Igave my head a little shake. “Nah, I’ll suffer on my own, but thanks,” I said,smiling my appreciation.
“So,she used to babysit you?”
“Who,Birdy?” Holly nodded as I turned the wheel into Reade’s parking lot. “Well, mymom was a hairdresser by day, waitress by night, and Birdy would babysit meuntil my dad could pick me up after his deliveries were done.” I glanced ather, pleased to find myself divulging a little information without anyapprehension. “He used to drive a delivery truck for Entenmann’s.”
Iparked the car next to her van as she asked, “What do they do now?”
“Well,a few years ago, they both decided to retire, sold their house, and moved downto a condo in Florida. So basically, they sit on a beach all day and playshuffleboard at their fifty-five-and-over complex,” I laughed with theacknowledgement that the smile on my face was one of bitter sweetness.
“Youmiss them,” she stated, and I nodded. “Why don’t you live closer to them?”
Iconsidered the question, biting my bottom lip. God knows my parents had askedme that question countless times since I helped buy their condo on the Atlanticcoast. They reminded me often that there was nothing holding me to New York,that I had enough money to fly back when I needed to, and I retaliated with mydistaste for a state that seldom saw more than a sprinkling of dusty snow.
Notlong ago, that was all I had. A single weak argument holding me to a home thatleft a bitter taste on my tongue. But there, in my car with my heart relearningthe words to a long-forgotten song, I had something so much more than theweather to hold onto.
“NewYork is home,” I said nonchalantly, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
“Whereishome?” She was on a roll, and so was I, satisfying her with the townname. “Youactuallylive in Brightwaters? Where?” I told her that Ilived around the lakes. Her expression suggested she was impressed. “Wow, thenyou live in a beautiful house.”
Icaught her smiling wistfully as she looked into the distance, at somewherefaraway and out of her reach. “You know, when they were alive, my grandparentslived a few blocks over from that area, and I would go for walks around thelakes—feeding the ducks and whatever. I would fantasize about one day living inone of those houses. There was one in particular that I just … Oh, my God. Iloved it so much.” I resisted the urge to ask which one, because what did thatmatter? “I didn’t really have any plan ofhowI’d end up in one, becauseI was just a stupid kid, but I would just imagine what it would be like to wakeup in the morning and look out my window at that. I mean, it’sgottabe beautiful.”
Mythroat felt constrained by the loose collar of my t-shirt. “It is,” Iconfirmed, my voice sounding unused and hoarse.
Sheshook her head. “It’s funny, because I would imagine these amazing thingshappening to me. You know, meeting a guy who loved me as much as he was rich,moving into a gorgeous house, having a beautiful wedding, maybe having a couplekids of my own. But then sooner or later, I just started to accept that maybeall I was destined for was a guy who never touched me and a studio apartment inthe city, and now …” Her voice faded as she looked downward at the leathersleeves covering her hands. “Now I just feel like it’s all too late, you know?I’m going to be thirty-two in a few months, and myfreakin’clock is starting to sound like Big Ben. I think I went out with James tonightbecause he said he was rich and successful, which issohorrible andshallow—but I thought if things had gone well, then he might have been the guyfrom my fantasies, and then I wouldn’t have to worry. But …”
Hollysighed a shaky breath that had me praying she wouldn’t cry again. “I was sostupid to think a guy like that could want someone like me.”
Shewas killing me. I hadn’t been sure up until that point, but I knew for certainthen that she was in fact killing me. How cruel it was to meet someone soperfect in every way imaginable, and not have the courage to reach out and holdonto them for dear life.
“Youthink I’m stupid,” she stated, and she couldn’t have been more wrong.
“No.”My voice came out as one I didn’t recognize—gruff and strangled. I cleared mythroat, staring at the steering wheel, as if it could read my fortune like someoverpriced Magic 8 Ball. “But I do think you’re too hard on yourself.”
Ilooked over to her, and saw her dark eyes had flooded; they resembled themysterious depths of the ocean, undiscovered by mankind. I wanted to dive inand drown in them, to swallow all her pain and make it my own. If only Ipossessed such power, power that I could only manage in the stories I told andnot in the real world.
“I’ma fucking babysitter, Brandon. That’s not even a real job, and a guy likethat—” She shook her head and snorted a watery laugh. “A guy like that wants awoman with a real job and a real salary. Guys like that don’t want someone whowould rather be in yoga pants and a sweatshirt than this stupid thing.”
“Ilike your yoga pants,” I said defensively, as I held a fist to my mouth. Theimage of her ass in those tight black pants came to mind, and I had to squeezemy eyes shut to scold it away.
Shescoffed. “You’re not a guy likethat, though.”
Witha surge of defiance, I nodded my head with purpose. “Yeah, that’s right. I’mnot a fucking asshole.”
Hollyshook her head and twisted her lips around bitter words before spitting themout. “No, you’re not, and I cannot understand why a guy likeyouwouldwant to spend so much time with me either.”
Icouldn’t bear to hear her criticize herself any longer. I reached across tograb a hold of her hand with just the right amount of force to shock her intoclosing her mouth, and I looked her right in the eyes.
“Listento me, okay?” The stern tone of my voice caused her body to tense, and I waspleased to have her attention. “You told me that you used to answer teenager’squestions for a living, and you thinkthat’sa real job?” With a slightnod of her head, she shrugged her shoulders momentarily, and then they saggedwith the weight of her sadness. “Okay, so let me get this straight. A job inwhich you told girls how to pick up a guy they’re not going to care about in aweek is a real job to you. Yet, now, you have this new job where you areenriching the life of a little girl every single day, in ways that she willcarry with her forever, and you thinkthat’sdemeaning? Fuck, I don’tknow, Holly. You have a right to your own opinion, but inmyopinion,there’s really no contest as to which one of those is the real job.”
Isqueezed her hand gently. She reciprocated, and it was as though she squeezedmy heart. “Nobody should ever make you feel like less of a person because ofwhat you do, Holly, and anybody who feels they are able to do that is thelesser person—not you.” She nodded her understanding finally, and wiped a handhastily over her eyes.
“You’venever told me what you do,” she sniffed, glancing at me.
Igave her my best lopsided smile, and said, “I do the same thing as you. Ienrich lives.”
Shelaughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“It’spart of my charm.” I shrugged, and leaned over the center console to nudge herwith an elbow. “Actually, I’m a writer.”
