Boy Toy

by Sarina Bowen

  As soon as Sadie walked in the door, wearing a tank top, cut-off jeans, and huge glasses, with her brown hair falling to the rise of her breasts, I immediately stopped complaining. I knew a good thing when I saw it, and that good thing was Sadie.

  And I wasn’t wrong. Not only was Sadie hot, she was also kind to me. We had long conversations while the younger ones played. They were the kids, at least in my mind. And in spite of my young age I thought of myself as Sadie’s equal, and therefore a serious contender for Sadie’s heart.

  Those movies we watched together were some of the most fun I’d ever had. I’d ride my bike to Blockbuster and rent titles from the horror section, because Sadie always became happy and animated when we discussed them. She’d choose one, and then we’d sit out on the screened porch with a little TV I’d carried out there for exactly this purpose.

  Best summer ever. She’d squeak at the jump scares and sometimes grab my wrist. And I’d sit there trying to be manly and not crap myself when the movie came to its terrifying climax.

  When the film was done, we’d shut off the TV and laugh about how scared we’d been. Or we’d make fun of the parts that didn’t work very well.

  And then I’d go to bed and lay awake thinking about how much I needed to hold her, and how it would feel to kiss her. It’s kind of a miracle that I never tried to make a move on her. And thank God I didn’t. The disappointment would have been mortifying.

  Sadie always took me seriously, never condescended to me, and then on the last day of her employment, she took my breath away. “Thanks for all the help this summer. You’re going to grow up to be an amazing person.” And then she kissed me. On the lips.

  Okay, no. It was really on the cheek. But it didn’t feel harmless and platonic to me. That chaste kiss fueled hours upon hours of brand new Sadie Mathews fantasies afterward.

  I still remember the softness of her lips.

  And now I realize she’s standing right in front of me, talking to me, and I somehow missed it.

  “Liam? Are you okay?”

  Yep. Just thinking about how much I want to own your mouth, for real this time. “Yep. Sure. Okey-dokey,” I stammer. And I want to die. For real.

  “I’m ready to relieve you of your burden,” she says and I honestly have no idea what she’s talking about. Then she points to my back and I see that I’m wearing Amy again. How did that happen? I don’t remember reaching for her.

  Wait a minute, fourteen-year-old Liam asks. Was there a moment when we were close to Sadie’s breasts and didn’t realize it?

  Funny thing—I hadn’t heard from teenage Liam for years, but he speaks up whenever Sadie walks into the room, usually to whisper filthy desires in my ear.

  Fourteen-year-old Liam is not very smooth.

  “Oh! Sorry!” I peel Amy off of me and transfer her into Sadie’s warm, waiting arms. At least I think they’re warm. God, they must be warm. And velvety.

  Focus, Liam!

  “I just wanted to say…” Sadie starts and I’m a little breathless again. Is she going to say she wants to get together? Because I’m up for that. Dinner. A movie. Laving my tongue all over her body...once the twins are fast asleep of course. But she doesn’t tell me what she wanted to say because her cell rings. She holds up a finger in a “just a sec” way and takes a couple of steps away, but I can still hear her hushed conversation. Or at least her side of it.

  “Yes, Decker, I can hear you fine.” Pause. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me! Decker...this is the third time you’ve cancelled.” Pause. “Well maybe I have plans too.” Pause. “I do have plans. I have a life. Actually, I have a date tonight.” Pause. “No. I can’t ask Brynn to watch them. She’s eight months pregnant. And don’t even mention Ash—the last time she watched them, they set her on fire.” Pause. “Yes. It was a small fire, but still. There was smoke.” Pause. “Gosh, I guess I’ll cancel my plans because your plans are obviously more important.” Pause. “Thank you? Seriously? Can you not tell when I’m using irony…” Then she looks down at the phone. “Unbelievable! He just hung up on me!”

  “Who’s dat?” Kate asks.

  “Oh, um, nobody, sweetie. Mommy’s just rearranging things. Instead of going to daddy’s tonight for movies, I thought you’d stay with me and we’d watch movies at home!”

  Her false cheerfulness makes me wince. Before I really think it through, I hear myself say, “Actually, I could watch the girls for you tonight.”

  Sadie opens her mouth to reply, and I’m certain she’s about to tell me what a terrible idea that is when all of a sudden the girls erupt with happiness. They’re screaming “Liam! Liam! Liam!” in unison.

  Twin Brain. It’s a thing.

  But that was a real rookie move on my part. I know better than to offer something like that before I know whether Sadie would say yes. Now I’ve got her girls all riled up.

  “Liam, I couldn’t ask that of you,” she says, but her body language isn’t sure. I can tell. In fact, I’ve always been able to read Sadie. And she wants to ask me, but she feels shy.

  “It’s no problem. Really. I don’t have plans,” I lie.

  “It’s Friday night. And you’re...single?”

  I nod.

  “And you don’t have plans?”

  “Nope.” It’s a good thing I’m not hooked up to a lie detector right now, because I was going to meet my brothers at a bar. There was some promise of them setting me up with someone, but I can totally cancel that. Because I’d rather spend the night with Sadie.

  I mentally face-palm, because I won’t be spending the night with Sadie. I’ll be spending the night with Sadie’s girls while Sadie goes out with some douchebag who I just know doesn’t deserve her and probably has an erectile issue. Hopefully.

  I have no such issue.

  “Really, I’m happy to do it. Give me, what, an hour to go home and shower and I’ll come over and you can...do...what you need to do.” I have to speak up because Kate is screaming “Yeah Yeah Yeah!” and Amy is sucking so joyously on her pacifier that I’m afraid she’s going to create a black hole.

  “That would be…” she thinks about it.

  God, she smells good when she’s thinking, fourteen-year-old Liam says.

  “...Really amazing,” she says with a sigh. “Thank you! I can pay you, of course.”

  “Please. Don’t worry about it. You can owe me.” I’m thinking of the many ways she could repay me but then realize I might come off as creepy. “A beer.”

  “I can do that,” she says. “A beer.”

  And some dry humping. Please, God, some dry humping, the fourteen-year-old in me says. Thank God I don’t say that aloud. Instead I say “Cool. Coolio. Cool.”

  And I want to die all over again. It feels like I’ll always be a teenager around Sadie. Thankfully, she doesn’t comment and just smiles.

  * * *

  An hour later I’m standing on Sadie’s porch, still feeling awkward. She’ll always have that effect on me—like I don’t belong in this body. I should be holding something, like a bottle of wine or a bouquet of flowers. Instead, I’ve got a backpack stuffed with educational games, and I’ve loaded my phone with the greatest musical hits for toddlers. It’s not, thankfully, things like the Wiggles. This is a list I’ve curated myself. Education starts early and they need to learn what real music is.

  I knock again, and just as I’m starting to wonder if she’s changed her mind, the door swings open and...holy shit. Hello, goddess. Her long hair falls around her shoulders in natural curls. She’s wearing a filmy sundress and strappy heels and I swear to God, with the light behind her, I can see the outline of all of her curves. I’m pretty sure I gulp audibly.

  “Liam! My hero!” she cries and then she’s hugging me. She smells like flowers. She smells like moonlight and secrets and wishes.

  The hug lasts only a second. I want to string it out the way you can make taffy longer by pulling on it.

  “Come in!” she says, beckoning.

 
I follow her inside to find that her home is just as I imagined. It’s like walking into a warm embrace. Dark wood floors, open spaces, a grey couch, and two deep-green velvet chairs. There are pillows everywhere. It’s a lot of fucking pillows, but I’m good with that. Pillows can be really useful.

  Especially during sex, my fourteen-year-old self whispers.

  “I’m running late! Just come in and make yourself at home.”

  I step in further. I hear Amy before I see her. Her pacifier works like a bell on a cat’s collar. “Up!” she slurps. I set my bag down and scoop her up. “Liam!” she says, somehow still sucking her pacifier.

  “I really don’t think I’ll be gone long,” I hear Sadie calling out to me and I catch a glimpse of her in the bathroom. She’s debating between lipstick shades. She should just keep her lips bare. So much more kissable.

  “Try the red one,” I suggest. It’ll look good with her dress and also maybe work to deter the guy she’s seeing from trying to make a move on her.

  “Right,” she says, sort of breathless, and then she slides the color over her lips and makes an air kiss. I turn away because I just can’t look at her doing that. I’m here to help out. Nothing more. I’m just the babysitter.

  “Ready,” Amy says. “She’s running.” I’m a little confused by what she means and then I hear Kate. She’s wearing her helmet and approaching at top speed. I brace myself as she barrels into me full force.

  “Oof,” I say. For real. I mean, there’s the makings of a football player in her. I should introduce her to my brother Aiden. Maybe he could coach her.

  Suddenly I’ve got my hands full of two squirming kiddos. They’re adorable. It’s like trying to hold onto water.

  “Mama looks weird,” Kate says.

  “I do?” Sadie’s expression is horrified.

  “You mean Mama looks perfect,” I suggest.

  “‘Kay. She looks perfect weird.”

  “I hope it’s just the lipstick. They’re not used to seeing me dress up.” She takes a final look at herself and says, “Well, I guess this is as good as it gets.”

  That’s curious to me. She looks incredible. But then Sadie has always looked incredible. There’s something about her spirit that just sort of shines through.

  And there I go again.

  I need to get laid.

  Maybe Sadie’d be up for that?

  I shake my head. Babysitter. I’m the babysitter.

  I turn my focus from Sadie to the girls. “What should we do first? Playdough or Herbs and Flowers?”

  “Herbs and Flowers?” Sadie asks.

  “It’s a matching game. It teaches them some of our local flora. Morels. Trillium. Ladyslippers.”

  She looks at me and I can’t quite read her expression. “Oh. Great. Okay. Good. So I’ll…”

  “You’ll head out?” I ask.

  “Yes. Uhm...they’ve eaten. Kate has a tiny…”

  “Ear infection. I know. She needs to finish her antibiotics. And Amy is probably due for a snack in an hour. Bedtime at 8?”

  Again, there’s that curious look. “Yes. Exactly.” It’s quiet for a second. Then both Kate and Amy with their Twin Brain say “Go!”

  “Looks like they want to spend some time with you,” she says.

  “Movie!” Amy says.

  Before Sadie can tell me what they want to watch, I’ve already opened my bag and pulled out a stack of DVDs. “I’ve got this,” I say. “Go have fun. Go crazy.”

  What I want to say is, ditch that dude and stay here with me. At 8:01 we can play our own kind of game.

  But it’s not to be. Sadie’s always been my fantasy, and that’s all she’ll ever be. Half the time she still looks at me like I’m fourteen, and I’m not sure how to get her past that.

  “Thanks a bunch,” she says.

  “Is he picking you up?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “Your date.”

  “Earl? Oh. No. He suggested we meet at the restaurant. It’s closer to his house and...I don’t know. I’ll get a Lyft so I can have a drink with dinner guilt-free.”

  He’s not picking her up? I firmly believe this guy is a dick.

  She checks her phone. “Ah. I guess the car is here. I’ll just go.”

  She kisses the girls one by one. I wish she’d kiss me, too. Come on, Sadie, my body is ready!

  I grab the door for her. “If you need anything,” I say, “Anything at all, I’m here.” And I mean it.

  She nods and then runs off to her Lyft.

  “Herbs and Flowers and then movie time!” I say excitedly, hoping the girls can’t sense the disappointment in my voice.

  4 Earl. Just Earl.

  Sadie

  “She’ll have the citrus chicken salad,” Earl says, sealing his fate as the wrong man for me. “I’ll have the steak au poivre, a loaded baked potato, and the broccoli.”

  “Yessir,” our young waiter says, as if ordering for another adult is a normal thing to do. “What would the lady like to drink?”

  “White wine,” Earl says.

  “No!” I practically shout, just so I don’t miss the chance to take my destiny into my own hands. A couple of heads swivel in our direction, but it can’t be helped. “I’ll have the…” My mind goes blank. Because, dammit, white wine is my go-to beverage. The waiter points to the drink menu on the table and I pronounce the first thing I see. “A red-headed slut,” I say.

  “Coming right up,” the waiter says before running away.

  Whoops. That probably sends the wrong message. But there’s cranberry in it and I adore cranberry.

  “I like your style,” Earl says, leaning back in his chair. He’s wearing a T-shirt with a wolf and the American flag flapping in the background. I don’t know what message it’s trying to send, but I feel like it’s a clue.

  “My style,” I say frostily, “is to order for myself.” How has this man managed to piss me off at the four-minute mark of our date? I didn’t even agree to dinner. Only drinks.

  “You seem like the citrus chicken salad type,” he says with a shrug.

  “Oh, really? You can tell that just from looking at me?” And—goddammit. I am the citrus chicken salad type. But that doesn’t make it right.

  He lifts a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. He’s not unattractive. He’s got taut forearms and a tanned face that has a certain manly appeal. If he weren’t a giant, gaping asshole then maybe I would enjoy the view.

  I can’t believe I put on lipstick and a dress for this misogynistic prick.

  “Where do you work?” I ask him, just hoping to find a safe topic of conversation.

  “I have my own accounting firm.”

  “Oh!” That’s encouraging. A nice, safe job. “Who are your clients, primarily?”

  “Militias.”

  “Mil…what?”

  “Independent militia groups. We believe that many federal regulations are unlawful. That the federal government has seized liberty from the people. It’s time to stand up and take them back. The Sovereign Citizens Movement aims to put power back in the hands of the righteous.”

  “O-kayyy,” I say slowly. I should probably be afraid. But we’re in the middle of a busy restaurant, and I’ll admit that I’m fascinated. I am, after all, a shrink. And most of the patients seeking treatment in my office aren’t as colorful. “So how does an accountant assist a militia?”

  “Well, we don’t believe in federal taxation.”

  I let out a nervous giggle. “That must make your job easier, right? Less to do before April fifteenth?”

  “Oh, no ma’am.” He shakes his head. “I’m a very busy man all year long. Opening shell corporations and offshore accounts takes up a lot of time.”

  Right. Of course it does. Maybe he’s kidding though. I take a good, long look at him.

  I don’t think he’s kidding. His American flag waves at me.

  “Cabernet for the gentleman,” our waiter says. “One red-headed slut for the lady.”

 
“Thank you,” I say with the best smile I can muster. Then I pick up the glass and drink half of it immediately.

  * * *

  “Oh dear,” I say about forty minutes later to Mirror Sadie. I’m staring at my reflection in the women’s bathroom. My lipstick is all chewed off.

  And that’s not even my biggest problem.

  I’m wasted. Or pissed, as they say in Britain. “I got pissed, because I was pissed off,” I tell Mirror Sadie.

  A woman washing her hands a few feet away gives me a funny look.

  “Bad date,” I say, but I slur it a little. I sound like there are marbles in my mouth. Maybe there are.

  Note to shelf! No—self. Whatever. Note to Sadie! Eat more than the citrus chicken salad if you’re going to drink three red-headed sluts in a row. I don’t know what’s in them, but I’ve discovered that cranberry is not the only ingredient.

  Although I think it stained my tongue. I stick my tongue out and examine it. “Dah mah tongue wook weed?” I ask Mirror Sadie.

  The other woman washing her hands flees. She doesn’t even dry.

  It’s difficult to see my tongue in this light, so I take my phone out of my purse and take a selfie. Of my tongue. There should be a word for that.

  Oh wait—there is. It’s called stalling. I’m taking photos of my tongue so I don’t have to see Earl’s stupid face.

  A text pings on my phone.

  Yay! A text! More stalling! I see that it’s from Liam. A less drunk woman would probably think, Oh dear, are the girls okay? But my first reaction is a quivering in my lady parts.

  Also, it’s a photo text. If there were something wrong I wouldn’t get a picture of Liam on the sofa with my girls snuggled up to either side of him. There’s a bowl of popcorn in his lap, and they all look gloriously happy.

  This is your proof of life photo, he writes. Enjoy your date and don’t worry about a thing.

  I just stare at the picture a little longer. The truth is I’m not at all afraid to leave my girls with Liam. That guy just exudes the sort of confidence that toddlers respond to. He’s like a stone in the river—no matter how much chaos surges around him, it doesn’t budge him. He’s our rock. Rock hard…