Hot For His Girl

by Rachel Blaufeld

  I can’t breathe. My stomach twists and rolls, threatening to empty, and my eyes search for the barf bag.

  “Nod if you understand. This is the best I can offer you.”

  I nod, willing the tears not to fall. I think about Mr. Coffee and his running away from me. I consider Gabby, and how I have to be strong when I should really be thinking about owning up to my bad behavior.

  “It’s been a lot of fun, whatever part of it was real or not, but now it’s over.”

  Those are the last words Reid speaks to me before we leave baggage claim and he makes good on our faux good-bye. It’s a send-off I’ll never forget.

  In other words, it will haunt me forever.

  Hey there, Boo-Boo Bunny,

  How’s the organic, free-range life treating you?

  Not so good?

  I take it you’ve had a change of heart with your recent post touting CVS and their quick med clinic. Whatever its name is, I forget, but it doesn’t matter. When your kid is burning up with a high fever, all those hoodoo-voodoo methods don’t work or matter.

  Hey, I get it. I’ve had to put my kid first many, many times. Setting aside my personal feelings or beliefs or values for his/her safety and well-being. I don’t blame you. Take the money off the table, grab the sponsorship dollars, and do what’s right by your baby!

  Happy weekend!

  The UnAffectionate Blogger

  227 Comments

  Poopy Daddy commented:

  What’s happening with you? You’re getting softer and softer. I predict a crash and burn soon. Bring back your old self.

  “Mom? Can we go for pizza?”

  It’s the Saturday after we arrived home from Florida, and Gabby’s been in front of the TV for hours. I haven’t run in days, and I’m curled up in the chair, pretending to watch whatever shit she’s watching, cup of coffee in hand.

  “I don’t know,” I say, lying. We can’t go for pizza because I don’t want to get dressed. Actually, I can’t get dressed. I’ve been in the same yoga pants for two and a half days. I’m disgusting.

  “Maybe we can go to FunZone?”

  “Not today, baby girl.”

  “I’m bored.”

  I’ll give it to her; she hasn’t asked for Reid. She took my excuse like a champ. On Thursday, I sat her down and said, “Reid’s having some problems at work, and he’s going to be really busy with it, so we may not see him for a while.”

  More lies. I think that was the last time I showered and changed pants. My own actions are eating me alive.

  “Why don’t I call Lizzie’s mom and see if she can come over? And then I’ll order you a pizza.”

  My little girl jumps up at this idea and dances around the room, and the sight brings half a smile to my face for a second. Yes, my heart is broken and I’m a fucking mess over a guy, but it’s not only that one thing. I’m not that pathetic to let a breakup send me into a downward spiral. It’s what I’ve done with my life; how I’ve made money at the expense of others. That, right there, is destroying me.

  My life is a shitstorm.

  Of course, I miss Reid. His touches. His words, his abs, and his cooking. I’ve cleared my browser history on my laptop, refusing to look at Grill and Groom. Delia’s texted me at least a hundred times, and I respond every time, “I’m fine.”

  For once, she’s not worried about James or talking about her dull stay-at-home-mom life; she’s concerned for me. Except, I don’t want it.

  I’ve created this, and I need to fix it.

  Leona knows I’m avoiding her, and she’s allowing me the space. Probably because she’s disgusted with me too. She told me to come clean, and I didn’t listen.

  I look at my emails, half expecting to see something to Andrea from Reid, but that’s wishful thinking at its best. He’s done with me, and the sooner I get my thick head to believe it, the better.

  I decide today’s the day. Lizzie’s mom drops her off, and I order a large pepperoni pie. While the girls are doing their own thing in Gabby’s room, I make a plan.

  It’s a different kind of Tell Day.

  Happy Monday, Readers.

  Like I often say, TGIM. Time for routine, the weekend behind us, and fresh days ahead.

  As many of you have speculated, I have a confession coming. You’re right; I haven’t been myself.

  And who is that?

  My name is Andonia Schwartz, and I’ve been writing this mean-spirited blog for a few years now. It started when . . . well, there are no excuses. I started it and couldn’t stop it. I’m a single mom who needs to provide for my daughter. With little to no childcare options and limited education and career experience, I turned to blogging. Sadly, I learned I could make more money with negative blog posts than positive.

  There aren’t enough apologies for the feelings I’ve hurt, the other blogs I’ve trampled on, and the potential damage other hard-working bloggers have experienced at my hand.

  I can say I’m sorry, but it’s not enough.

  I will say, my product endorsements were truthful and I never falsely led an audience. If there is one thing I’m serious about, it’s recommending a worthy product, service, or company.

  That being said, I often gave recommendations at the expense of others, and while companies and marketers have paid me to do it, I’m sick at my own self.

  I’m revealing my real name in an effort to come clean, but I also hope you will respect my daughter as she had nothing to do with this. She’s an innocent child who needs to eat and get new winter boots every year. Again, no excuses, but that was the impetus.

  I did what I thought was right, and yet, it was very wrong.

  Recently, I met a blogger who taught me the true spirit of blogging. To see their love and affection for their online creation, it was like watching a parent care for a newborn baby. I felt that way a long time ago, and I’d like to find it again. While I don’t know what I will do with this blog, I know I aspire to be like this blogger.

  Going forward (if this blog continues in some fashion), no other bloggers’ names will be mentioned. I’d love to take this in a new direction—unabashed opinions on products, travel services, and providers for moms, especially single moms.

  All I can say is . . . thank you for your readership and support.

  — Andi (that’s what my friends call me)

  165 Comments

  Momma of Triplets commented:

  Damn, you got yourself in a tizzy. They’ll be out with pitchforks before you can pee.

  Daddy Two Shoes commented:

  Hold your head up and reinvent yourself. Your voice is too good. BTW, are you still single?

  As soon as I post this on Monday, I go for a run. It’s not my usual time to hit the pavement, and it feels odd.

  After years of stringent routine, part of me is relieved to break free from the mold. The other part is already mourning my anonymity. I’m so paranoid, I feel like every passerby is looking at me. I know they’re not, but still.

  I pull my winter cap a bit lower on my forehead and plow through the cold. Sweat beads above my lip and I lick it off, knowing it will be chapped later. It’s not like I have anyone to kiss, so who cares?

  By the time I get home, the number of comments has tripled, and I throw caution to the wind and take a shower. A daytime shower.

  With my hair freshly washed and dried, I sit on the couch with a cup of coffee in hand and ponder my future. The truth is, I don’t have a clue what to do. Apply for jobs? Start a new blog?

  I’m deep in thought when there’s a knock on the door.

  Leona greets me when I open it, and she barges in. “It’s been enough time. I let you sulk. It’s time to get the guy back.” Today she’s a cherry-bomb pop in red velour, lipstick to match.

  “What is this?” She waves her hand up and down my oversized T-shirt and leggings with a hole in the knee. “How’re you going to get your guy back like this?” She shakes her head as she paces my living room.

  “I’
m not getting him back, Lee. He’s done, finished. Now it’s about making a life for Gabby and me.”

  “Pffft, please. That man loves you and you love him.”

  I drop onto the sofa. “I can’t do this today, Leona. Maybe tomorrow. Or never.”

  “I’m taking Gabby tonight so you can have a cry fest. Tomorrow, we regroup.” She’s out the door before I can argue, the screen door slapping loudly.

  I run my hand through my hair, and for half a second, I think, Can I get the guy back?

  The answer is no.

  I didn’t post tonight. I’m trying to care, but I don’t have any fucks left to give. Currently, I’m drowning my lack of caring in Stella Artois and cheap chips and gourmet salsa. It’s dismal excuse for comfort food, but it’s what I have, and I’m not exactly up for venturing out to the store.

  I’ve been home from Florida for a week, thinking each day would get better. But rather than better, each day has been worse than the one before.

  Reilly is helping me, freeing me up to work on the blog, but I can’t bring myself to post. Everything I want to grill, I think, Gabby would love this, or Andi would look amazing sitting across from me eating this.

  I’m the sappiest of the sappy.

  I channel my inner Spencer and decide to look at her damn blog, hoping to reinvigorate my mind with the evil side of her. She’s pure demon, deceptive and a con artist. That’s what I tell myself.

  I was harsh to her, but she deserved it. Right? I mean, she duped me. For what? Sex? A new baby daddy? All that crap about Gabby’s feelings, was it bullshit?

  And then I read her latest post, and it breaks me.

  I did this, caused this, and she’s out there saying I’m the blogger she wants to be like. I made her come out of the closet, ruined her livelihood, and jeopardized Gabby.

  Me.

  Fuck me.

  Deserting my chips and beer on the counter, I head into my office and decide to formulate a plan. I’m an ass. Or was an ass. Now I can be a hero.

  My first call is to Leona. She answers with some faux sexy, “Hellooo.”

  “Leona, it’s Reid. We need to talk.”

  “It’s Reid,” she whispers to someone . . . maybe Andi?

  My pulse jumps at the thought. Maybe she and I can hash this out right now. I can pretend to still be mad and have her explain, and then forgive her. My mouth can be between her thighs in a few hours.

  Jesus Christ, do I miss her taste.

  But, it’s Gabby, which in a way is even better. The three of us discuss a strategy, and all I have to do is wake up and put it in motion.

  Easier said than done. I toss and turn most of the night.

  At ten the next morning, I set out on a run and keep my eyes peeled for Andi. Leona reported she went out earlier than usual the day before.

  I’m just beginning to think I’ve missed her when I see Andi, steamrolling down the university’s main walkway. I see her back; I know that stride and messy ponytail peeking out of a hat.

  I pick up my pace and catch up with her from behind, settling into stride next to her. “Hey.”

  She doesn’t respond, and I realize she has earbuds in. She’s so out of it; she doesn’t notice someone running next to her.

  I pull up ahead and turn around, running backward. “Hey,” I say again.

  Confusion clouds her face and she pulls out an earbud.

  I don’t stop running backward, and she keeps coming toward me. I think about stopping short, but I don’t push my luck.

  “What do you want?” Andi asks me . . . and I know she’s upset.

  I wasn’t the least bit understanding when she tried to explain to me last week. She had her reasons, and I didn’t even attempt to digest them. I went ballistic on a single mom who only did what she could to make ends meet.

  “My ego was so bruised, I couldn’t put my own feelings aside,” I tell her. When I finally slow to a stop, she halts too and takes me in, not saying a word. “I didn’t consider why or what would make you keep the secret. I was so hurt. It felt like you didn’t trust me.”

  “I trusted you with Gabby,” she says.

  She shivers, and I’m not sure if I should, but I pull her close.

  Her front to mine, our noses almost touching, I say, “I know. It meant everything to me.”

  “I wanted to tell you,” she mumbles. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I just didn’t know how, and you kept emailing me. It was like a private window into your soul to read your feelings for this single mom and her daughter. I recognize it was cheating, and not on the up and up. But, well, I did it.”

  “That’s creepy.” I squeeze her close, and she laughs.

  My heart pounds as I try to figure out where we are. Have we made up? Was it this easy?

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, and I appreciate you saving face with Gabby. Thanks for your apology, but it’s not necessary.” She breaks free and tugs at her gloves, getting ready to run again. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Wait! What do you mean? I want another chance to prove myself to you. We could be a power-blogging couple,” I joke.

  She shakes her head. “Cute, but let’s just say we had good times and move on. Okay, Reid, I mean it. I have to put Gabby first.” With a quick kiss to my cheek, she jets off.

  It’s okay. I have more plans.

  The week goes by quickly between teaching, game planning with Leona, and sending UAB aka Andrea a daily email about the awesome single mom I know. She never replies, but I know she sees them.

  I tell her how I admire the single mom’s willingness to do what it takes. I compare this mom to a mountain lion—fierce, protective, and territorial. I explain that I love lions. It’s cheesy, but true. I’ve always been fascinated with lions, and I make a mental note to take Gabby to the zoo.

  Late Friday afternoon, I program a post for the blog, “Kabobs and Kindness.” I grilled chicken kabobs and set up a GoFundMe for the Hungry Children’s Fund. With it set to go live at six o’clock, I get ready for my own evening. Jeans, a flannel, glasses, extra scruff, beard oil, and a bunch of change in my pocket.

  “Look who the cat dragged in.” When Angelo greets me, one—two—three heads turn my way. Gabby, Leona, and Andi sit at the counter, drinking sodas. I watch Andi give Leona a dirty look, and right away, I know she’s caught on.

  Fooled ya.

  “Lee,” she grumbles. “First, a pet cat, and now you can’t stay out of my love life.”

  “Reid!” Gabby calls to me. She stage-whispers, “I told Angelo to make your sub too. With the onions.” She scrunches up her face and sticks her tongue out on the last part.

  “Want to put on a song?” I yank a coin out of my pocket for the old-fashioned jukebox, and she grabs it.

  “I’m starting to think I’ve been set up. First, Leona tells me she needs a ride to get shoes. Then Gabby’s starving and only wants subs, even though I offered to take a pizza home. Now it all makes sense.”

  “Maybe.” I wink.

  Andi looks gorgeous in a long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans, her hair tied back in a messy bun, wearing very little makeup.

  “Told you, you should get dressed nice to go shopping,” Leona says, then stands up to join Gabby at the jukebox.

  “I was just thinking how stunning Andi looks,” I tell Leona as she walks away.

  Sidling up next to Andi, I hip check her. “Hey, I’m Reid. We keep meeting like this, I may have to ask you out.”

  She pulls her hair from its bun and lets it cascade in front of her half smile. “Is that so?”

  “It is. And I cook. Well, grill mostly.”

  “Hmm, let me think.”

  I push her hair behind her ear so I can take in all of her beauty.

  “That’s probably pretty good, considering the last meal I cooked, everyone left barfing.”

  This time, it’s me laughing out loud. When Andi ducks her head again, I bring her chin back up so we’re eye to eye.

  “I miss you. It�
�s not even been two weeks, and I’m lost.”

  She tries to look away.

  “Andi, I love you.”

  “Order up!” Angelo calls as he rings the bell over the stove.

  “I guess we’ll never forget my telling you I love you.”

  Andi doesn’t have time to say anything because Gabby comes bouncing back, hopping on one foot like usual.

  Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean” plays in the background, and I promise myself to also teach Gabby about good music. Of course, Andi is singing along. She would.

  Dumping coins on the counter, I say, “What do you say to FunZone sometime soon?”

  “Yes!” Gabby shouts.

  “You like Fun Zone?” I look at Gabby.

  “Yes!”

  “How ’bout you?” I ask Andi.

  “Their pizza is the bomb,” she says with a straight face.

  “Can we go tomorrow?” Gabby’s already bobbing on her stool.

  There’s a knock on the door, and Gabby asks if she can get it. I agree because I know it’s Reid.

  “Ooh, look! Mom, come here!” Gabby is squealing like a monkey.

  Reese’s runs in circles and ends up barreling toward Gabby, who I find carrying the largest Valentine’s Day bear I have ever seen. Behind her is a basket of candy as big as a toddler.

  “Um, it’s March,” I say to Reid.

  “Well, we never got to celebrate.”

  I nod like I understand, but really? This guy is nuts—for me. Me!

  It’s been a week since we made up. Yeah, it seems fast and like it happened too easily. But I’m a mom with a kid, and he’s a guy with a growing blog, and while it appears we rushed, we know what we want. We want to merge it all and make a life. Not tonight, but soon. I’m sure it sounds like nonsense to you, but we get it.

  “Evening, folks.” Leona appears, looking like an Irish lass in green velour.