“I’ll drop Mina at school on my way to the studio, will you be able to pick her up?” Jon asked, dropping a little peck on Greta’s cheek and stealing her toast all in one fell swoop. She swiped at it, but he held it teasingly out of reach. When she leaned closer, so did he, and Mina made loud disgusted sighs as they kissed, long and slow.
They’d only been in the apartment for a week, and it already felt like the domestic arrangement had been going on for a year. Greta sighed too, but not in disgust. It was weird to feel so relaxed in a situation that should have, by all rights, made her very uncomfortable. Maybe it was just the comfort of knowing Jon wouldn’t end their arrangement while Mina was there. He truly doted on her.
“Are you totally sure you’re ready to go back?” she asked. “The counselor said as long as you’re keeping up on your work, you can stay home for another couple weeks.”
“I’m sure. I’m bored,” Mina said with all the honesty of youth.
Truth was, Greta was kind of bored too. She didn’t know for a fact that there were rules about how to deal with bereaved people, but she was pretty sure there were. So she and Mina had basically done nothing at all but eat ice cream and watch the BBC together since Bob died. Going out felt too weird.
Besides, it turned out Jon had been living without a television, and was therefore woefully behind on the latest British dramas. Greta was more than happy to park her own set in the living room and catch him up. Jon had turned into quite the Antiques Roadshow fan, too.
Every day the two girls lounged around, painting and cooking and taking full advantage of On Demand. Then Jon joined them to complete their weird little family, gathered nightly around the telly, and Mina’s sudden crying jags had grown fewer, as long as no one brought up her dad or the uncertainty of the future. Last night, Mina had whispered a good-night prayer into Greta’s ear—to stay like this forever.
“That does sound kind of nice, doesn’t it, kiddo?” And she meant it, it really did sound nice. This was, she supposed, why so many people got married and had kids. The routine, the pleasure of caring for people, the little moments when her eyes met Jon’s above Mina’s head to silently acknowledge a joke that had also gone above her head … All of that was very tempting indeed.
There was a good reason so many people began families, it was just that so many couldn’t finish what they started that bothered her.
“Love you, Greta,” Mina had murmured. Greta had smiled back; tucked her in. Then she’d gone back out to the kitchen to have a glass of wine with Jon and talk about the studio and the girls and Mina until he’d simply picked her up and carried her to the bed.
This morning he’d tried to incite some more bed antics, but Greta was more nervous than Mina was about going back to school and got up to stress-cook.
Now, as Mina collected her backpack and waited for Greta to put her hair up for her, Jon jangled the car keys. “Don’t want to be late, then, eh?”
“Are you sure?” Greta asked desperately one last time as Mina rolled her eyes. This was the part of faux parenting she’d never get used to, the stress of wondering if every decision was right. “You can call me to come get you!” Mina slammed the door.
“Okay, then. A whole day alone.” Talking out loud didn’t make the apartment feel less lonely, though. Maybe it was she and not Mina who wasn’t ready for real life to start again. She wandered into Mina’s room, where all the art supplies were set up. She gazed at the pictures on their respective easels. Mina’s, a tree. It was really cool, actually, all swirly and Van Gogh-y. Her own held the beginnings of a new series she’d dreamed up.
Literally, the image had come to her in a dream, and haunted her until she’d managed to finish, at long last, the pictures for the children’s book.
After taking that long to finish, she’d be lucky if the poor guy ever called her again. But now she could work on her own stuff with no guilt. Mostly no guilt—after all, she reflected as she filled a cup with water to get some more work done, she supposed she ought to be job hunting.
What could she possibly do? Her schedule with Mina didn’t really allow her to work an eight-hour shift in the middle of the day, nor would evenings work for the same reason. If she worked weekends, that would leave Jon to schlep the kiddo around from gig to gig, which wasn’t the most savory environment for a child to be in. Not to mention unfair. Much as they were both pretending, Mina wasn’t really hers, and even less Jon’s.
Greta dabbed a bit of blue onto the stream that flowed through the middle of her block, stared at it, then corrected with a bit of green. She guessed she could maybe find another family to nanny for, but would the parents be okay with another kid along, one whose piano lessons and play dates would always come before their own kids’? Not bloody likely.
And yet she had to do something, because right now she was living in Jon’s apartment rent free. And if that wasn’t enough to worry her, she’d recently realized her savings account was too depleted to continue with her Wine-of-the-Month club membership.
Truly, this had to be rock bottom.
Grey, that was what the stream was missing. She rinsed and reloaded the brush. Maybe she could give art lessons to other kids. Coco came to mind. Not her, that little brat. Not anyone who’d ever been mean to Mina. Nor anyone whose dads had ever hit on her at school functions. Nor anyone without talent whose parents only wanted an extracurricular for the CV’s all rich kids seemed to be working on from birth in order to get into Ivy League schools.
When she thought about it, that basically ruled out every kid. Maybe not art lessons, then. Her brush curled and flicked, describing the flow of water around a rock. Maybe she should sell her sex tape. Not really, obviously, since it had been destroyed. But she could set up a webcam and do private shows.
The idea had legs. She could set her own schedule, and the pay would be decent. Curl and flick, the stream flowed on. She would have to be naked, though, in front of total strangers and doing the sex stuff for them. In Jon’s room, while he was gone, because no way would she want him in the house. Or knowing at all. Or anyone knowing even.
Okay. She’d set up a camgirl account that involved her wearing a mask, full bodysuit, and her shows would feature mostly just dancing. Good thing she was an amazing dancer.
Who am I kidding. She really had no clue what she was going to do. Whatever it was, she had to figure it out fast. One month, she decided. One month she could continue to play house before she needed to find her own. Longer than that and Jon would forget this was only a matter of convenience. She thought he may already have. She thought she should probably rectify that soon.
“Honey? I’m home!” came Jon’s voice from the front door. Would his accent ever fail to ignite a fire in her pants? She hoped not. That was still the best part of the whole deal.
“Is it time for a nooner already?” she called back.
“More like a ten am-er,” and there he was in the doorway, already pulling his shirt over his head. “I couldn’t wait. And with this being our first time alone in a week, I thought we ought to take advantage.”
Greta placed her brush in the water before following Jon to their bedroom. “How’d you get away with that? I thought you were in post-production today.”
“No one argues with a doctor’s appointment, love. I very nearly felt guilty about it. Now, let’s play doctor. Show me where it hurts, and I’ll kiss you better.” He was naked and ready. It only took a couple of seconds until she was too.
* * *
Ten am-ers would certainly take off if people knew about them, Jon thought to himself smugly. He’d just invented the greatest thing ever. He’d be a hero. If only he could actually tell the lads about this. Damn that fake doctor’s appointment. He ran a finger down Greta’s spine.
It was remarkable how well they fit together. Every move she made while they were making love drove him wild. It was like she was made for him.
So why on earth did everyone seem to know it but her?
The long breaths from her side of the bed indicated she’d fallen asleep. Good. She wasn’t getting near enough sleep, getting up four times in the night to check on the little one. On the plus side, she was going to be an ace mum someday. On the down side, constant fatigue had made her even tetchier with him than usual.
Jon rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling, making patterns out of the little popcorn bits of plaster. There, a dog, there, a face. Her face.
He could certainly admit that this time, moving too fast was his own idea. Unlike the tattoos, she could definitely pin ‘moving in together’ on him. But what was the alternative? Her sisters and mother hadn’t been available to take the two girls in. She could have gone to a shelter. Stayed in Amy’s hovel of an office—he’d have called social services himself.
The only viable other choice was to go stay with Summer in a single room where they’d be penned in like hoarders with all the collected things that came with them. Like hell were either of those things happening on his watch. So whether or not it was too fast, living with Jon was truly the best plan.
He couldn’t help it if it happened to coincide with his own relationship goals. He’d wanted a way to prove to her that he’d catch her when she fell, but apparently a house key still wasn’t quite enough for Greta.
So how to win her back over? He pondered, while locating a moose in the plaster. Probably more romance. They needed more romance. Between having a child in the house and adjusting to each other’s constant presence, he’d been a bit remiss in that category lately.
He rolled back to his side to watch Greta sleep. One of his fingers traced a strand of her hair that fell across her shoulder blade.
She desperately needed a night off. He’d cook her dinner. Jon ran down the list of things he knew how to cook. Things in a can, things that boil in bags, things that come on tiny plastic trays covered in wrap, toast.
Out to dinner it was, then, and dancing of course. Nothing got you out of your own mind like working up a good sweat. Hence the reason for so much of sex’s popularity. Good old ten am. He rolled over, grabbed his phone, and started planning. This date was going to be epic, and for once, not prefaced by any fake nonsense. He couldn’t wait.
* * *
“Right, then, this is a really cool setup. Maybe we should just stay for a round or two?” Jon asked hopefully. Greta followed his gaze to where Amy had set up the office projector to play Minecraft on the big screen. It was not that cool. Minecraft was just not that cool. Jon should be cooler than that.
“No.” She turned back to futzing over Mina’s dinner. Amy had wanted to order pizza, but Greta felt that Mina needed more vegetables. Always more vegetables. Growing bodies and all that. It felt like a grown-up thing to do, anyway. Amy had told Greta she’d take care of it, but all that appeared to be set up on the desk were a bag of plantain chips and a damn pizza.
“Plantains are a vegetable,” Amy told her, apparently having recognized the issue from the tapping of Greta’s heel upon the laminate floor.
“No, they’re a fruit.”
“Oh. Well tomato sauce is a vegetable.” She offered a winning smile.
“No, that’s a fruit too.” They stared at each other at length, but Greta had a sinking feeling that it didn’t really matter what her thoughts were on the matter. Mina was not eating vegetables tonight.
“Go away. After Minecraft, we’re watching Frozen, so you feel free to stay out just as long as you like.” Amy opened the grease-spattered box and removed a slice for herself. Pineapple, olive, and jalapeno. Perhaps Mina could be persuaded to eat a pepper? They were green vegetables, she thought. Her stomach growled.
“I think she might be too mature for that movie.” She briefly wondered if Jon could cancel their reservation so they could get pizza. Hanger was setting in.
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one is too mature for a sing-along to Let It Go. Anyways, I picked it because the princesses in Frozen are orphans, too, but it doesn’t stop them from being badass bitches.”
“Am I badass bitch?” Mina asked, materializing at Greta’s elbow and reaching for the pizza as well.
“Best be off then, love.” Jon hastily pulled Greta out of the office and down the corridor before she pulled off her heel and smacked Amy with it. “Reservations at Tosca wait on no man.”
“This just feels like a bad idea,” she muttered, throwing one longing glance back at the office door.
They made it in the nick of time, and sat poring over the menus while Jon ordered wine. “Glasses?” inquired the waiter.
“Bottle. Bottles. One apiece,” Greta clarified. Jon gave her a surprised look but what the hell. If it was a night off, it was a night off. He shrugged, and ordered a couple appetizers.
“Everything looks really nice, but I guess I just don’t know how you can call yourselves Italian and not have a pizza option,” Greta remarked conversationally. Jon’s face darkened a bit, as though they couldn’t have a conversation like that after all.
“It’s a quite famous place, you know. One of my countrymen in the kitchen, and years of history on the walls. If they don’t want to serve bar food, I suppose they don’t have to, then.” Luckily, the wine bottles arrived then, preventing Greta from telling Jon exactly what she thought about his assessment of “bar food”. The server poured Jon a taste, but he motioned for a fill-up without the traditional swirl and sip.
Her cup filled as well, Greta and Jon locked eyes and drained their first glasses. She set her cup down with a smile. That was better. She felt better. He smiled back.
“Pizza is a legitimate ethnic food, though, and you can basically put any kind of fancy charcuterie on it that you want to if the traditional toppings are too pedestrian for you.” No, she wasn’t ready to let that one go.
“Bread smothered in sauce and cheese. Yeah, that’s pretty posh, isn’t it?” Evidently he wasn’t either. She narrowed her eyes at him and refilled their glasses, just in time for the first round of not-pizza to be presented with a flourish.
It was pretty good, she supposed as she chewed, but twenty minutes later, as she hacked and coughed and struggled to pull breath in the ladies’, she took it all back. This never would have happened with a gluten-free pie from Zpizza. If an item had bread crumbs in it, it should be clearly labeled. She chose not to dwell on the fact that in her haste to down as much wine as possible, she’d neglected to inform the server of her allergy.
By the time she got back to the table, breath still ragged in her chest, Jon looked properly contrite. “I ordered more wine to go. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
More wine did go a bit of a way towards forgiveness, she supposed.
An hour later, there wasn’t enough wine in the world. So she’d stepped on Jon’s toes a couple times. With her heels on, big whoop. He did not have to be so nasty about it. That toe was not broken, she’d wager money on it. He was just a baby.
Oh, she was drunk. So was he, though, so maybe it was his fault she stepped on him. Drunk dancing was her forte, after all. All in all, this was officially the worst date in history. Greta managed to text Amy to please drop Mina off, but her friend said they were having a sleepover with Summer and that Mina had been asleep for an hour already.
Greta hiccupped, and decided that was probably a good thing. For once, possibly the first and last time, Amy was more responsible than she at the moment.
It took Jon several tries to locate the correct house key in the echoing silence between them. Greta stomped in ahead of him, once he got it unlocked, and commandeered the bathroom. There was no comfort in there, because she’d had way too much wine to enjoy a bath. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and stomped back to the bedroom to put on sweats.
Jon went into Mina’s room and started fiddling around with beats. So that was how it would be, he wasn’t even going to go to bed with her. Greta’s eyes pricked.
Sex could have maybe salvaged the evening, but that apparently wasn’t on the agenda. She grabbed his pillow and breathed deeply of his pirate scent clinging to the cotton. It had started already. She hadn’t even really let him in, not fully, and things were still falling apart. Too much time together and too little sex. Focus on the kid and not on each other. It was a story she knew all too well. It was her own parents’ story. It was only a matter of time now.
This was why she’d made her vow in the first place. No such thing as a happily ever after. No such thing. She took another long inhale of his smell. She’d miss that—God would she miss it—but one more month was all she could do.
Jon would be relieved too, of course. He had to want his house back to himself. Mina—well, she wouldn’t be happy about it at all, but someday she would understand. Someday.