Nicola
The rest of the IKEA outing is pretty uneventful and by that I mean all the sexual innuendo stops, thankfully, once we get Ava. Not that what Bram was spouting off could possibly be called innuendo. There was nothing indirect about it.
By the time we get back to my apartment, I feel all twisted up in knots. I think I need a moment to be alone with my thoughts, to gather my strength and my wits. As much fun as I had today, it challenged me. Bram challenged me. And it feels like the more I hang around my handsome neighbor, the more my resolve will dissolve.
But what a way to go.
“Well,” I say to him after he’s brought the heavy boxes of couch inside and once again I make a point not to ogle him while he lifts and lowers, like some impossibly rugged cave man. “Thank you so much for taking us there.”
“Anything for my two favorite girls,” he says, looking at Ava. She giggles and then as if she’s struck by a case of the bashfuls, she runs off into her room. “And I mean it,” he adds, eyes on me now. “Are you sure you don’t need help with your crappy couches?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him.
He nods. “All right then. Holler if you need anything.” He gives me a flash of a smile before he leaves the apartment. He closes the door behind him but I don’t breathe until I hear him shut the door to his place.
I collapse down on the couch and I’m suddenly sad to be getting rid of it and swapping in the new cheap ones. This couch is comfortable, it’s soft, it’s like a warm hug. Sure it’s falling apart at the literal seams but it’s been with me this whole time, there while my life became unhinged and I fell off track. I bought it from Anthropologie online and I remember Phil was so mad when it showed up at our apartment one day. He said our place was pushing him out, it was becoming too girly. That should have been a sign then. Maybe it wasn’t the furnishings that were pushing him out, maybe it was me.
I don’t want to let go of the couch. I want it to stay. I want to say, right here, where it’s safe.
“Mommy,” Ava says in her singsong voice, climbing onto the couch beside me.
“What is it, angel?”
“Is Bram my father?”
I nearly choke. “What? Your father, no. Honey. No. Phil is your father.”
She shakes her head. “But I don’t remember Phil. I have never seen Phil.” She says his name like it tastes bad. “I see Bram. Bram should be my father.”
Something in my heart cracks at that. “That’s not exactly how it works.”
“Why not? Doesn’t he like us?”
Oh, Jesus. I smooth her hair back off her face. “I think he does like us. Maybe you can ask Santa for him this year,” I add as a joke, just trying to get her to stop talking about it.
She smiles. “Okay, I will do that. How many months until Christmas?”
Shit. Obviously the joke is lost on her. I know I’m putting off the inevitable but now I feel like it’s going to turn into one horrible Hallmark movie come Christmas time. I wince at the sugariness.
I hear low bass come from next door and Bram has put on some of his 90’s British trip hop again. I can almost see him as a teen in Scotland, doing ecstasy and going to underground clubs. I bet he had short spiky hair and wore a beaded necklace and Adidas sports jerseys. I think I’ll ask him what he was like back then.
No, I tell myself. Get him out of your damn head. Now.
And so I listen to myself because I rarely steer myself wrong. I pick up my phone and I text Steph.
I know it’s Sunday, but I need a girls’ night BAD. And not to the Lion.
She’s instantly responding. Done. I’ll tell Kayla. We’ll get you good and drunk. Who is looking after Ava?
Good question.
I’ll find someone.
I then call my mother and when she can’t do it because she’s cleaning a house early tomorrow, I call Lisa. She’s got a dinner and can’t do it either.
Well, shit. I guess having two people on call for babysitting really isn’t enough, especially not on short notice. Maybe I’ll have to forget about letting my hair down after all, which is too bad because the more I imagine myself dancing without a care and drinking my face off, the more I’m beginning to crave it. I need it, need it.
I can’t find anyone, I text Steph.
What about Bram? Is her quick answer.
What about Bram? I immediately want to dismiss it. First of all, the night is supposed to be an escape from Bram and if he takes care of Ava, I’m going to be worrying about her and, by default, thinking about him all night. I also don’t know if I’d trust him with taking care of a child, especially mine, especially a diabetic one.
I also don’t want to ask him for another favor. So there’s that.
I don’t think so, I text Steph. I’ll find someone else. Even though we both know there is no one else. I mean, I guess there’s Linden, but he’d be even worse than Bram in the irresponsible department.
I lean back on the couch and start going through my phone contacts while Ava plays with her dolls on the floor. I consider Penny, James’s girlfriend, and am just about to Facebook message her when I hear Bram say, “Nicola?” from out in the hall.
Great. I put down the phone and go to the door, opening it. He’s on the other side with eager eyes.
“Yes?” I ask mildly.
“I just heard from Steph,” he says. “I’d be happy to watch Ava tonight.”
Steph? That bitch!
“She called you?” I ask incredulously. I immediately run over to my phone, all ready to send her messages with expletives and shouty caps.
“She did,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “She said you’d never ask yourself but that you wanted a girls’ night out and couldn’t find a sitter. So, here I am.”
I don’t know what to say. But Ava says it for me.
“Bram!” she yells as if he wasn’t just here ten minutes ago. She runs around the couch and right over to him, throwing her arms around his leg. It’s so cute I want to vomit. And remembering what she had said earlier about Bram, I think I might just do that.
“Did Santa bring you?” she asks.
Oh, God, I think. Please stop there.
“Okay!” I say quickly. And loudly. Both Ava and Bram jump a little. “Okay, that would be great Bram, if you don’t mind,” I lower my voice. “I know it’s asking a lot. There’s just a few things I want to go over with you, about her, uh, situation.”
“Diabetes!” Ava yells, running back and forth between us, knowing what I’m trying to skirt around. “The special disease!”
“That’s the positive attitude,” Bram comments to her. He smiles at me. “Show me the ropes, mum.”
I eye him in askance. “If you keep calling me mum, it’s going to get weird.”
“Right.” He nods. “Don’t want that mistake to happen while I’m shagging you sideways.”
I gasp and place my hands over Ava’s ears until she laughs and squirms away. “Language,” I admonish him.
“The dirtier the better,” he says, loving it. “All she knows is we’re talking about carpets. Speaking of carpets…” His eyes drift down to my jeans.
“Bram,” I say sternly. “If you want to help, shut up and come here.”
I take him into the kitchen where I keep the insulin and supplies in a special kit. “I need you to really pay attention. This is serious. Got it?”
He says he does but he’s still got a bit of that smirk going on.
“Have you even taken care of a child before?”
His smirk disappears. “Of course I have.”
“Oh really?”
He frowns at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not as incompetent as you think.” There’s an edge to his voice that catches me off guard. It’s the same kind of vibe I got when I asked about his stupid socks.
“I hope you’re right,” I say breezily, trying to ignore the sudden change in him. But while I have his rapt, albeit tense, attention I go over the basics with him. “This is the blood glucose monitor.”
“The spindle!” Ava cries out, running over and watching us eagerly. “That’s the spindle where Sleeping Beauty pricks her finger.”
“Is that so?” Bram asks and it seems like he’s calming down a bit. Sheesh. I think I like the jokester a lot better. When Bram McGregor gets serious, he gets serious.
“It’s just a tiny pin prick on her finger.” I hold the device and slide in the test strip, turning it on. I then take Ava’s hand and prick her fingertip quickly and gently with it. She shakes her hand after like it hurts. It probably does but she’s so used to it now and she’s smiling at Bram like a big girl.
“Then,” I go on, showing him, “we look at the results. It says its 170, which is about right for her right now. The only time you’ll have to do it will be before she goes to bed. Then it should be around 100 – 180.” I take out the test strip and put it in the garbage. “Then you get rid of the strip.”
“And what happens if it’s not in that range?”
“You adjust her diet,” I tell him. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s just an ongoing thing really, making adjustments. I do the test about six times a day, some times more. She gets insulin injections three times a day, in the morning, the afternoon and then before she goes to bed. I just gave her one in the bathroom at IKEA but tonight before I go, I’ll give her the last one and show you, just in case.” Suddenly I realize I’m out of breath and I’m grasping at my heart.
Bram puts his hand on the side of my cheek, peering at me intently. The feel of his hot skin is steadying, even though I’m starting to have a minor panic attack. “It’s okay,” he says in a soothing tone. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sorry,” I manage to say, trying to breathe. “It’s always hard, every time I leave. I feel like I’m leaving her fate in someone else’s hands.”
“And you are,” he says, stepping an inch closer, his palm still cupping my jaw, his fingers gently brushing back my hair from my cheekbone. “But I’ve got this. You’ll go out, have fun, and then you’ll come back. She’ll be fine, she’ll be asleep and I’ll be going through all your photo albums.”
I somehow smile at that.
***
When seven o’clock rolls around, I’m all dolled up in a black cocktail dress suited for an episode of Mad Men, with red lipstick and 60’s hair piled up.
“Mommy, you look like a princess,” Ava says as she sits on the edge of my bed, swinging her legs back and forth while I put the finishing touches on my liquid eyeliner. “No, a queen.”
“Why thank you,” I tell her, smiling at her in the reflection. “Now, you behave for Bram, okay?”
“I will,” she says and I believe her. One of the many beautiful things about Ava is that she’s never been a bratty child. She’s always been polite and considerate and even when she has the occasional temper tantrum, she’s quick to stop and quick to learn from it. I certainly wasn’t like that as a child and sometimes I wonder how she’s turned out so good when our circumstances could be so much better. But then again, as long as she has food in her belly, a roof over her head and a mother that loves her, a child can’t really want for much. Except maybe some of those new generation My Little Ponies but that’s what Christmas is for.
Along with other things now, apparently.
It’s not long before Bram comes by. He brings himself a bowl of pre-popped popcorn, which I think is kind of adorable, and he nearly drops it the moment he sees me.
If it’s petty to have wanted that kind of reaction from him, well, I can I own up to it.
“You look fucking edible,” he says in this throaty, husky voice that makes me want to clench my legs together. The word edible from his lips conjures up oh so many amazing scenarios.
“That’s what I was going for,” I tell him, not even bothering to correct his swearing.
“So, you’re going out to hook up?”
I frown at him. “I never said anything about hooking up.” And why do you care? I mean, do you care?
I kind of want him to care.
“Sweetheart, when you go out looking like a bloody movie star, the kind that young boys put on their walls and wank off to inside of a sock, you’re going to be hooking up. You may not know it yet but,” he waves at me with his fingers, “you’re giving the fuck me vibe.”
“Giving the vibe and wanting it are two different things,” I tell him.
“Oh, do I know that. But I’m just saying…be prepared to be hit on a lot.”
“Pshhh,” I dismiss him. “If I can handle you hitting on me, I can handle them.”
He smiles softly. “I suppose you’re right about that.”
After I show him how to give Ava her insulin shot – God forbid he needs to use it – I leave the two of them and go downstairs where Steph and Kayla are waiting in an Uber. The last vision I have of them is Bram standing by the door and Ava bouncing up and down on the couch in the background. If the couch breaks tonight, it looks like I’ll be spending my Monday morning in the IKEA assembly line.
“Nicola,” Steph says as I squeeze into the backseat of a Prius. “You look fucking hot.”
“Yup,” Kayla says, leaning forward to look at me. “Props.” She gives me the thumbs up.
They don’t look too shabby either, dressing in tight jeans and slinky shirts and ankle-breaker heels. Steph’s, I notice, are authentic Rodarte, which makes me hella jealous for a moment.
“I am so glad you decided to do this,” Kayla says later as we approach the first bar, Bartlett Hall just outside of Union Square. “I’ve needed girl time. I say we make up fake names and fake jobs for ourselves. I’ll be Lorraine Moneypenny, a circus trainer for the pigeons that perform during Cirque du Soleil. The ones in the rafters during the shows. Then we’ll ask guys for dick pics. You know, just approach random guys and ask for them, see who wants to play.” She pauses mid-scheme, adding a saucy smile. “Did I ever tell you, that you two are the best wingwomen a girl could hope for?”
“Oh, hold up,” Steph says, putting her hand on Kayla. “Tonight is about Nicola, not you. And I know my bestie. If she says she needs a girls night out, she really needs a girls’ night out. Hot mama needs to get laid. We want dicks, not dick pics.”
They both eye me, expecting me to deny it. But I don’t.
I nod. “Yeah. I need to get fucking laid ASAP.”
The Uber driver is smiling to himself as he pulls up beside the bar.
“Does this have something to do with living next to Bram?” Kayla teases.
“This has everything to do with living next to Bram,” I practically moan and the both of them look shocked. “If I don’t screw something soon, I’m going to end up screwing him. And we all know how bad of an idea that is. Even our Uber driver knows. Right?”
Uber driver eyes us in the rear-view mirror. “Sometimes bad ideas are good ideas.”
“When the guy in question happens to be my neighbor and my landlord?”
The guy whistles. “Hoo, boy. Good luck with that one, missy.”
I look back at the girls. “And this is why I need to get laid.”
“Think you can be a wingwoman tonight?” Steph asks Kayla.
Kayla puts on her serious face, like she’s going into battle. “We will get you some dick, honey.”
Our first bar isn’t really the dick-getting kind of place but it is a nice start. We each have a beer flight and share some appies and by the time I’m done with my Kolsch, I’m feeling buzzed. I’m feeling great, actually. I only thought about Bram once, too.
Actually I texted him while I was in the washroom, just checking up on Ava. He answered back that she was asleep and he was watching porn in preparation for my return and that he hoped I was having fun.
I assume the whole porn thing was a joke but part of me started fantasizing over the idea of it not being a joke at all. I mean, I know I don’t have porn on my TV, I just have basic cable, but what if I returned to the apartment, all tipsy and hot and bothered and he was there, ready to go. What would I do?
I think I know the answer but it’s all the more reason to hook up with someone else.
“All right girls,” I announce. “Time to move on.”
Next, we go to a bar called Dirty Habit, which seems to be more subdued than we’d like but still stay for several more beers and martinis before we end up at some no name place outside of Chinatown where a rowdier crowd thrives.
Things are getting a bit spotty now. We’re sitting in a booth we managed to snag after eyeing the couple in it like a hawk for an hour. There’s a lot of dancing happening on the dance floor and it’s becoming too hard to hear what we’re each saying, so we sit in silence while the music thrums around us. I stop drinking at this point because it’s getting too expensive but before I know it there’s a guy standing in front of the table and whispering something in Kayla’s ear.
He’s pretty hot. Athletic with big round shoulders and short dark-blond hair. A nice smile. Bright eyes. Young. Wearing a Giants shirt. Pretty standard stuff but whatever Kayla is saying to him has him eyeing me appreciatively. I would have thought she wouldn’t have been a very good wingwoman herself but she genuinely seems interested in Project #Dicks (hashtag needed) as she ended up calling it. I noted she called it plural, but I suppose there could always be one for her at the end. After all, Steph has her #dick at home.
Okay, I think I’m drunk. The guy is leaning forward and asking me something but I can’t hear him so I just nod. Then he holds out his hand for me and takes me to the dance floor. I look behind my shoulder at the girls and I can tell Kayla is yelling “Dicks!”
“What’s your name?” the guy asks, as he wraps his arms around my waist and brings me up to his chest.
“All yours,” I tell him with a smirk. I can’t believe that came out of my mouth.
And next thing I know, the guy is kissing me. He tastes like beer and his tongue is too sloppy but I’m into it. The alcohol, the music, the feeling of anonymity on the dance floor. I can be anyone, he can be anyone.
Yet, no matter how hard I try, he can’t be Bram.
The next thing I know, we’re in a cab. Steph is here. Flashes of Kayla. She’s making out with some guy, sitting on his lap. I’m on this Giants guy’s lap.
Then we’re in another bar. Woodbury or something. There are two bars inside. We stay at the one that’s just for beer and shots.
I do a lot of shots. After a while they don’t burn anymore. I make out some more with Giants guy and then he takes me into the handicapped restroom, a place I know is tailor-made for having disgusting bar bathroom sex.
The guy lifts up my dress and asks if I’m on the pill. I am – I’ve been ever since Ava – but I lie. I don’t know why. I tell him I’m not.
“You should be,” he says as he pulls down my underwear. “You don’t want to end up pregnant.”
I look around the bathroom and stop at my reflection. She looks like someone else. Drunk and pretending to be unafraid. The girl in the mirror breaks my heart.
So, I look down at the guy who is grinning up at me and I say, “Doesn’t make a difference, I already have a kid. Ava. Want to see her picture?”
That stops him dead in his tracks. He lets go of my underwear and I widen my leg to prevent it from falling to the dingy floor. I pull it up as he stares at me with panicked eyes. He’s young, too young for the truth.
“Look, uh,” he says, nervously running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mess around with moms. I’m only 24 and I—”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, pulling down my dress. I’m too drunk to try and pretty up my face though, so I just punch him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Thanks for the make-out session though, it was fun.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking sheepish now. “I had no idea. You’re just so fucking hot. And young.”
I nod him my thanks and then unlock the door, heading back out into the bar.
“What happened, did you score?” Kayla asks as I walk over to her and Steph. I notice her boytoy isn’t around either.
“No,” I tell her. “And it’s fine. I just…fuck it, let’s drink everything.”
We immediately order another round of beer and shots of Jameson and we drink until things go back to being blurry again.
When reality starts to fade in a bit, I find myself being walked to the door of my apartment building, my arms draped over both Kayla and Steph. We go up the stairs and now I’m standing in front of my door, wobbling back and forth, trying my hardest to look as sober as possible.
Steph goes to knock on the door but it’s already open. I guess we are being loud, giggling, in the hallway.
Bram looks at the three of us and my God is he a sight for sore eyes.
“We brought her home,” Steph says, motioning with her hand for Bram to get out of the way, “your shift is over.”
“No,” I tell them as they shuffle me inside. “He can stay.”
I know the three of them are exchanging a look over my head.
“I’ll make sure she goes to bed,” Bram explains. “No funny business, I swear.”
“Pinky swear?” Steph says and I turn to see her holding out her pinky to him. “You know I don’t break those.”
Ugh, Steph and her damn pinky swears. She wouldn’t even be married to Linden if it weren’t for one.
But Bram does a pinky swear with her.
“No funny business,” Steph warns him.
“Good thing I’m not funny!” I yell as I flop down on the couch. The room is beginning to spin.
“Nic, that was, like, five minutes ago,” Steph says. She reaches over the couch and pats my head. “Do you want us to undress you because Bram’s not allowed.”
“No one undresses me but me!” I yell, throwing my fist up into the air.
“Have fun with her,” Steph says to Bram. “And remember, she’s untouchable. Don’t make me make your brother punch you in the junk or something.”
Bram makes a scoffing noise. “Last time he tried to do that, I got him back good. You just ask him what happened on January 16th, 2005 and why he’ll never eat pudding again.”
“I mean it,” Steph threatens and I hear her and Kayla leave and the door closing.
I close my eyes too. Drift away for a moment. The spinning has stopped and there’s a beautifully cool breeze wafting over my skin.
“I’m not supposed to touch you,” Bram’s gruff voice says and when I open my eyes, he’s crouched in front of me, a lock of dark hair over his forehead. His face is shadowy in the dark, the only light now being from my bedroom behind him.
“That’s okay,” I mumble into the couch. “You can touch me. I say it’s fine.”
“How about I bring you something to sleep in? Do you have a favorite nightshirt? I always see you in that top that your nipples try and poke right through.”
“No, not the nipple shirt.”
He goes to get up. With a lazy hand, I grip his shirt. “Don’t leave. I’m fine here.”
“I can’t imagine you being comfortable.”
“I’m drunk. Everything is comfortable. Except I wish I had a cheeseburger. I would eat it and use it as a pillow. Or maybe use it as a pillow and then eat it.”
“I see.”
I raise my brow at him. “You just want to go through my underwear.”
“Oh, I’ve already gone through your underwear.”
“Lies.”
“I wore them on my head and danced around your apartment.”
“Did you really?” I ask, totally serious.
“Come on,” he says grabbing my forearms. “If you want to sleep in your clothes, that’s fine. But I’m bringing you to your own bed and taking off your shoes.”
“Can you brush my teeth too? I need clean teeth.” I let him pull me to my feet and I pitch to the left, heading right for the coffee table. But I’m in his arms, his capable arms, and he’s holding me to him.
“You have capable arms.”
“You have an exquisite arse,” he responds and half leads me, half drags me out of the living area and into the bedroom.
“I like the way you say arse,” I say with a giggle, exaggerating his accent. “I like the way you say everything.”
“I’m glad, because I foresee a lot of arse talk in the future.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I try and swat him away. “All talk and no arse pinching.”
“You’re as tipsy as a loon,” he whispers into my ear. “Otherwise, I’d be all over you and in you. You wouldn’t be able to walk for days and I’d just be getting started.” He lays me down on my back and then starts to take off my shoes.
“Sounds painful,” I comment, feeling my whole body turn into a jellyfish. For a moment I think I don’t even have fingers and toes or arms or legs, I’m just this squishy, nebulous blob.
“Nebulous blob?” Bram asks.
“You can read my mind!” I’m offended at the violation of privacy.
“No, you just said nebulous blob,” he says. “Aloud.”
I take in a deep breath, trying to protect my thoughts from his mind-reading abilities. Then I blurt out, “I made out with something. I mean, someone.”
“Okay,” he says slowly, placing my shoes on the floor and sitting on the edge of the bed. “And you’re telling me this because?”
“Because you can tell the things I did.”
His breath hitches slightly and I roll my head to the side to peer down the bed at him. “I let a guy almost have sex with me in the bathroom. He was twenty-four and a Giants fan.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Sounds like half the boys in the city.”
“But I didn’t have sex with him.”
“No? Are you an Oakland A’s fan?”
“I’m a Giants fan,” I snipe, getting defensive. “And he wasn’t you.”
He tilts his head, studying the nebulous blob on the bed. “So why did you almost have sex with him to begin with, if you knew he wasn’t me?”
“Because,” I say, frustrated. I place my hand over my eyes. My hand smells like beer. It makes me want to vomit. “I didn’t want the last person I kissed to be you. I wanted to wipe you from my lips.”
A heavy silence fills the room. I feel like I’m sinking further and further into the bed and I want to panic, thinking it’s swallowing me whole. Man, I haven’t been this drunk in ages. I’m going to regret absolutely everything in the morning.
“I was the last man you kissed?” he asks, his voice light and unbelieving.
I nod. “Yes. At the wedding.”
“And why would you want to erase that kiss?” He puts his hand on my bare leg, just beneath the hem of my dress. I want his hand to go up higher. I want the energy to do something about it.
I also want to pass out.
It’s a conundrum.
“Because,” I tell him. No use in holding back now. “I saw you with that girl later. You took her behind the bushes, to where we just were. You were a fucking asshole. Arsehole.”
I can hear him lick his lips. It sounds so loud in this room. My heart is thumping loud too, like a hammer against a padded wall. “She was second choice,” he eventually says. “You turned me on like nothing else that night, sweetheart, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Go home and jack off like every normal person,” I tell him snidely.
“You know very well that it’s not always a good substitute. And certainly not for a woman like you.” He leans forward and puts his warm hand on my face, his fingers trailing down the side of my cheek. It brings out a shudder in me that I can’t suppress. “I only had eyes for you that night,” he tells me.
He’s a liar. He had eyes for everyone that night. I roll over on my side, away from him, and the room makes this whom whom throbbing sound. I think it’s my brain. I broke it.
“I’m serious, Nicola,” he goes on, voice gritty and soft all at once.
Whatever. “Only an idiot would fall for a line like that,” I mutter into the sheets, sleep coming for me now, wanting me even when I’m feeling slighted.
A pause. I feel his weight lift off the bed and know he’s standing up, bearing over me. “Even smart girls can be fools sometimes.” He sounds almost sad.
I can hear him leave the room and for a moment I think he’s gone and something in my chest seems to be snuffed out. Then he comes back in and places a glass of water on my nightstand and shuts off the bedroom light.
“Ava is asleep. She did fine all night. Her blood was normal. I’m sure she’ll wake you bright and early and you’ll feel like absolute shit. But if you need anything, you know where I am.”
Then he leaves the room and leaves the apartment and I’m swept away into a spiral of beer, shame and regret.
I wish I had the drunken courage to have made him stay.