Inodded slowly. “Right, but these women that you insist could besomeonedon’t see that. They don’twantmore thanthis.” They didn’t wantthe man who couldn’t cook to save his life, or the guy who would rather eat ata diner than a four-star restaurant. They didn’t see me as a fan of rock music,a drinker of black coffee, a lover of cats, or the devourer of sitcoms. None ofthem have any desire to acknowledge that person could even exist under all ofthe glamour they see on TV, because that person was ordinary—no different thanany man in any store they might bump into on any day. “They wantB. Davis,Nick, because he has fancy hotels and party invitations. Why the hell wouldthey trade that to be withBrandon, a sarcastic bastard with a cat and aKeurig?”
Iwished they only wanted the sarcastic bastard with the cat and the Keurig.
CHAPTERTHREE
HOLLY
“’But I don’t want to fall!’Maple shouted,dangling from the branch he grew up on.’” A very cheery middle-aged woman by thename of Jessie flashed the page before swiveling in her chair for the collectedchildren and smiling parents to see, and read the next line. “’I like ithere!’”
Flash.Swivel. Repeat.
Thelittle girl at my feet stirred for a moment as she clutched her stuffed giraffe(whose name was Giraffe, for obvious reasons) closer to her chest, and settledonce again into a deep slumber. With some quiet time to myself, I would haveloved to take the opportunity to dive into the romance novel I had brought along—areal scorcher between a colonial settler named Christine and her rebel RedCoat, Thomas—there was something about the downer of a story Jessie had chosenthat left me reminiscing on my own reluctance to let go. I slumped further intothe bean bag chair I sat in and stared off into the bookshelves behind Jessieuntil I could see the life I had left behind in the city.
Itwas funny how quickly things could change. Just when you think it’s all goingso well for you, or decent at the very least, an atomic bomb lands itself righton your head. Stephenannouncinghe was gay hurt, andbeing single for the first time in five years was more difficult than I thoughtpossible. Andthen, as though the entire world was working against me,my boss atTeen Queenhad fired me just days later, adding seriousinsult to an already serious injury. Apparently, according to that bony witch,a thirty-one-year-old woman was “too old” and “too out of touch” to giveeffective advice to teenagers. As though a whole lot had changed in the ways ofteenage romance since I was of the more appropriate age. Right.
Needlessto say, without a steady paycheck, it was the nail in the coffin to keeping myprecious apartment—myhome—and after a phone call to my younger sisteron Long Island, it was decided that I was moving in with her and taking over asher daughter’s babysitter.
Asingle babysitter at thirty-one. Living in my baby sister’s house.
Hollyfreakin’ Hughes. Living the dream.
Speakingof dreams, a little boy decided it would be a good time to start screaming forno apparent reason, and abruptly woke Anna in the process, bringing herimmediately to tears. With a groan, I stood up and dropped the untouched bookin my bag before reaching to pick Anna up and quietly excused myself from thegroup.
AsI juggled the crying little girl and my bag in my arms, the owner of thestore—an older guy named Bill with a particular love for argyle—took note of mystruggling. He had been standing nearby, hanging up mangled-looking paper cutoutsof leaves attached to fishing line on the ceiling. The leaves had been aproject I had seen him working on for weeks and the progression had beennothing short of disastrous. Particularly the time he stapled one of the leavesto his own thumb.
“Here,let me help you with this stuff,” Bill said, stumbling off of his stepladder tocatch Giraffe just as Anna released him. He also took the liberty of taking thesippy cup from my hand, leaving it free to hoist Anna up onto my hip.
“Thanks,Bill,” I said through a sigh.
“Oh,it’s no problem at all, Holly,” he said in a hushed voice, eyeing his wife asshe continued reading her stories to the rest of the group. “But don’t letJessie catch me not hanging up these leaves.”
Wewalked a few feet to a child’s size table, cluttered with books and oversizedbuilding blocks. I sat Anna down in one of the small chairs as she continued tosniffle even whilst she proceeded to play with the blocks.
Ithanked him once again, taking the sippy cup from him and shoving it into mybag amongst the toys, spare diapers, fruit snacks, and hand sanitizer. Onceupon a time, I could carry cute little bags from my favorite knock-off designerbrands. Now I was lugging around an oversized vinyl tote bag my mom used onoccasion for beach days, which was made obvious by the picture ofWinnie thePooh’svery own donkey pal Eeyore moping on amound of sand beside a lopsided sandcastle.
Hollyfreakin’ Hughes. A vision in vinyl.
Hepassed Giraffe to Anna’s grabby hands and smiled behind his eyeglasses. “Ofcourse. I’ll see you on Thursday?”
“Youknow it,” I said with a smile and as he walked away to tend to his haphazarddecorating, I wondered what the hell had become of my life.
“Comeon, Anna Banana,” I mumbled to my niece. “Let’s go home.”
***
Homehad transformed into a three-bedroom ranch-style house with a decent sized yardand a two car garage, a far cry from my itty-bitty studio apartment on theUpper East Side. The mortgage was just a little less than what my apartment hadcost, but it had easily ten times the space. I mean, I wasn’t blind to the factthat two bathrooms, a living room, and a separate dining room were a seriousupgrade from one bathroom and one small room with a stove and refrigerator. Butwithout Stephen, the place had yet to feel like home.
Iturned the wheel of my Mom’s ancient minivan into the driveway. Despite myprotests to drive the piece of disintegrating scrap metal, she insisted onlending it to me until I could afford something else, as if that was going tohappen anytime in the new future. She had said, “Holly, you’re going to needsomething to get you around. What if you meet a nice guy and he wants to meetyou somewhere?” I did agree reluctantly, but not because of the possibility ofmeeting a “nice guy.” I agreed when I decided to take over as Anna’sbabysitter. I knew I needed some wheels and I couldn’t afford to be picky, asmuch as I desperately wanted to be. It wasn’t exactly my dream to chug along ina minivan held together by rust particles holding hands.
Iglanced in the rearview mirror at Anna, sleeping peacefully in her car seatwith Giraffe tucked safely beneath her chubby arm. With a moment of hesitation,I exited the car, closing the door quietly behind me, praying she would sleepfor just a few more minutes, and I wandered over to the fence where a littleold lady stood, her hair barely visible to me over the wooden slats.
“HeyEsther,” I said with a heaving sigh, standing on my toes to see over thefive-foot fence.
Startledby my voice, my elderly pal looked up from her daily yard investigation. “Oh,Christ almighty, Holly!” She clutched her chest and stared at me, wide-eyedwith exasperation. “Do youwantto kill me?”
“Sorry,”I mumbled, tucking my lips between my teeth.
“Elderabuse, Holly.” She glared at me, but I caught that twinkle of amusement in hereye. “How was Story Time today?”
