by Jay McLean
★★★
I call Robby as soon as I wake up and shower the next morning because I’m sick of the silence and I don’t know what to do with myself.
“Are you sure?” he asks, “We don’t mind having him until after lunch.”
“Yeah. I forgot I had plans with him,” I lie.
I grab my board and go back to skating in the driveway, waiting for them to show up. A half hour later they pull in and as soon as Tommy’s free from his seat he jumps out of their car and right into my arms. And all my other thoughts, feelings and questions become completely insignificant. “I missed you, buddy,” I tell him.
“Me too, Daddy,” he says quietly, squeezing my neck.
Robby walks over with Tommy’s backpack and hands it to me. “You good?”
I pretend to focus on brushing Tommy’s hair aside so I don’t have to look at Robby and, hopefully, he won’t be able to read me. “Uh huh. Thanks a lot for bringing him back.”
“He hasn’t had his morning snack,” Robby calls out as I climb the stairs up to my apartment.
“I’ll take care of it. Thanks again.”
After putting the bowl of fruit on the counter in front of Tommy, I ask, “Did you want to spend the money you earned? We could hit up the toy store and see what they got for you?”
His eyes light up with his smile. “Camera!”
My eyes narrow, but inside, I’m smiling. “I think you’re going to have to work a lot harder if you want a camera.”
His smiles drops, and so do his shoulders. “Okay.”
“What about a sandpit or something? You like the one at daycare right?”
He shrugs as he chomps on a piece of apple, his eyes lowered, and if a kid could get an award for being the saddest most pathetic looking apple eater in the entire world, he’d definitely win.
“Why do you want a camera, anyway?”
“Because Becca.”
“Because Becca has one, you want one?”
“She said it makes her happy.”
“Oh yeah? She said that?”
He nods, looking up at me now.
I tilt my head as I eye him curiously. “Does she talk to you a lot?”
He nods again.
“What do you guys talk about?”
With a shrug, he says, “You.”
“Me?” I clear my throat, my pulse spiking and my ears thirsty for more information. “What about me?”
“Can Becca come?”
“No. Tommy. Listen. This is really important. What does she say about me?”
“She can’t come?”
“Tommy!”
He finishes his fruit and gets off the stool, then walks the bowl to the sink. “Moneys?” he says, his hand out waiting.
“What does she say?” I ask, frustrated and fully aware of how tacky it is that I’m using my kid for intel on a girl I might possibly be crushing on. What can I say? I’m that kid in middle school and Tommy’s my best friend. He’s also hers. So right now, in my mind, it makes complete sense.
“I get da sandpit,” he says, shoving his hand right under my nose.
I bend down so I’m eye to eye with him, and then I do something really pathetic. “I’ll give you moneys if you tell me something she’s said about me.”
He smiles. “Five.”
I rear back. “What?”
“Five moneys.”
“How the hell old are you?”
“Naughty word, Daddy.”
With a roll of my eyes, I reach into my pocket, pull out my wallet, fetch a five-dollar bill and slap it in his tiny little hand.
His smile widens. “She wikes my smile,” he says, and starts walking to his room.
I follow him. “That’s not about me! What does she say about me?”
“Me handsome like you, daddy.”
I tell him he can invite Becca.
I also tell him not to hold his breath. Which apparently is a dumb thing to say to a kid. Why would I hold my breath? That’s a question he asks over and over while I change my clothes, over and over, and search the bathroom for the cologne I hadn’t worn since the bachelor party with the breastfeeding boob stripper.
“But why would I hold my breff?” he asks again, taking my hand as we descend down the stairs. It’s worse than the time I told him to hop out of the bath.
“It’s just a figure of speech, buddy.”
“Finger of peach?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Finger of peach.”
He runs up their porch steps and knocks wildly on the door, cackling the entire time. Chazarae answers and before she can speak, he runs into the house yelling, “Becca! Becca!”
Chazarae smiles as her eyes move from him to me.
“He wanted to invite Becca to hang out with us if that’s okay?”
“I hope he doesn’t get too disappointed. Becca hasn’t left the house since she’s been here.”
“Yeah, I figured,” I tell her. “It’s just he asked and I couldn’t—”
“You smell nice,” she cuts in, coming closer and sniffing me once. “New cologne?”
I shrug. “It’s old.”
“Hmm.” She eyes me sideways. Then reaches up and runs the back of her fingers across my cheek. “You’re blushing, Joshua.”
The human body is stupid.
Even though it knows that embarrassment is something you want to hide—it makes sure that you can’t hide it. I lower my head. “No, I’m not.”
Tommy squeezes between Chazarae and I and runs to my truck. “She said yes!”
You know what’s worse than your landlady calling you out on wearing cologne purely because you want to impress her granddaughter? I’ll tell you what. Being in the confined space of a truck while your son tells said granddaughter about how you paid him five moneys for him to tell you about what she said about you. Yeah. That’s happening. And if I thought the human body was stupid before, I’m pretty sure I hate it right now.
From the corner of my eye I can see her smiling, even though her head’s lowered—probably trying to hide her own embarrassment. I don’t know why she’d be embarrassed. She’s not the one getting called out for being pathetic.
I focus on the road. Nothing but the road. Not her legs. Or her short blue dress. Or her cowboy boots. Or her hands settled on her lap, her thumbs circling each other.
She clears her throat and I refocus on the road I thought I was focused on. “Where are we going?” she asks.
My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter while I try to piece myself back together. “Toy store. He gets to spend the money he’s earned. You know when we were there for dinner and you and Chazarae gave him the dollar for setting the table? That’s kind of like his allowance and once a month I take him toy shopping for whatever he wants.”
She nods slowly.
I add, “I know it might seem weird. You know, considering his age, but I just want to start him off early—to know that hard work pays off and nothing comes for free. I just think it’s important. I don’t really know why. I don’t really know what I’m doing when it comes to being his dad. I guess I just do my best. I try to teach him manners and respect and hopefully it’s something that’ll stick with him. It’s hard, you know… being a single dad and making all the decisions and trying to work out…” I trail off, my eyes wide when I realize all I’ve just said. “I’ve just given you way more information than you asked for.” I glance at her quickly but she’s looking down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I ramble a lot.” I pull into a spot in the parking lot at the mall, and then switch off the engine—my eyes still wide and my awkwardness at an all-new high.
She shifts in her seat but I’m too afraid to look at her. I see her hand moving across the bench seat, coming closer and closer to mine. I swallow nervously. Time slows. And when her little finger brushes across my wrist, every single muscle in my body tenses. Her palm covers the back of my hand, her fingers sliding between mine. “Josh?” she whispers, and I finally look at her. “Yo
u’re doing an amazing job. Tommy—he gives me the courage to push on. You know… after I kick.”
“Like skating?”
She nods, her gaze lifting and locking with mine.
Then Tommy huffs in the back seat, breaking our stare. “My boogers taste like finger of peach.”
7
-Joshua-
Tommy and Becca pretty much ignore me as they walk hand in hand through the store. They seem to have their own silent language—one that I’m completely unaware of. They smile. A lot. Not just at each other, but in general.
They pick out one of those plastic shell sandpits. She waves a hand in the air, indicating to all the different colors. He points to her, then her eyes, and then he chooses green.
After checking out, they lead the way, hand in hand, to my truck, where I dump the sandpit and all the accessories (buckets, shovels, you name it) in the back. It costs a lot more than the money he’d earned over the last month but who am I to say no? Especially when getting the extra stuff meant spending more time with Becca. And him, of course.
When everything’s strapped in, I turn around and see them having another one of their silent conversations. Tommy rubs his belly, and then points to her. She purses her lips and looks up to the skies, then rubs her own belly. He gives her a thumbs up and she returns it. Then they both look at me, a question in their eyes. And I stand there silent and unmoving because, seriously? What the hell just happened? Tommy crosses his arms. Becca quirks an eyebrow.
I nod.
They celebrate.
I sigh. “Okay, I’m going to be honest. I have no idea what you guys just said, or asked, or whatever.”
Tommy sighs louder than I just did and throws in an eye roll. Sometimes I truly question how old the kid is.
Becca bends at her waist so she’s eye level with him, then holds up three fingers.
He nods and looks up at me. “Me and Becca are hungry. Can we eat?”
“That’s what that was?”
Becca snorts with laughter. Legit, snorts. And no lie—it’s kind of hot.
I take them to Tommy’s favorite place—Chuck E Cheese, where we scoff down our meals and I double-dog-dare Becca to have another fried pickle, which she refuses. We spend the rest of the afternoon playing games and going from one ride to the next. Normally, I’d find an excuse to cut out after an hour or so but honestly, it’s not so bad with Becca around. It’s actually kind of fun. The two of them still live and play in their own worlds, but occasionally, they’ll try to get me involved in it. It’s a whole lot of pointing and nodding and head shaking and holding up one or two fingers—whatever that means.
After three hours, Tommy’s finally had enough and he asks to go build his sandpit. We get in the car and five minutes later I can see him in the rear view mirror—his eyes heavy as he starts to nod off.
“Don’t fall asleep, buddy!” I say loudly, trying to keep him awake.
He doesn’t respond.
“We’ll be home soon and we’ll set up the sandpit and you can play there for the rest of the day.” I reach back and shake his leg while I keep my focus on the road. “Don’t sleep.”
He lifts his head slowly, his eyes hooded. “I won’t,” he says through a yawn.
I glance at Becca quickly. Her brow’s bunched in confusion as she looks from me to Tommy. “Can you try to keep him awake?” I ask her. “Shake his hand or something. Anything. I can’t transfer him from the car to his bed anymore and he turns into a little turd if he gets woken.”
She nods and shakes Tommy’s arm.
“Stay awake, buddy!” I yell, knowing full well how ridiculous this might seem to her.
After a minute, she turns back around and faces the windshield. “I’m sorry,” she says. “He’s out.”
“It’s okay. He should be worn out. It was a big day for him.”
“So what do we do?”
“I normally just drive around or park somewhere until he wakes up on his own but I can drop you home first.”
“Or not,” she says quietly. “I don’t mind driving around. Or parking.”
I drive to the half-court and park in the middle. Normally I’d crack a window and skate close enough to the car that I’d still be able to see or hear Tommy. But for obvious reasons I choose to stay in the truck this time.
After switching off the engine, I turn to her. “Thanks for coming out today. He was really excited to ask you and I know you haven’t really been out much since…” I trail off.
She shrugs and takes out her camera from the bag sitting on the seat between us. Then switches on the screen at the back and starts flipping through pictures.
“Is it because you don’t know the area well or something? Because I can show you around if you want.”
She shakes her head, her eyes still focused on the camera.
I thought, or at least hoped, that after what happened yesterday and the time we’d spent together today, that she’d at least talk to me—maybe give up a little more of herself. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’d hoped a little too hard. I rest back in my seat and let the disappointment wash through me. I hear the unbuckling of her seatbelt and face her just in time to see her move to the middle of the seat. She smiles as she leans into me, her arm touching mine as she lifts the camera and shows me the picture on the screen.
It’s of Tommy—his face covered in dirt mixed with sweat and his smile from ear to ear. Probably the same as mine is right now. “When did you take this?”
“Wednesday,” she says quietly, then clears her throat. “There’s a whole bunch of them.” She leans even closer into me, so close her chest is against my arm and I panic. I move my arm and settle it on top of the seat behind her. She starts flipping through the pictures quickly and I take in every one. Then she gets to a bunch of close ups of her and Tommy. “Wait.” I cover her hand. “Go back.”
“Here.” She hands me the camera and somehow moves closer again. Now her forearm is on my leg and I can feel her warm breaths against my chest. I do my best to hide the shakiness of my hand and slowly flip through the pictures of her and Tommy. They’ve been taken outside. I can tell because her eyes are brighter—and, yeah, it doesn’t escape me that I pay way too much attention to her eyes.
I pause on one of them sitting on the porch steps. I can see her arm extended, taking the shot as she looks right at the lens… but Tommy’s looking at her, his eyes shut tight and his nose against her cheek. The next one has him kissing her cheek, her nose scrunched a little but her smile wide. I swallow loudly, my heart thumping against my chest. My thumb traces over the picture while I take in every single detail of it—mentally burning the image in my mind. There’s an ache in my chest, not from the beating of my heart, but from the breaking. Still, for some reason, I want more of whatever is causing the pain. “Can I get a copy of these?”
She doesn’t respond but I can feel her shifting next to me. The warmth caused by her breaths leaves my chest and returns a moment later, only now it’s against my neck and my eyes close when I feel her exhale softly against my skin, then hear her inhale through her nose, sniffing me. I’m about to back away from her but her hand moves to my nape, keeping me with her. She runs her fingers through my hair and I keep my eyes closed; goose bumps pricking my entire body. I wonder if she can feel it. If the hairs on the back of my neck tickle her fingers as her hand moves down and her face moves up and she kisses right under my ear and I swear to God everything stops. Everything.
My breath.
Her hands.
My heart.
Her lips.
My world.
Everything.
Stops.
Then she exhales.
And my eyes snap open.
She whispers, “You smell so good.”
And everything starts again.
Everything.
Only this time, it’s amplified.
My breaths.
Her touch.
My pulse.
Her kiss.
Because she’s kissing me.
From my neck to my jaw, and I meet her half way—but the second my mouth is on hers and the softness and the warmth of her lips invade all my senses, I freeze. I sit there, my mouth on the hottest girl I’ve ever and possibly will ever see and I choke.
Literally choke.
I cough into her mouth and she pulls back, her nose scrunched, only for a moment before her eyes widen and she grabs a bottle of water from her bag and I’m thumping my chest, my eyes watering and seriously, fuck my life.
She uncaps the water and hands it to me; the surprise on her face replaced with concern as she slowly rubs my back.
I close my eyes, too embarrassed to face her as I drink and drink and drink like the water is more important than air because in this moment it is.
“Are you okay?” she asks as soon as I’m done.
I burp.
Right in her face.
Fuck, I’m a class act.
“Run, Becca.”
“What?” she says through a chuckle.
“Seriously, run. I’m a mess.”
“No you’re not,” she whispers, her eyes soft and her smile wide. She laughs a little and I can’t help but laugh with her.
I chuck the empty bottle on the floor of the car. “It’s just… it’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this and I’m a wreck and you—you’re so intimidating.”
“I’m intimidating?” she asks incredulously.
“Well, yeah,” I tell her, still not facing her. “Have you seen you, Becca? Your beauty alone is intimidating and just the thought of kissing you…”
“Josh,” she whispers, her hand on my shoulder turning me to her. “No one’s ever said I was beautiful before.”
