Clusterf*ck

by Ash Harlow

  My crush is evolving into something that feels even worse because now it knows what it wants, and what it would miss if Luther and I never had sex again. Yes, I do think of my crush as an entirely separate thing to the rest of me. I envision it as a giant wrecking ball dangling on a chain, ready to swing and create chaos if I make the wrong move. Acknowledging it used to keep me sane. Now that Luther and I have actually had sex, it seems that wrecking ball is large and unwieldy.

  Rachel appears right before dawn, but I’m already awake.

  “Come on, sweetie, you know the drill. Dressing gown and slippers on. I’m just going to have a quick shower. You can hop into my bed and wait for me, if you want.”

  “I’ll get Bugsy.”

  “Okay.”

  Bugsy is a soft toy of indeterminate species, but well loved. I wait to get Rachel tucked up in my bed before showering. My pussy is tender and I’m partly reluctant to wash away all the evidence of Luther’s and my night, but the shower also helps to reset me to nanny mode.

  In the kitchen I make coffee, and breakfast for Rachel who’s giving me a blow-by-blow account of a dream she had. I’m anxious about seeing Luther, wondering if he’s experiencing any degree of post-coital remorse.

  I’m just organizing an English muffin for Rachel when he appears in the kitchen. God save me from his tailored suits because my heart actually falters when I see him. I respond to his greeting with a breezy ‘good morning’ and am thankful for the muffins popping up in the toaster so that I can look away.

  He chats to Rachel before crossing the kitchen for coffee. As he sidles past me, his hand drags over my ass. No regret there. His attempt to make coffee is a failure so I give Rachel her breakfast and go to help him. Again, his hand sneaks down to squeeze my butt.

  “No touching the nanny in front of the child,” I whisper.

  “Look at her. She’s watching a cartoon on the iPad.” His hand dives inside the front of my sweatpants.

  “I guess I can stop worrying that you’d wake up this morning loaded with remorse,” I say, pinching the skin on his arm to try to get him to take his hand out of my pants. It doesn’t work. He’s covered in tattoos, an arm pinch would feel like a fly landing on him.

  He squeezes my pussy then slides his hand out. “I was just checking to see if your pussy was okay. I take my after-sex responsibilities very seriously. Anyway, you said you’re always wet when I’m around so I wanted to know if you were lying.”

  “And, what did you conclude?”

  He ducked his head down by my ear. “You don’t lie,” he growled, then stuck his tongue in.

  “What are you doing to Ginger, My Luther?”

  “I’m checking that she washed her ears properly when she showered.”

  “Okay.” Rachel takes a bite of her muffin, then goes back to her cartoon.

  “See?” Luther says quietly. “She doesn’t suspect a thing.”

  “I need to get Rachel’s school uniform today,” I say, steering the subject away from my genitals.

  “And we’re going to work with Darcy. I don’t know Darcy. Is she nice?” Rachel asks.

  “She is nearly as nice as Ginger. You’ll like her,” Luther replies then turns back to me. “Do you want to meet for lunch?”

  “I don’t think there’ll be time.”

  “Right. Well, I’ve got a dinner tonight up at the Lodge, so I’ll be late home.”

  I hide my disappointment. Seems like I’ve already shifted to another level in our relationship because I was planning to cook something spectacular for us.

  Again, Luther takes his coffee like it’s medicine. Throwing it to the back of his throat, swallowing, and shuddering.

  “Do you even like the taste of coffee?” I ask.

  He screws up his face. “I’m not sure. I like the effect, though.”

  He says goodbye to Rachel and asks me to follow him to the garage. “I want to show you some of the car’s features in case it rains, or you’re driving at night.”

  “I’m sure I can find the lights and the wipers.”

  He gives me a look that suggests it’s doubtful. “Follow,” he says, and leaves the kitchen.

  He’s already in the garage when I reach the hallway. As I pass through the internal door he pushes it closed, pins me against it, and kisses me short and hard.

  “Good morning, Ginger,” he says.

  “We’ve done all this, Luther.”

  “I wanted to be sure you’re okay. I’m sorry about this dinner tonight. That’s right,” he says, touching my cheek, “I caught that little pissed-off look you tried to hide. I’ll be home as early as possible. We still need to—”

  “Find a nanny,” I say. Luther is clever and I can see I’m going to have to be careful that I’m not swept away in his plans, and lose sight of my own.

  “I thought we’d fixed that.”

  “You thought if you screwed away my virginity I’d stay?”

  “No. Didn’t we chose a nanny last night?”

  “You know perfectly well we didn’t. Be responsible.”

  “I love it when you’re annoyed.”

  “God help your mother. You must have been an impossible child.”

  “We need to talk about everything, but I’m sure Darcy can be flexible with your hours. Stay with Rachel and me for a bit. Rachel starts school next week and your days will be free.”

  “Be careful, Luther. Rachel is getting attached. If I leave after a few months it’ll hurt. Pile that onto the loss of her Grandma, and you’re going to have a kid who will start acting out. The next transition mightn’t be quite so smooth.”

  “Have you been reading psychology books?”

  “It’s common sense.”

  Luther laughs. “Sorry, didn’t recognize it. It’s not something I see in my line of work. Give me a kiss and I’ll show you how to work the lights and wipers in your car.”

  “They’re automatic. I’ve already checked that.”

  “Well, give me a kiss goodbye and I’ll see you tonight.”

  This kiss leaves us both breathless. Luther eyes my SUV. “We could have a quickie in the back seat.”

  “I can see the headlines now. Child sets fire to kitchen while caregivers bonk in the back seat of a garaged vehicle.”

  Luther shakes his head. “Won’t happen. Headlines are never that long. Have a good day.”

  ***

  Darcy’s office is just off the main street in a quaint old building that used to be a warehouse. Her office is at the top of the stairs and once you’re in there it’s filled with sun and has a typical Waitapu view over the water. It’s a large, open-plan space. I’ve dressed Rachel in a gorgeous outfit of pants, a sweater and a puffer jacket. I swear she has a better wardrobe than I do.

  She asked for lipstick when she saw the loaded drawer in my bathroom. I’m not that fond of makeup on kids but Rose Ice was almost identical to her natural lip color, so I used that. I don’t know why I worried because she’d kissed it off onto a tissue, giggling at her lip marks, by the time we left the bathroom.

  Darcy meets as at the door, and I introduce Rachel. Rachel curtsies, as if she’s meeting royalty.

  “Where did you learn that?” I ask her.

  “Princess Bean,” she says, which means nothing at all to me. “Everyone curtsies to Princess Bean.”

  Darcy points to the corner where there’s a little desk set up for Rachel, with a name plate and everything. “That’s your special workplace, Rachel. You’ve got a desk and your own pens and paper.”

  Rachel beams at her, and sets off at a run. “I’m going to be very busy,” she calls out to us.

  I look at Darcy. “Cute, huh?”

  Darcy gives me an odd look. “Yeah, like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She looks like you, Ginger. Same coloring. It’s uncanny.”

  “Coincidence, I guess.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Nothing, really. Luther doesn’t h
ave much to say about it.”

  “Oliver’s the same.”

  “It’s probably us wanting a big story when there isn’t one. What are we doing today?”

  Darcy and I spend the morning going through ideas for a local cheese company that’s just won a big award. It feels amazing to sit and talk, come up with ideas and designs, and get paid for it.

  We finish up early afternoon and I take Rachel to buy a school uniform. She’s not very impressed. She hates the color of the uniform and finishes up having a complete meltdown in the dressing cubicle. She’s lying on the floor, sobbing. When I try to pick her up, she dangles limply from my arms. The shop assistant arrives to help.

  “Is this normal?” I ask. “Like, do all the kids hate the uniform this much?”

  “Not usually this dramatic,” she says.

  “Make the lady go away. I’ve only got my knickers on,” Rachel howls.

  “I’ve got this,” I tell the assistant. I pull the curtain and sit on the floor beside Rachel. “Do you want to tell me what’s really wrong?” I ask.

  She says no, but crawls into my lap and the sobs eventually dial down to hiccups. I pull some tissues out of my bag and wipe away snot and tears, then find a lipstick and put a smear on her lips. That makes her smile.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong, now?” I ask gently.

  “I want to go to my other school. Grandma took me to see it. I know the teacher, Miss Marshall, and she was kind. And the uniform was pretty. Not like this.” One angry foot kicks out and hooks onto the uniform that’s abandoned on the floor.

  “Let me tell you something. Matilda wears that uniform, and I hear that she loves it. And, Luther went to Waitapu Area School, and so did I. And so did Oliver who is Luther’s best friend.”

  “What about Princess Bean?” she asks.

  I’m not sure who she’s talking about and then I realize she means Darcy. “Um, Darcy went to school in Auckland, but when she came to live in Waitapu, she said she really wished she went to school here. Because it’s such a beautiful school, and it’s right on the edge of a river. When you get a little bit bigger, you do kayaking and sailing. Not many schools do that so you’re lucky.”

  “I miss Grandma.”

  “I know you do, sweetheart, but I’ve got an idea. Let’s pay for the uniform, and we’ll go home and you can get dressed in it. Then we’ll call Grandma on the iPad and she can look at you wearing it. We can let Grandma decide if it’s the right uniform for you.”

  “If she says it’s horrible, does that mean I don’t have to wear it?”

  “Exactly,” I say, wondering what the hell kind of deal I’ve just made and whether it’s a good idea to drag poor Jean into this.

  “Okay,” she says, jumping up and pulling her jeans on. “We better hurry. Grandma might go to the shops and we’ll miss her.”

  We leave the shop and I’m wondering whether I handled that situation properly or not. If I’d done it my mother’s way it would have been turned into a comparison of the things she was going without to buy me a uniform, and I’d be labeled selfish and ungrateful.

  I think of my mother and I feel as though I have a brick in my gut. Visiting her this weekend is one of the things I have to do. She has spies all over town and I’m worried they’ll have spotted me out with Rachel. The interrogation would be brutal.

  25 ~ LUTHER

  The dinner at the Lodge is a monthly event. Along with my partners I own a lot of businesses in Waitapu of which the Lodge is our flagship. It’s stunning, exclusive, and runs like a well-oiled machine because of Cole who manages the back end, and Maraea who organizes the staff like a five-star general. We also own bars and restaurants in town, planes, a helicopter and other investments.

  Then there’s the Anahera Trust, an angel fund which supports businesses needing a financial boost. We’ve turned this town around from being a deadbeat backwater that only came to life for a few weeks every summer when the tourists arrived to surf and fish. Every winter, it died again. Now it’s known for its diversity of organic produce, wine, craft beers, restaurants, and year-round outdoor adventures. People actually want to live here again.

  We’re proud of what we’ve achieved, but it needs a watchful eye. If the town succeeds, we all benefit. That’s why I’m here rather than home with my girls. My girls. I’m sounding like Rachel.

  It’s the first time I’ve been at the Lodge since the wedding and I’m finding it hard to concentrate. All I can think about is Ginger in that amazing bridesmaid dress. I want to dress her up and take her somewhere amazing. Just Ginger and me. I’m wondering about who does babysitting in Waitapu when I notice Cole staring at me.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “I asked if you were enjoying fatherhood,” Cole says.

  “It’s a big adjustment,” I say, honestly. “I have to watch my language. It cuts your freedom down to zero, but Rachel’s a good kid.”

  “And are you enjoying living with Hot Spice?”

  “She hates it when you call her that.”

  “She loves it. It turns her face pink.”

  Something inside me wants to tell Cole that making Ginger’s face color is my fucking domain and he needs to stop doing that. But Cole’s a friend and I know he’d never make a move on her.

  “Ginger’s great. Amazing, actually. Handles Rachel really well, cooks, brews great coffee, funny. Makes me laugh.” I reel off her domestic attributes in an attempt to shut down any speculation, but Cole looks at me like I’m talking shit. “It’s the truth,” I tell him.

  “I believe you, man. So defensive tonight, Luther.”

  “I’m not.” I sound like a kid.

  Cole laughs at me. “Are you sure there’s not something more going on?”

  “You’re filthy, Cole. Just because you can’t keep your dick zippered away for more than—”

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Oliver says. He’s just arrived. “Sorry I’m late. I was held up in traffic.”

  “That’s an Auckland excuse. It doesn’t work in Waitapu,” I tell him. “Be honest.”

  “Okay. I called in to visit my wife at her office on my way over. I don’t like missing dinner with her.”

  “Baby,” Cole mutters.

  “Let’s eat while we do business. I want to get home to Darcy before she falls asleep,” Oliver says.

  “Likewise. I need to get home to Rachel.”

  “And Ginger,” Cole adds.

  We don’t have to order food. Chef knows we’re here, and he knows what we like to eat. We plow through business in record time. Usually after dinner we linger at the bar but, tonight both Oliver and I are keen to get away.

  When we’re finished, we walk to our cars together.

  “So, how’s it really going with Ginger?” Oliver asks.

  “Why is everyone interested in Ginger all of a sudden?”

  “Possibly because she’s living with you.”

  “Well, she’s great, you know? Really hard worker. Handles Rachel like a dream. She’s a natural at this childcare stuff.”

  “And what about Ginger when she’s not the nanny?”

  I have to consider my response so I buy time by fishing for my keys in my pocket. I don’t know what to hide. But this is Oli, the guy who knows everything about me. “She’s fucking incredible.”

  Oliver’s car bloops, the headlights flash twice indicating he has unlocked it. “Oh, dear,” he says.

  “Yeah. Oh fucking dear.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I answer without hesitation. “I’m going to enjoy myself. I’m going to take the time to invest some of myself into two other people and see how that feels. Rachel is forever. I’m committed to her. Ginger? I can’t be sure. You know how complicated it is, and I’ve no idea how I’m going to handle it.”

  “You could tell her the truth.”

  “Fuck, you’re hilarious, Oliver. Regards to Darcy. Goodnight.”

  ***

  When I arrive hom
e I find the house quiet. One light is on in the spotless kitchen. I tread quietly up the stairs and enter Rachel’s room. She’s sound asleep, as she should be. It’s nearly ten. She’s a feisty sleeper and has kicked off all her covers, so I tuck them back around her, pick up Bugsy from the floor and add the ugly, but well-loved plush toy to the others by her pillow.

  Ginger’s room is empty. From the landing I can see a glow of light from the sitting room so I head back there. Ginger is curled on a sofa with the television on mute, reading a book.

  “Rachel wanted to wait up for you,” Ginger says. “Kept insisting she couldn’t sleep until you read her a story. So I suggested she wait in bed and I’d read to her until you came home. She was asleep in minutes.”

  “I just checked on her. She’s still sleeping hard.”

  Ginger’s wearing leggings and a loose sweater, all of which I want to peel off her.

  “We had our first meltdown today.”

  “Oh?” I kick off my shoes and climb in behind her on the sofa so that she’s cradled between my legs. “Tell me everything.”

  “She didn’t like the school uniform, so she flopped to the floor in the dressing room and sobbed.”

  “I don’t blame her. That school uniform is ugly. I’ll get on the school board and have it changed.”

  “You can’t. That would be a huge cost for all the parents. Anyway, kids have to experience disappointments like that. It’s part of life.”

  “I think Rachel’s had her share of disappointments.”

  Ginger rubs her forehead. “Oh, god, sorry, Luther. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No. I get what you’re saying, and you’re probably right.”

  Her hand drops to my knee. “It wasn’t the uniform really. She was missing her Grandma, and she suddenly wanted to go to the school back in Auckland. She’d been to orientation there and I guess the thought of going to a new school is spooking her. And, of course, she must be feeling homesick.”

  “How did you get through it?”

  “I told her that when we got home she could dress up in her uniform and we’d Skype Grandma and see what she thought about it. Jean told Rachel she looked really pretty, and the uniform stayed on until bedtime. It now has pasta sauce down the front of it and is in the wash. Rachel sucks spaghetti through her lips, one strand at a time. Apparently, you taught her how to eat spaghetti that way. Like a real Eye-talian, she informed me.”