CHAPTER ELEVEN

HOLLY

 

Brandon Davis.

I smiled, despite feeling mildly freaked out that he called me Holly freakin’ Hughes. That was my thing, and it took a moment to convince myself that he wasn’t in fact living in my brain.

Brandon freakin’ Davis. Mind reader.

What a bizarre turn of events, I thought, as I drove back to Liz’s house. I mean, I had set out that night to see James, and I ended up at a diner with Brandon. I hadn’t admitted it to him, but I had gone to the bookstore with the purpose of finding him, not knowing where else to look. I had been in desperate need of a comfort that--let’s face it—I wasn’t going to get from anyone else. Liz would have hugged me and busied herself with something else, Esther would have told me to get back on the horse and find some handsome man to take my mind off of it, and Anna would have continued watching some dancing vegetable on TV.

No, what I needed was him, and there he was, as though he were planted exactly where I needed him, when I needed him.

He always is.

Pulling into the driveway, I sighed at the dark house. I imagined my sister cuddled into her bed with my niece sleeping in the room next to her. I could see the little room I called my own, with its small bed, Stephen’s old dresser, a desk from Ikea, and a TV. The sadness of it all made me think of it more as Harry Potter’s little cupboard of a room underneath the stairs, and I wondered if I could ever have that life I had described to Brandon. The luxurious life of living in a Brightwaters house on the lake and a couple of kids. I mean, it happened to people, didn’t it? But then again, I assumed a man like that looked for a trophy wife, and well, that sort of explained why Brandon only wanted me as a friend.

Holly freakin’ Hughes. Consolation prize.

I entered the house, closing the door behind me softly and undid my heels before tiptoeing to my room. Camille slept peacefully on the bed, only stirring a little as I sat down next to her in the dark room. The dress felt as though it were strangling me, clinging to every unfortunate roll and imperfection that James clearly noticed right away, but I couldn't be bothered taking it off. All I wanted was to lie down and let my head hit the pillow after an exhausting night.

 

***

 

Hands shook my shoulders a hair below what I would considered violent. My lids flipped open to see Liz standing over me. Her face displayed a look of concern and anger, and at that moment, the memories from the night before came rushing back to me all at once. I glanced downward, taking note that I was still wearing the evening gown.

Holly freakin’ Hughes. Total freakin’ wreck.

I sat up, suddenly alert. Liz was running late for work, no thanks to me, but she insisted that I tell her what had happened the night before. I managed to fit it all into a very small nutshell—a pistachio, really—and it wasn’t all that hard to do. All I had to say was the douchebag saw me and high-tailed it the hell out of there. 

“Why would he do that?” she asked, her perfectly plucked brows knitting together with question.

“Because I’m hideous.” I finished my tale of woe with a heavy sigh and Liz wrapped her arms around me. "And I'm a babysitter. Who the hell wants a thirty-one-year-old babysitter?"

She assured me that I wasn’t in fact hideous. “In fact,” she stated, “you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.” I appreciated the sentiment, but come on, she was my sister and one of my best friends. She had to say things like that out of obligation.

“Besides, he’s only one guy. I bet there are tons of others online that would kill to be with you,” she said with a little too much optimism.

Except, I neglected to add, I was finished with online dating. One failed attempt was enough; just like one cheating ex-boyfriend was plenty, thanks.

“So, what did you end up doing then? You came home pretty late,” she mused, lifting an accusing eyebrow.

“Oh, I just spent some time with Brandon,” I said nonchalantly.

“Mm-hmm,” she said with a smirk, “I figured.”

There was nothing wrong with spending a crappy night with a friend to cheer yourself up, and I chose to not honor that comment with a response as she finished getting her things together.

After she had finally made it out the door, an hour late for work, Anna and I ate a delayed breakfast of pancakes and bacon. She thought it was a special treat, and sure, I suppose it was, but it was more for me than her. A bad date deserved a good breakfast. 

We amused ourselves with three rousing games of Candy Land (all of which Anna graciously won), and then it was a lunch of peanut butter and jelly. We watched a few episodes of Dora the Explorer and Peppa Pig before it was time for her nap, and as she slept, I wandered outside with the baby monitor to see what Esther was up to. I brought along my Styrofoam to-go container concealing my complimentary dessert from Bankers. We ate the rich and delicious chocolate cake on her steps while I told her about what had happened on the date.

“What a disgusting prick.” She pursed her thinned lips and lowered her wispy brows into a look of sheer rage. “I could shove my cane right up his gorgeous ass. I’m so sorry, honey. People can be such assholes sometimes.” I shrugged sadly, nodding. I guess Esther took that as my surrender because she quickly added, “Oh, but honey, there are so many men out there. You’ve only been on one date.” She smiled as though she had just said the magic words to turn this whole thing around. “And remember, you did get that one guy to make out with you. That’s something.”

“Except it was nothing but a way to land me in the friend-zone,” I pointed out. Esther shrugged her response. “And I am done finding guys online. I can’t handle another date like that.”

“Because running away is a great way to solve things.” She shook her head with a scowl.

“Yeah, well, better to run away than run head-first into another night of tears and greasy diner food.” I flashed Esther the baby monitor, showing her the stirring Anna. “I gotta head back.”  

“Ah, yes, must attend to your duties and leave me sitting here alone. I might be dead tomorrow, you know.” She wagged a finger at me. 

Eye roll. “Uh-huh.” 

I kissed her on the cheek and began the long walk home to find the cherry that was to be on top of my no good, very bad day sundae. 

Somewhere between Esther’s front stoop and Anna’s room, Anna had ripped her Naptime Diaper off and I found her sitting in the middle of her room, completely naked, and covered in poop—and I mean, covered. From head to toe. Between her toes. In her hair. In her—oh, God, in her nostrils and ears and—

Jesus Christ, it was in her mouth.

I wanted to die. Right there in that room. I wanted to just collapse and die.

Three thoughts instantly hit me all at once.

One, how could something so little produce that much crap?

Two, how could she be giggling at a time like this?

Three, what the hell would possess a three-year-old to cover herself in poop like some tribal war paint?

“Anna, why? Why would you do this?” I pleaded with her, feeling my delicious chocolate cake rising in my throat.

“I twied to cwean my butt.”

“Well, thank you ever so much, but next time, leave that to the authorities.”

I gagged and heaved my way through the clean-up from hell, with Anna taking it all very much in stride. The one and only time she showed the slightest bit of resistance was when it was time for her bath, because God forbid I insist she didn’t walk around caked in her own crap. She shrieked for forty minutes as I dumped her in the tub, and scrubbed her until she sparkled like a 21^st century vampire. 

Liz walked into the bathroom just as I was toweling her off. “Holly, why does my house smell like crap? And why are you killing my daughter?” I turned to her and there was no need to speak. My eyes, my angry, angry eyes, said it all. “You know what? You obviously have this handled, so I’m just going to get the table set. I brought home Chinese.”

 

***

 

Once Anna was asleep and Liz had retreated to her bedroom for the night, I headed over to Reade’s to get myself a cup of tea from the café before closing time. I had become pretty accustomed to the lavender Earl Grey and decided it was only right to treat myself after the crappy hell I had been through. Pun totally intended.

I walked through the small shop towards the café, greeted by a cheerful Bill busying himself by rearranging a display of books near the entrance. I found Brandon sitting at a table with his laptop and a notebook, pen tucked behind his ear. He smiled and gave me a little wave, and I took that as a signal to bother him. I pulled a chair out and practically threw myself onto the seat.

"Another day in Paradise, huh?" He laughed and held up his cup. "I need a refill. Earl Grey?"

I know I shouldn't have just assumed he would always use his connections at the store to get me free drinks, but he offered, so I accepted. He left the table to give Scott our order, leaving behind his open notebook and pen. Feeling a little bold, I grasped the opportunity to take a gander at the book. I couldn't make out much of what had been scribbled down; the guy’s handwriting was atrocious. But they appeared to be notes, something about a war and something about swords. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him walking back to the table and I quickly looked away from the book.

"It's just some research." He winked at me, and I blushed. For good measure, I apologized for looking. "Oh, it's no biggie. Anyway, how are you doing? Better than yesterday?”

God, why did he have to bring that up? Pressing my hand into my forehead, I groaned. He apologized for rekindling bad memories, and I shook my head.

“No, it’s not that,” I began, before telling him about how I had overslept, making my sister late for work, and then moved into telling him about the diaper disaster with Anna. I looked up to find an amused smile plastered on his face, as if my misfortune with the diaper was the funniest thing he had heard all day. I crossed my arms defensively over my chest. “And you find this amusing?” I scoffed.

He shook his head, a few strands of hair falling out of place. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just—” He chuckled, his smile widening. “I’m just thinking about this one time I babysat for my best friend’s kids. His wife was going into labor with their third daughter, so he called me over to his place to keep an eye on the other two until he could get someone, um, more qualified to take over.” He looked up toward the ceiling, pushing back in his chair to teeter on the two back legs. His smile never left his face, and my God, he was adorable.

“So, what happened?” I asked, folding my arms on the table.

“Okay, so I had very, very limited experience with babies at the time, and the youngest was something like a year old; the oldest was somewhere around three or four—I can’t remember. Point is, they were little, I had no clue what I was doing, but I figured, how hard can it be? I just had to keep them safe until someone else got there.” He leaned forward again, covered his face with his hands and groaned. “Holly, I swear to God, those were three of the most eye-opening hours of my life. The oldest one—Lynn—had started the day off by coloring all over the brand-new beige couch with a fucking Sharpie she found in my jacket pocket. And in the three seconds it took me to notice this had happened, Sarah crawled over to the cat’s dish and proceeded to pick away at the food like it was the perfect mid-morning snack.” He dropped his hands onto the table. The grin had consumed his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And that was within the first ten minutes of me being over there.”

“You would die in my job,” I laughed, suddenly feeling that my one poop incident wasn’t all that bad.

He took a sip from his coffee, and swallowed with another chuckle. “Hey, I’ve gotten better since then. They actually like the rare occasion I watch them by myself, so I guess I do something right.” His head shook as I secretly gushed over the idea of him hanging out with little kids. “But fuck, kids can be such unpredictable little psychos.”

“Tell me about it. Anna freaked out the other day because I didn’t place her cup down on the table with Minnie Mouse’s face actually looking at her. She dropped to the floor and cried for a solid ten minutes.” I smiled at the ridiculous memory then, but God, it had not been funny at the time.

“Well, duh.” Brandon crossed his arms over his chest with a convincing expression of disapproval, teetering on the back legs of the chair again.

“Oh, my God, shut up,” I laughed, crumpling up a napkin and tossing it at him. Brandon ducked, and the napkin landed on the floor somewhere behind his chair. “Oops.”

“Hey, come on, no throwing in my café,” Scott scolded teasingly from the barista counter, putting a pause to his singing.

Brandon responded by flashing him the middle finger. “It’s your dad’s café, and your dad doesn’t care.” Scott muttered a few obscenities under his breath before throwing a lid over in our direction and continued his obligatory singing.

I couldn’t control my smile as I took another sip of my tea. “So, I take it you don’t want kids, huh?”

Brandon cocked his head, twisting his lips. “Well, no, I didn’t say that. I said they’re psychotic, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t like to have a few of my own psychos running around.” He picked his coffee up and brought it up to his lips. “I’d have awesome kids,” he mused before tilting the cup back into his mouth. “And they’d be hilarious, because I mean, come on.” He gestured towards himself with that half-smile, and my ovaries ached just a little.

“What about you?” he asked. “Now that you’ve washed crap off a toddler, you think you could have your own?”

I sucked in a gust of air and exhaled loudly, rubbing my hand against my forehead. “Oh, well, that was always the plan, but you know, my eggs are just shriveling up into nothingness at this point, so who the hell knows.”

“Ah, come on, you’re not that old.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m almost thirty-two. That’s pretty old.”

Brandon’s jaw dropped. “Hey, fuck you. I’ll be thirty-seven next year.”

I glared at him through my eyelashes. “It’s different for you. You can have kids forever, but me?” I waved a hand in the air, dismissing the idea. “I still have to lock a guy down to give me his seed anyway, and we both know where that’s going right now.”

He sighed. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

"Yeah, okay. Just look at me. I look like I crawled out of a hole somewhere."

Brandon laughed. "You mean guys don't normally like this living dead thing you have going on?" That made me giggle a little bit, and he smiled. "But really, I'm sure you'll find that lucky guy who wants you and your shriveled-up eggs. And hey, there’s always artificial insemination, right?"

We sat in silence then. Brandon had turned to the notebook again, fervently scribbling something down with a determined look on his face. Shamefully feeling a little ignored, I sipped my tea and glanced around the near-empty store. It was a few minutes before closing and it was only a matter of time before Bill or Scott came over to kick us out. I would go home to Liz's, he would go to what was undoubtedly a beautiful house in Brightwaters, and we would sleep alone. God, I didn't want to sleep alone. Not when my shriveled eggs were so fresh in my mind, and I just wanted to be held in someone’s arms as they told me everything would be okay.

He seemed to be the only person who could make me believe it.

Brandon stopped his scribbling, closed the book, and as he looked up at me, a few strands of hair fell into his eyes.

"You okay?" He put the pen down, focusing entirely on me again.

Not even a little bit.

I forced a smile that I hoped said I was doing just swell, and said, "Yeah, but I should probably get going. They're going to close soon."

"We could hang out longer, if you want to. We could go to the diner."

I shook my head, knowing the temptation would’ve been too great if I did. Somewhere along the line, I'd ask him if we could go back to his place, or if he wanted to come see my lame little room back at my sister's house, thanks to my ovaries that I was suddenly very aware of. Maybe there wouldn't be sex, but there very well could have been if I had my way, and I needed to just stay away from that.

So, we both stood from the table. Empty cups were thrown into the trash can, and Scott wished us a good night. Brandon walked me to the minivan and opened the door for me. He leaned down to kiss my cheek, but on his way to touch his lips to my skin, I thought there was a moment of hesitation when his mouth was just inches from mine. Or maybe it was just my imagination, my own subconscious wanting to see something that wasn't there. That's what I told myself while I got into Ol' Rusty and watched him walk to his fancy-shmancy Mercedes, and I felt okay with that.

That is, until we drove our separate ways and I remembered the cold bed I was going home to and the warm friend I was leaving.