Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  “Oh man, that’s awesome. I’ve always wanted to go there.” Lifting the frame from the shelf, I study the picture closer. The blue of the harbor always blows my mind. But the Opera House is just stunning. “I find the Opera House fascinating.”

  “I was shocked to discover it’s actually not very attractive.”

  “Really?” I’ve never heard anyone say that before.

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s cool looking from that angle and they do some really neat things with lighting. But it’s made of wood and concrete so from the front or back it’s… not what you’d expect.”

  I look back at the picture of what I’m sure is my favorite place in the world. “That’s so weird. I wonder why it’s so famous, then. It’s in every action flick set in Sydney.”

  “That’s easy. The acoustics. I had a chance to hear Adele there and the experience blew my mind. Made every other concert hall I’ve ever been to sound like an elementary school stage.”

  I quirk an eyebrow at him. “Do you frequent concert halls?”

  A wide grin covers his face. “I’ve been known to take in a concert or two. I like exploring different kinds of music. I don’t always find something I want to hear again, but I enjoy the experience. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna check on Sprite.”

  I’m surprised by what I’ve learned tonight and I haven’t even been here an hour. Matthew isn’t just a pretty face and a set of washboard abs. He’s smart. Anyone who works with numbers like he does has to be. Based on these pictures I’m looking at, Mr. Cover Model is also well traveled. He’s a good dad, and he can do his own handyman work.

  What the hell is wrong with this man?

  He’s literally the cream of the crop and he’s still single? I don’t get how one of his one-night stands hasn’t snatched him up yet. Not that I’m interested.

  “Just keep telling yourself that, Carrie,” I murmur to myself.

  “She’s just going to be a few more minutes,” Matthew states, coming back into the open room. “There was a mishap with the soap.” I furrow my brow in question. “Let’s just say it’s easier to make bubbles than it is to get them to go down the drain and trying to help only makes more.”

  “Ah,” I say and turn back to the one picture that keeps catching my eye. Probably because it’s on my bucket list. “Did you know they have to continually paint Harbour Bridge? It takes a year to get from one end to the other and then they start all over again.”

  Matthew comes up behind me as I keep looking around. He isn’t close, but I can still feel him. Smell him. As much as it pains me to say it, he smells amazing and his proximity makes my heartrate pick up a little speed. Not because he’s hot and talking to him is no longer a chore. It’s just because we’re talking about a place I’ve dreamt about most of my adult life. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Other than photos of his travels, there are an overwhelming number of pictures of Calypso in all stages of her young life. She’s always been a beautiful little girl, her curls evident very early on. She shares many features with her father but still, I wonder what her mother looks like.

  “That’s actually not true.”

  “What’s not?”

  “About Harbour Bridge.”

  I scrunch my nose in confusion. Wow, he is standing really close. “Painting it? Of course it is. I read it on the internet.”

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I recognize how ridiculous I sound. Matthew’s knowing smile means he caught it too.

  “While the internet is a valid source of information”—I cock an eyebrow at him playfully, making him chuckle—“it’s not always correct. But in your defense, I thought that too, until I did the bridge climb.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He reaches around me to pick up the picture and looks at it while he talks. “It’s one of the things they addressed in the information portion of our climb. No one really knows where that rumor started. Maybe it took them a year when they first built it or something. But they only do the painting and repairs as needed. Now that I think about it, we didn’t see anyone working on the bridge when we did the climb, and the entire excursion was about three hours.”

  Three hours? That’s a lot more climbing than I’d ever want to do. Maybe I need to reconsider that as a goal for my far-in-the-future trip. “Was it worth it?”

  “Totally,” Matthew says without hesitation. “The view was stunning no matter where you looked. It was like being on top of the world.” He places the picture back down on the shelf. “Come sit down. Calypso should be almost done by now.”

  I follow him to the table with four seats and choose the place setting that doesn’t have an Elsa spoon sitting next to the bowl. I’m oddly disappointed I have to use big people silverware. Where was all this character stuff when I was a child? And why do the manufacturers assume adults aren’t fans of animation? I’d eat my ice cream out of a Moana bowl any day. Kids these days are so lucky.

  “So did you spend a lot of time Down Under?” I ask, unable to change the subject. The flight alone is close to twenty-four hours so when I go, I plan to stay a while. It takes a whole lot of money and even more coordination for a trip like that, which is why I’ve never been.

  “Sprite! Dinner!” Matthew calls and sits down at the chair next to mine. “A couple weeks.”

  “A couple weeks!” I exclaim. “That’s awesome! How was Sydney? Did you love it?”

  He takes a drink of his water, trying to cover this weird look on his face. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it almost seems like he’s stalling. Why, I have no idea. Did I trigger bad memories or something? Was he assaulted by a kangaroo?

  And there’s that overactive imagination again.

  Finally, he’s done hydrating and puts his glass down. “Sydney is… not what I expected it to be.”

  Hmm. Not the answer I thought I’d get.

  “How so?”

  He rubs his bottom lip and I can tell he’s really contemplating his words. It’s the exact opposite of me, who just blurts out whatever comes to mind. This is probably why people love him and half my friends only tolerate me. Not that Jamie is one to talk. One of these days, she’s going to get caught when she imitates the boss behind her back. And I mean literally right behind the boss’s back when she’s talking to me. I look forward to that day and the entertainment it’s going to give me.

  Matthew, on the other hand, seems to be figuring out how best to describe his thoughts. I should try to be more like that.

  “One of the things I like about traveling is learning how other cultures live. It’s interesting to me.” I nod because I can understand that. “When I went to London, it was this huge culture difference. The entire feel of the city was different than what I was used to. Everything from transportation to etiquette to lifestyle. It was all different. I expected that same thing when I went to Sydney, but with the exception of some subtle differences, it felt like I was still in the States. Just maybe in a place like New York City.”

  “Really?” That’s not what I expected him to say at all. “The accent wasn’t a dead giveaway?”

  He smirks. “That was the least subtle difference. Like driving on the other side of the road. Actually, now that I think about it, it sort of reminded me of San Francisco. A lot of people. A lot of interesting character in the different parts of town. A lot of hills that you end up walking up and down. And they’re very proud of their bridge.”

  I giggle. “Well, yeah. Both bridges are amazing.”

  He smiles and nods. “I totally agree with you. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy Sydney. I did. Very much. It was just a different kind of enjoyment than I expected.” Leaning back, he calls out again. “Sprite! Let’s go! I have no idea what’s taking her so long.”

  “It’s okay. I’m enjoying hearing about Australia anyway. So if Sydney wasn’t your favorite part, what was?”

  “The beaches,” he blurts out without hesitation. “Without a doubt, Australia has the mos
t incredible coast line, unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my life. Even the colors were different.”

  “What do you mean?” I lean onto the table, completely engaged in his tales. He’s animated and excited about it, and I find myself hanging on his every word.

  “It’s hard to describe but the hues of the blues and greens were something I had never seen before. Like I knew the trees were green, but it was an entirely new shade.”

  “Really?”

  He settles back in his chair, very clearly lost in whatever visual images are in his brain right now.

  “Yeah. A buddy of mine and I were talking about it while we were there. I don’t know if it’s because it’s south of the equator and the sunlight reflects differently, or maybe because the vegetation is different and the eucalyptus trees give everything a sort of blue hue, but I’ve never seen those colors again.”

  I open my mouth to ask more questions about the places he visited and things he’s seen, but I’m suddenly distracted by a pint-sized princess.

  The second Matthew looks over, I see the shock on his face. Being the good dad he is, though, he schools his features immediately. “Um… what took you so long, Sprite?”

  She quietly sits down at the table and clasps her hands together. I’m pretty sure she’s going for demure, but the bright blue eye shadow and very red cheeks sort of throw the whole thing off. Talk about color hues I’ve never seen before.

  “Grandma says you should always look your best for company,” Calypso says matter-of-factly.

  I’m not sure grandma meant to dress up like The Joker for dinner, but I appreciate the thought she put into her… umm… outfit.

  I look over at Matthew, who seems to be mulling over how best to handle the situation. Catching his eye I shrug my shoulders and say, “Then I guess it’s time to eat.”

  Chapter 9

  Matthew

  I’ve had bacon and maple syrup in the past. Like most kids, my brother and I used slices of bacon to scoop up the leftover syrup from our plates. Never had I considered making cupcakes with both flavors swirled through the center and then prominently sprinkled and drizzled over the frosting. The cupcakes Carrie brought for dessert are worth every extra sit-up and pull-up I’ll be doing this week. Calypso was equally happy with the bright pink strawberry cupcake with glitter on top.

  While I clean up the kitchen from dinner and dessert, Carrie is helping my little princess remove the war paint from her face. I knew that makeup kit my brother gave her last year for Christmas was going to resurface one day. I just didn’t expect it to be so… bright. And thick. I tried wiping it with a wet paper towel and I swear it was six inches thick and starting to stain her skin. Carrie assured me she could help her get it off with a little soap and a lot of patience. Something I’m lacking when it comes to things like this.

  A string of giggles from both ladies wafts down the hall, making me smile. I hadn’t realized how quiet the house is with only two of us living here. Usually, our school nights are filled with homework, arguing over ending bath time, and bedtime stories. Once my pint-sized wonder is fast asleep, I throw myself on the couch, hit my social media accounts, respond to emails, and if I’m lucky, watch a few hours of television before crashing.

  Tonight, with Carrie here, it’s different. I’m uncertain if it’s because we aren’t home alone or because Carrie’s laughter is so prominent. And loud. No, infectious. It’s infectious. Okay, and loud.

  Another string of giggles from my little girl fills the space, and while I’m curious what Carrie is saying to make her laugh, I refuse to listen. I have a feeling whatever female insight she’s sharing with Calypso will be relayed to me. For days. And in great detail.

  Cuing up my favorite playlist marked “chill,” I let the music fill the space and drown out the laughs while I stand here. Since I haven’t entertained or had many guests in the last few years, I’m not quite sure what to do now. The kitchen is clean, the music is playing at a reasonable volume, and I’m standing here like an idiot. Turning on the television doesn’t feel right and yet, I can’t keep wiping down the counters.

  This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man in my own home. There is absolutely no reason for me to feel awkward. I’ll just turn on the television and watch some sports highlights. That’s normal and since it’s taking half a lifetime to scrub the gunk off my kid’s face, I may be completely caught up on every current sporting event happening in the world, not just the U.S.

  The moment I pick up the remote control, I hear from behind me, “She’s back to her natural self.” Turning to look at Carrie over my shoulder, I double blink at her. How she looks so relaxed and at home here. Like she fits. Gone are her shoes, set near the front door before dessert. Her “princess hair” as Calypso called it is now atop her head in a messy bun. But, what’s most noticeable is the fact that her makeup is gone. She’s scrubbed her face too.

  I knew Carrie was pretty. That much is evident to anyone who meets her. This version of her, casual and natural, is more. She looks young, much younger than I think she is.

  “You’re back to your natural self too.”

  Smiling she nods. “Yeah. I took her first layer off but then she asked me about my makeup. I felt kind of like a hypocrite scrubbing her face and leaving mine made up. So, I had her copy me and we did it together. Unfortunately, she’ s a little overzealous with water and was bordering on soaked to the bone. I sent her to change.”

  “Thank you.” It doesn’t seem like enough, but I also can’t seem to form any more words.

  “So—”

  “Daddy!”

  Carrie is cut-off by a now fresh faced six-year-old who leaps up on the couch and bounces. Maybe the cupcake was a bad idea. Sugar and my little sprite are not always the best combination.

  “Daddy! Carrie! We should play a game. I vote Candyland. Oh! Or Connect Four. Daddy is not good at that one.”

  I start to tell Calypso that we should let Carrie go home but she beats me to it with a challenge for us both.

  “I am the reigning Connect Four champ in my family. Do you think you can beat me?”

  I look to Calypso, assuming that’s who she’s directed the question at when I see her looking at me. Shifting my gaze to our guest, I find her eyes on me, a smirk on her face. When I don’t immediately respond, she raises a single brow and instantly triggers my competitive streak.

  “Bring it on.”

  That crazy laugh of hers fills the air as Sprite jumps down from the couch and starts singsonging, “You’re going down, Daddy.”

  Groaning, I run my hand down my face and peek at Carrie through my fingers. Her bright smile is irresistible, and I return it with my own. She winks at me before turning her attention to Calypso and helping her set up the game on the coffee table. I watch for a few minutes as they chatter away like this is something we do together all the time.

  The battle for the most superior Connect Four player is one for the books. Calypso gave up trying to mediate Carrie and me after game two and turned her attention to my phone and her own playlist. Somewhere between Disney soundtracks and my fourth victory, she settled on Carrie’s lap where she still sits as I swap out the Connect Four game with Chutes and Ladders.

  Her eyes light up as she watches me flick the spinner with my finger. I know that look.

  “Okay, everyone remember the rules?” I ask, and my little sprite looks up at Carrie, hero—or heroine—worship evident. When Carrie nods she turns back around to face me.

  “Yep. Let’s do this!”

  The feistiness I witnessed from Carrie in the past has been out in full force with each game we’ve played but I think she’s about to meet her match in Calypso. Our family is a little competitive and that includes the youngest member.

  I flick the spinner first, landing on a three. Carrie is next with a two. With better hand-eye coordination than other kids I know, Calypso takes her turn and the little plastic arrow spins so fast it looks as if it’s going to take off like a jet
plane. When it lands on five she hoots and hollers like we’re cheering for our favorite sports team.

  The upside to these children’s games is how quickly they can go. I am not looking forward to the day Calypso outgrows these games and we’re sitting on the floor for hours buying houses and hotels. Of course, hopefully by then she’ll see the benefits of playing at the dining table.

  “Okay ladies, how about you let the old man get a win in?”

  Both of them giggle and shake their head at me. Rolling my eyes, I look down at the spinner and notice it’s on a three. Wait a minute.

  “Sprite, how many spaces did you move on your last turn?”

  “Umm . . .” she begins, eyes cast downward.

  “What’s—?” Carrie begins, but I raise my hand to cut her off.

  “Calypso Annabeth Roberts. Are you cheating?”

  Attempting to roll her eyes but only looking like she has some sort of weird tick, my little girl huffs and straightens her back while looking me straight in the eye. Clasping her hands on the table in front of her, I hold back a smile at her attempt to look serious.

  “Daddy, Papa says it’s not cheating. It’s creative play.”

  Carrie poorly disguises a laugh with a fake cough, and I just shake my head.

  “Well, you’re only allowed to play creatively with your Papa from now on. Okay?”

  Smiling wide, she nods her head and reaches for the spinner. Snatching the cardboard it sits on from her reach I say, “Not on your life. Move your space back so it’s only three spots. It’s my turn.”

  The rest of the game goes without any further creative play, and I manage to squeeze out a victory. It’s only one but at least I don’t have a big zero next to my name. It’s only when Calypso and Carrie are deciding what game we should play next that I realize tonight is quite possibly the most fun I’ve had in years. Sitting on the floor strategizing, teasing one another, and laughing until we cry reminds me of simpler times. Before late night feedings, potty training, and Disney princesses. There’s no expectation and no promise for anything more than a new friendship and that’s freeing.