HadI really been out for that many hours? How long had I been sitting with him? Itook my phone from my sweatshirt pocket, shocked to read that it was almostnine. I imagined Liz waiting by the door like a doting mother, wondering whenher baby was finally going to return to the nest. So, while Brandon threw outour empty cups and shouted a friendly “good night” at Scott, I quickly composeda text to my sister.
“Didn’tmean to stay out so late. Coming home soon. Hope you weren’t worrying yourpretty little head over me.”
Myphone promptly chimed in response.
“Mypretty little head is fine. Hope you actually had some fun. For once.”
***
Thechilled night air hit me as we stepped into the parking lot where, just a fewhours earlier, we were complete strangers. Now, as Brandon and Holly, we walkedin silence toOl’ Rusty as I struggled to make senseof what happened that night. Time had flown in his company, and I found it bothdisconcerting and exciting.
Iglanced up at him, standing over a foot taller than my petite five foot one,and caught the lopsided smile he wore. His head was held high, as he walkedtowards the car with something I read as confidence, and when we finallyarrived at the door, he leaned his leather back against the side. I grimaced alittle, wishing I had actually cared at all to give the grimy van a goodwashing.
Maybeit’ll rain this week.
“So,niece, huh?” he finally said, and I eyed him suspiciously, confused by thesudden comment. “You said Anna was your niece,” he reminded me gently.
“Oh,right, yeah.” I took a deep breath, leaning beside him against the van. “AfterI lost my job for beingtoo oldand I moved back to Long Island, mysister offered me the job of being Anna’s babysitter.” I glanced over at him tosee if he was making any judgmental faces of disgust. All I saw were loweredbrows, and that was difficult to read, so I continued talking. “I mean, it’s afraction of what I was making before, and that really sucks because God, Ireally miss good wine, and living on my own, but it’s something.” I wasbreathing hard, unsure of when talking had become the equivalent to running amarathon. Brandon had turned to look down at me, his brows no longer sittinglow over his eyes. He didn’t look disgusted or judgmental at all, but I stillfelt the need to add, “You know, until I get back on my feet.”
Wheneverthat is.
Thereit was. I had admitted to someone that I was a babysitter. At thirty-one. MyGod, I could only imagine what he was thinking, and I waited for him to makesome joke or laugh condescendingly before wishing me a good night, never to meagain.
“So,”he finally said after a few exhilarating moments of listening to me breathe,“she gave you a place to live, food to eat,anda way to make a littlebit of money while you work through this shitty thing you’re going through.” Heglanced behind him at the van, and I shuddered. “And this?”
Ishook my head, taking note that my palms were starting to feel clammy. “Uh, no,this beautiful luxury vehicle was bestowed upon me by my mother. It was herexcuse to get herself a nice little car to buzz around in while I got strappedwithOl’ Rusty here.”
Hefrowned then with disapproval, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Well,damn, that’s really rough.”
Myface lit up and I nodded, appreciating his sympathies. “Tell me about it.”
“Yeah,I mean, it really sucks having a sister who would just …giveyou all ofthat when you’re flat on your ass without you even asking, and then to have amom who wouldgiveyou a car on top of that? God, that must besoterrible for you.” I looked up at him, and he cracked a little smile, nudgingme gently in the ribs with an elbow. “That might be what you think, butIthink you’re pretty fuckin’ lucky.”
Iswallowed a hard lump in my throat. “You don’t think it’s stupid that I’m anold babysitter?”
Helaughed heartily at that. “Are you kidding me? There’s nothing wrong with beingMrs. Doubtfire.”
“Mrs.Doubtfirewas a housekeeper,” I corrected, “and made a considerable amountmore than I do, I’m sure.”
Brandonthought for a second, eyes glancing around to search for the answer to prove mewrong, and shrugged. “Whatever. What I’m saying is, there’s nothing wrong withyour situation. You were dealt a crappy hand, and you’re lucky enough to havesome help while you figure stuff out. Why would I think that’s stupid?” Hepaused for another thoughtful moment, biting his bottom lip. “Hell, why wouldanybodyfind that stupid?”
Ishamefully turned my eyes to the pavement, black illuminated by the glow of thelampposts. “I think it is.”
Heslumped against me as a friend would. His weight was heavy and comfortableagainst my shoulder. Good, I thought; he felt good, and he smelled even better.
“Well,”he said in a deep, gruff voice, “that’s something you’ll have to make your ownpeace with.”
Underneaththat gnawing pit in my stomach telling me that everything was painfullyhopeless, I felt an overwhelming sense of thankfulness for this night I hadwith Brandon. I wasn’t exactly what I would consider religious, but I felt theneed to thank the Lord then for dropping this guy in my path. The heaviness inmy heart didn’t feel any lighter, and I couldn’t say the pain hurt any less.But for the first time in months, I could actually imagine there being a lightsomewhere at the end of the tunnel, and that was something.
“Youknow, I have to say, you’ve been thanking me all night, but I really feel likeI should also thank you,” he said, looking down at the scuffed boots he wore onhis feet, before glancing over at me with sincerity brewing in his eyes. Iasked him what for, allowing my head to tip toward him, feeling as though wehad been friends for years—not hours. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyedbeing around someone, um,newthis much.”
“Idon’t think I was great company,” I said apologetically.
“Nah.”Brandon shook his head slowly, as he stared thoughtfully out into the parkinglot. “This was good. It wasreal. I don’t get a whole lot of that.”
Silencethen gave way to a tension that blossomed between us. He was so close, pressed firmlyinto my side, and while my mind tried resisting the magnetic chemistry that wasmanifesting between us, my body didn’t seem to want to listen. I had beenpainfully aware of how otherworldly attractive he was—far better looking thanany man I had ever spent time with—and I turned my head to look up at him. Ipointed my chin skyward to trace the outline of his jaw with my eyes, andbecause of some sort of gravitational pull that happens between people inmovies and apparently us, he turned to look down at me.
Whatwas it Esther said about handsome men?
