by Lisa Sorbe
I consider Emilia, try to sense her level of fatigue. She has the tendency to go and go and go, dismissing all signs of exhaustion until it completely overwhelms her. We’ve been in the pool a little over three hours now, and she has to be getting ready to crash. “How are you doing? Are your arms getting tired? Do you want your water wings?”
“Mom!” She shoots a quick look at Miles, embarrassment evident on her face. “I don’t wear water wings anymore. Remember?”
I should. I should, but I don’t. And then I press my lips together so I don’t laugh.
Because the expression on her face is both so adult and childlike that I feel all swoony inside. And I’m not a person who usually feels that way. Or, for that matter, even uses that word.
Swoony.
But swoony is exactly how this night is making me feel.
Miles seems to sense my intent, because he swims over to the shallow end, stands, and stretches. “I don’t know about you ladies, but I’m pretty wiped.”
I sigh, following his lead. “Yeah. Me, too. I think it’s time for bed.” I fake a yawn, one that suddenly turns into a real one. Now that I think about it, I’ve been going all. day. long. Taking Emilia to school, going to work, going back to school to pick her up, then back to work again, entertaining her this afternoon while I worked, and then swimming tonight…
I’m starting to understand the plight of single parents. It’s exhausting. And they deserve a fucking medal.
“No! One more throw! Puh-lease, Miles!”
He holds his hand out to Emilia and she swims over, little legs kicking as fast as they can. When she reaches him, he lowers himself back into the water and grabs her waist. “Last one,” he says, arching a brow. “You ready?”
Emilia nods, all business.
“One,” he says.
“Two,” she follows.
“And…. Three!”
My daughter goes flying through the air, plunges beneath the water, and resurfaces seconds later, sputtering and giggling.
Miles is gentle when he tosses her, not flinging her even near as hard as my dad used to toss me and my brother in the same way when we were kids. And Emilia’s like a little fish; she’s a great swimmer for her age and it’s damn near impossible to get her out of the pool during the summer. (Even as a baby, she loved floating around in the inflatable baby boat my brother got her our first summer back and would cry bloody murder when it was time to go inside.) Still, I can’t help the way my stomach drops every time she’s airborne, the way my throat clenches and my breath catches when she goes under.
Emilia swims back to Miles and hangs on his arm. “Again, Miles! Again!”
“That’s enough,” I say. “And Mile isn’t a jungle gym.”
She pouts, her lower lip jutting out and big eyes trained up at Miles. “You’re not gonna leave though, are you?”
I cross my arms. “Emilia, it’s way past your bedtime.”
“But it’s Friday night,” she whines. “I don’t have school tomorrow.”
Miles smiles down at her before looking back at me. He shrugs. “She does have a point. It is the weekend.”
Bad influence, I mouth.
Emilia swims around in circles. “I don’t…” She yawns. “I don’t want to go inside yet.”
“How about this.” Miles rubs his hands together and beams like he has the most brilliant idea in the world. “How about we go inside, but we put a movie on. Any one you want.” He winks at me. “Friday night movie night. Now that sounds like fun. Huh? What do you think?”
Emilia pauses, plants her feet in the shallow end, and furrows her little brow. “Any movie I want?”
Miles swims over to her, grabs her hands, and starts pulling her toward the edge. “Any one you want,” he confirms.
Her smile is wide as she glides along, the water lapping at her chin as she nods.
I throw my hands up. A half win is a half win. “Fabulous. Now that that’s settled.” I swim to the edge and hop out, the crisp air nipping at my skin. Goosebumps prickle as I grab a towel and dry off as much as I can before wrapping it around my waist. I hold my hand out. “Come on. Let’s dry you off and get you inside.”
Miles lifts her from the pool before hopping out himself. I wrap her up in a towel, briskly rub her down, and tuck it snugly around her neck. A stray lock of hair is curled over her cheek. I squat down, brush it away. “What movie are you thinking about?”
“The Nightmare Before Christmas.” She doesn’t even hesitate.
We’re eye to eye. Nose to nose. For the first time in a long time, I allow my eyes to roam over her face. Her toddler chubbiness is gone, and again I find myself wondering how she grew up so fast.
Something in my chest pinches. And again with that damn phantom thumping…
Miles sweeps her up in his arms, the towel fluttering around her legs. “I thought you’d pick Snow White.”
Emilia rolls her eyes and gives a little huff. “Snow White is for babies.”
He laughs, then throws his gaze my way, feigning terror. “Wow, she just looked so much like you for a minute it gave me chills.” He bounces her once in his arms and shudders.
I huff and roll my own eyes on purpose, eliciting a laugh from them both.
Miles has lost some of his tan over the last few weeks, but standing there in his navy swim trunks and with a fluffy white towel around his shoulders, he still looks sun-kissed. It’s those gilded autumn-colored eyes under that mop of chestnut hair, I decide. That and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
I lead the way back into the house, and Miles plunks Emilia down in her room before leaving so we can change. My clothes from work are smelly, so I change into the only other attire I have in the main house – a pair of black yoga pants and an old *NSYNC concert tee that I wore back when Emilia was sick and my mom washed and put back in the guest room.
When we meet Miles in the living room, he whistles. “Wow. Jenny. You,” he presses both hands to his chest, cocks a crooked grin, “are absolutely stunning.”
I give him a dirty look along with a hand gesture behind Emilia’s back.
“Miles, sit here.” Emilia takes his hand and pulls him down next to her on the couch. Then she pats the spot next to her. “Mom, you sit here.”
I snag the remote and dim the lights before grabbing a blanket and spreading it over her. “You’re awfully bossy tonight, you know that? How about a please?”
“Please sit next to me, Mom.”
I chuckle as I tuck myself next to her, shimmying under the blanket.
“Have you seen this before?” she asks Miles.
He nods. “Yep. But it was a long time ago.” He laces his fingers behind his head and sinks back into the cushions. “So, this’ll sorta be like watching it for the first time.”
Emilia turns back the screen, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the television. “Well, it’s kinda spooky. If you get scared, you can grab my hand. ‘Kay?”
I hold my fist over my mouth and cough back a laugh. What a little flirt!
Miles nods, his face straight. “Thanks, Milly. I definitely will. You know, you’re pretty tough to watch a scary movie like this. Brave like your mom, huh?”
She nods, smiles up at me. “Uh-huh!”
He looks over her head at me and grins.
Emilia slips her little hand into mine as the opening scene begins – which, I have to admit, would freak me the fuck out if I was her age. But she doesn’t budge, just moves her lips along to the song without making a sound.
My daughter is brave. She’s incredibly brave, and incredibly tough.
And she’s not like me. At all.
Because I’m not brave. I’m not tough. Instead, I’m bitchy. I’m bitchy, and I hide my feelings behind sarcastic wit and biting words. I stayed with a man who, throughout my pregnancy and for almost an entire year after our daughter was born, treated me like a disease. I stayed and stayed and stayed, becoming one of those women I swore I’d never be,
until he took the matter into his own hands and pushed me out.
Emilia’s asleep not even ten minutes into the movie and, embarrassingly enough, I don’t make it much longer. I no more than blink and it’s over, waking up to Miles gently brushing a lock of hair off my forehead and saying my name. When I come to, I see Emilia curled up against his side.
I squint and push myself up into a sitting position. “Did you watch the whole thing?” I whisper. I can still feel the trail his fingers left across my forehead, the heat spreading down to redden my cheeks. I push the blanket off and look at the clock. It’s after midnight, yet Miles looks as awake as ever.
“I did,” he whispers back. Then, “By the way, you snore.” But he’s laughing, so I’m pretty sure he’s joking.
Lord, I hope he’s joking.
I move to pry Emilia from him, but he holds up a hand. “Let me.” He wraps her up in his long arms, her cheeks pink and lips half parted, and follows me to her room. I pull back the covers and move aside so he can lower her into the bed. The muscles in his back strain with the effort, and I find myself wanting to run my hand over them, press myself up against his side, and watch her sleep. And then I want to lead him to my bed and…
I’m rubbing my lower lip with my thumb, lost in these ridiculous thoughts when he turns around. His eyes darken as he watches me, and I feel like I’m melting under the heat from his gaze, my body turning to mush and my knees rubbery to the point I’m not sure they’ll be able to hold me up for much longer.
But this is Miles. This is my boss, a nerdy blue-collar mechanic who may or may not be building a relationship with someone else. Who lives in a loft above his garage, listens to outdated mullet rock, drives a foul-smelling beat-up truck, and whose idea of dressing up is throwing on a clean t-shirt and maybe washing one of his two pairs of jeans.
“Let me get your swimming trunks.” I keep my voice low, saying the only thing I can think of. He nods and, after we retrieve his shorts, I walk him to the door.
For the first time ever, I don’t know how to act around a man.
So I twist my hands together and give a nervous little laugh as he steps outside.
“I think my daughter has a crush on you.”
He lifts a shoulder. The porchlight isn’t on, just the backlighting from the front entryway, and it reflects in his eyes. With me standing on the porch and him a step down, we’re almost the same height. Meaning if I just moved forward a little bit…
I’ve never been shy. Never had to work for a damn thing. Until I lost Julian, that is. Until he slipped through my fingers because… because…
But that one time aside, looks alone have always guaranteed me the people and things that I wanted. I’ve never had to wait for a man to make a move. And I’ve never been shy to make one.
Miles, though. Miles is different. And he doesn’t care what I look like. On the outside, at least.
As if to prove my point, he leans in, reaches his hand up, and… tugs on my hair. “Looking good tonight, Princess.” He laughs as he backs away. When I reach my hand up, I realize my formerly wet hair has dried into twisty clumps that feel like ropey dreadlocks.
He points at me, still walking backwards. “And none of that health shit tomorrow. I want a greasy sausage and egg sandwich with extra cheese and a pile of hash browns from Norby’s Diner. Capiche?”
I purse my lips, raise a brow. “We’ll see.”
He just waves before turning around. “Later, Jenny,” he calls without looking back.
I’m just closing the door when I hear the rumble of his truck ripping through the night; it’s so loud compared to the softer engines of the luxury cars that usually pass through our neighborhood.
I lean back against the door and push my palm into my stomach, take a deep breath. That swoony feeling is back, the constant swooshing motion wreaking havoc in my gut. And I can’t tell whether or not it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Excitement or panic.
Because sometimes the same feeling can define both.
I had a nanny waiting for us when we got home from the hospital.
I wasn’t under any illusion that Julian would have an awakening and suddenly want to be a father. Not right away, at least. It was my hope, however, that eventually the day would come when he would.
I also declined my mom’s offer to come out and help. She had no idea – no one did – of the problems Julian and I were having, and I wanted to keep the image of my seemingly perfect life just as perfect as everyone thought it was.
Our nanny, Roxanne, was a frumpy middle-aged woman who loved children but had never been married or blessed with any of her own. So she doted on mine. With her mousy brown hair, hawk-like nose, and deplorable fashion sense, she was nowhere near as beautifully eclectic as, say, Mary Poppins. And while she wasn’t the most charming addition to my life, she did do a lot for Emilia and I that first year, and having her around was worth its weight in gold. Her devotion to my daughter, however, was something I only slightly appreciated and certainly never thanked her for. Because, at the time, I was too caught up in dealing with the deterioration of my marriage to appreciate much of anything. And expressing thanks? When had I ever been good at that?
Since Julian lived in his studio and slept in the guest room (on the nights he even slept at home at all) I gutted the den we’d set up years ago as an office but never used and turned it into a room for Roxanne. It wasn’t a large space, but she seemed to appreciate it all the same. From what I could tell, she enjoyed her job and adored Emilia. As for me, I just liked the fact that she never questioned our aloof living arrangement. Or the fact that Emilia’s father never once looked her way. Granted, he wasn’t around much. And when he was, he’d sweep in the front door and past us so fast he might as well have been a ghost.
The first time he walked through the front door with another woman, I was alone. Roxanne had requested the weekend off for some family function and the girl I usually used as a relief nanny was down with the flu, leaving me alone with Emilia for the first night since she was born. I was up making tea, a small celebration after finally getting her to fall asleep, when they blew in from the cold, laughing and stomping snow from their shoes. They smelled like fresh cold air and whisky and smoke.
She was blonde, her hair a bright halo of bleached white in the dark entryway, and I’ll never forget the way she clung to his arm, wrapped herself around his body when he pushed her up against the wall and pressed his lips to hers.
Their lust was open on display, loud and vulgar, and the apartment was suddenly thick with their scent.
My stomach dropped then, and I lost all feeling in my body. I forgot how to breath, how to think, even my own name. My vision was the only thing that seemed to be working properly, and it took in everything. Every single god damned thing, whether I wanted it to or not. The fit of her jeans, the way the yellow seams hugged her curves. The curls that fell over her shoulders and tumbled down her back. The faux fur jacket and the gold hoop earrings that dangled from her lobes.
They way Julian wrapped his large, weathered hands in her hair and pulled as he traced his lips down her neck. And the way hers parted when he did…
I was present, so present through all of this. Though I didn’t want to be. I would have given anything not to be. And then, having lost the ability to blink, I watched as Julian led her into the guest room, looking over his shoulder at me as he did.
His expression was blank; it was the first time he’d made eye contact with me in months.
And his eyes said it all. Every single thing he’d been feeling since the night I told him I was pregnant. And then some.
He hadn’t changed. He wasn’t going to change.
That was when I knew. Really knew.
I’d lost him.
And in losing him, I’d lost myself.
My legs gave out as the door closed.
One week later, I woke up to a crying baby and no nanny. When I checked Roxanne’s room, I found it emp
ty. My next find – an attorney in the kitchen – told me everything I needed to know.
Julian paid her off, and now it was my turn.
Under Julian’s watchful gaze, I signed the papers with a stiff hand and a dry eye. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing my cry. Not anymore, at least.
I walked out of our home and away from the man I’d devoted the last ten years of my life to with a daughter that looked just like him and 1.5 million cooling in my new bank account.
It was the worst day of my life.
I make myself up like I haven’t made myself up in, well, since I started working for Miles. Moisturizer, concealer, foundation, eyeliner, a smoky shadow, and a light rose lipstick. I slip into an old dress Julian bought for me years ago – an off the shoulder, wine-colored piece that hugs every single curve and hits just below my knees. Sophisticated with a hint of slut, showing just enough while still leaving a bit to the imagination. At least, that was Julian’s description when he saw me in it. To top it all off, I throw on some diamond earrings that sparkle like stars against my hair along with the bangles Clark gave me on Valentine’s Day.
I finger the bracelets for a moment; it’s hard to believe that was only seven months ago.
And then I realize it’s been seven months since I’ve dated anyone. Seven months since I’ve kissed a man, been with a man. Felt the desperate, urgent need that radiates between two people when you’re pressed close, chest to chest, lost to each other so completely you lose track of time, lose track of everything but the feeling of skin against skin, his hard to your soft…
And, surprisingly, I haven’t missed it.
Except for last night. Last night, when I watched Miles put Emilia to bed. If he’d asked, I would have opened myself up to him right then and there. Taken him to my bed, wrapped myself up with his long body, and…
