposite the sofa and rest my arms on my legs, dropping my head for a few seconds to rake my fingers through my hair. “Dorothy …” I whisper, shaking my head. “What were you thinking taking him to the farmer’s market?”
When I glance up at her, I expect guilt and remorse. Nope. Instead, she twists her lips to the side and releases a slow breath as she eases Roman’s head off her lap. Without looking at me, she shuffles her socked feet to the kitchen, so I follow her.
Dorothy turns toward me and leans against the counter. “You talked with Dr. Hathaway.” She scrapes her teeth along her upper lip while nodding slowly, contemplatively. “Yeah, that was really awkward. She wanted to take him home with her. I figured that would be fine, I mean … she’s his mom. But he didn’t want to go, and it just escalated. And I kinda felt bad that I couldn’t remember where you said you were going. Sometimes I space off certain details. Anyway … she just kept asking over and over. I’m not used to seeing her so on edge. Boss Bitch usually shows such authority and control. Like … I felt really sorry for her.” She shrugs. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Um …” I cough sarcastically. “Maybe not take him to the farmer’s market. Get him to bed on time in his pajamas and with his face washed. Basically follow the instructions I left for you to follow.”
“I glean on Thursdays.”
“I understand that. But I asked you to watch Roman instead tonight.”
“You begged me to watch him. And so I did. You never told me I couldn’t take him with me.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t know I needed to ask.”
“I don’t buy it. That’s why you wanted the car seat.”
“I wanted the car seat for emergencies too. I wasn’t lying about that.”
“Just about going to the farmer’s market.”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t lie.”
“Have you ever heard that omission of the truth is the same as a lie?”
“Nope. Never heard that. And it makes no sense.”
“Dorothy …” Resting my hands on my hips, I drop my head and ease it side to side.
“I have photos of him in my little red wagon, riding with all the sacks of leftover food. Wanna see? He told everyone we passed that we were cleaning. Oh my god … it was so cute.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket.
“No. I don’t want to see pictures of you doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing with my son. And … I don’t want to think about you driving a vehicle with my son in it. You drive way too fast, run red lights, and completely get distracted when you’re driving. I’m not just upset that you took him to the farmer’s market. I’m upset that you took him anywhere. And I’m upset that you put me in a really uncomfortable position with Julie.”
“Daddy?” Roman stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “I pee peed.”
Sure enough, his pants are soaked, and I suspect my sofa cushions are too.
“I’ll clean everything up.” Dorothy pushes off the counter and heads toward Roman.
“Just go, please. I’ll get him cleaned up. Thank you for …” I shake my head again, feeling a headache coming on. “Watching him.”
“I will. I … I’ll clean him up. Like uh … like it didn’t happen. I’ll just clean it up.” She takes Roman’s hand.
“Dorothy, are you listening to me? Please just go home.”
“I think you’re mad. So I’ll clean him up. Problem solved.”
“Dorothy!”
She jumps. Wide eyes unblinking at me.
Roman’s lower lip pushes out and tears fill his eyes. “Daddy … why are you mad at Dorfee?”
Fuck …
“Okay. S-so …” Dorothy stutters and surveys the room like she’s looking for something. “I’ll just … go. Bye, Romeo.”
“Bye, Dorfee,” he murmurs, blinking several times without releasing any actual tears yet.
As she passes me, I
grab her hand to stop her and blow out a long breath. “I shouldn’t have asked you to watch him tonight. You had plans, and I didn’t respect that. So all of this is on me, not you.”
She keeps her gaze at the door and says nothing, so I release her hand because I don’t have time to deal with her and get Roman cleaned up and in bed.
No time for patience.
No time for reflection.
No time to plan how I will handle Julie in the morning.
So I act on impulse and do the things that need to be done first, starting with my soaked child.
The door clicks behind Dorothy.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, buddy.” I remove his clothes over the tile floor in the kitchen.
“Daddy, I rode in red wagon.”
“Oh yeah?” I force a little daddy enthusiasm even though I feel none.
“I did. I did … and Dorfee pull the wagon and I go wee! And … and we gots food. Lots of food. We were cleaning!”
“That’s great, Roman.” I pick him up and carry him upstairs. “Are you going to shower with me?”
“And Dorfee and me gave all the lots of food to people, Daddy.”
“Uh huh …” I set him down and turn on the shower to warm up while I undress. “Let’s see if you have any more pee pee.” I set him on the toilet, and sure enough, more pee.
He giggles. “It’s lemon … ade. Me and Dorfee had lemon … ade. Purple lemon … ade.”
“Lavender lemonade?”
“Yes. Labender lemon … ade. It was yummy.”
I usher him into the walk-in shower.
As I shampoo his hair, he glances up at me. “Daddy, some … some people have no food.”
I pause my motions for a few seconds before returning a slow nod and resuming the sudsing. “That’s true.”
“Is sad, Daddy. Dorfee say is sad. But me and Dorfee gave … gave people food. All the lots of food. Dat … dat make people happy.”
I’m an asshole.
When you meet someone who is essentially a better human than ninety-nine percent of the population, it’s hard to not occasionally show your asshole side. By default, their selflessness will be misread as selfishness. Tonight, I thought Dorothy was being selfish with her insistence on going to the farmer’s market.
I was wrong.
She was being completely selfless in her actions. And at the same time, teaching my young child a very valuable lesson and me as well.