Unfortunately he ruined that pretty fast. I know what Linden was doing too, wanting Bram to stay the hell away from me. I couldn’t fault him and maybe I should have appreciated it. But for once, for damn once, I wanted to make all the big, bad mistakes.
The ugly, foggy light of a San Francisco morning puts things in a different perspective though. I try and shove those angry feelings away and wonder if Bram meant it when he said he would take us to IKEA. I heard him last night, moaning away. I actually went outside into the hall for a second, almost hypnotized by his cries, as if I were going to act out my fantasy for real this time. But I never knocked on his door, never opened it.
There’s a knock on my door now, though. I have to blink a few times, discerning if it was in my head or in real life. Then Ava says to me, through mouths of scrambled egg, “It’s the door, mommy.” Her eyes get bright. “Maybe it’s Santa.”
“Oh, I think you’ve gotten those letters mixed up there,” I say under my breath and get up to answer it. I give myself the once over in the mirror and decide, in my sleeping shorts and camisole, my hair greasy and my face dull, that I can’t possibly look any worse. I sigh before opening it.
There’s Satan all right on the other side, dressed in dark jeans, converse and white dress shirt that’s the kind of thin material you wouldn’t want to wear in the rain. Well, I wouldn’t want to wear it in the rain, he can gladly do so.
He looks me up and down but there’s no judgement in his eyes, only this slow burn, like a subtle version of the look I got last night. “You do remember we have a date right?”
I give him a look, back on my defenses. “It’s not a date. It’s a favor.”
“I’ve been on many dates that were favors and many favors that were dates.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Mind if I come in?”
I gesture to the apartment. “Come on in. I haven’t gotten around to the coffee yet.”
“You must be superhuman,” he says, striding past me as I close the door. He stops by the table, his palm out for Ava. “High five, little one.”
She smacks it and giggles as he goes into the kitchen and starts making coffee like he lives here. “So, Ava,” he says, his back to us. “How does that song of yours go?”
“Bram, no,” I warn. But it’s too late. She’s yelling it again at the top of her lungs.
“You know,” I tell him, raising my voice to be heard over her racket, “it’s lucky that you’re at least one of my neighbors. I have a feeling the old man to the left of here is going to complain about her singing one day.”
“He can complain all he wants, sweetheart, I’m the one in charge here.”
While he puts water into the reservoir, I can’t help but ask, “So, how did it all go last night?” I try to sound as breezy as possible but I feel it’s a mistake saying anything. I don’t want him to think I care. I don’t care. “I’m just curious,” I add in, as if that will make a difference. Because I am just curious. Nothing wrong with that.
“At the Lion?” he asks, flicking the pot on and then leaning back against the sink to face me. He crosses his arms and I do what I can to not focus on the taught bulk of them.
“Yeah.”
He tilts his head, inspecting me. “You were there. You tell me.”
I lick my lips and then shrug nonchalantly. “You seemed to hit it off with that girl that Linden introduced you to. I saw you guys leave in a cab together.”
“Did you now?” he asks. I love the way he says “now” with his accent, like “no” but sweeter.
“Mmm hmm,” I say, wishing I hadn’t said anything.
“And how did that make you feel?”
What, is he seriously asking me that? I give him a look. “I felt nothing except maybe a bit of pity for the girl who will be kicked to the curb in a few days.”
His forehead crinkles. “Is that so?”
“Stop answering me with questions.”
He lets out a little laugh. “Fair enough. For your information, it went nowhere. She went straight home from the bar.”
So the noises I heard last night…I fill in the blanks. They were all him again.
“And,” he says, straightening up and sauntering toward me, his massive form seeming to take all the space in the apartment suddenly, “for your information, the date with Justine ended the same way.”
“Two nights in a row and no sex,” I comment.
“That’s right,” he says calmly. “It happens. Usually when my mind is preoccupied. Why fuck somebody if you can’t stop thinking about someone else?”
Oh my shit. Is he talking about me?
Of course he’s talking about you, I quickly tell myself. But still, even knowing that’s probably true, there’s no part of me that’s prepared to handle any of this. Bram gave up screwing both those hot babes because he was thinking about me? Miss Single Mom with scars and stretch marks and who, at the moment, is wearing the ugliest night garment ever?
He’s joking though. Beneath that smolder in his gaze, beneath that somewhat wicked twist to his mouth, it’s all a joke like it always is. Bram the jokester, Bram forever pulling my leg.
He has to be joking.
“Mommy,” Ava suddenly says, appearing between the two of us. It takes me a moment to tear my eyes off of him and look at her.
“Y-yes, angel?” I ask her, surprised at how my voice is shaking. I’m also surprised at all the other feelings coursing through me, the physical ones that make the situation extra inappropriate.
“You said we’re going on an adventure today,” she says. “Where are we going?”
Right. IKEA. I can feel Bram’s eyes still on me and I don’t dare look at him. I don’t think I’m ready for the truth, no matter which way it spins.
“To a store to get us a new couch,” I tell her.
She looks at the couch, puzzled. “But I like our couch,” she says with her lower lip trembling. “It’s my castle.”
My heart melts and I automatically crouch to her level, pulling her under my arm. “I know you do, Ava, but where we’re going we are going to get a better couch. Maybe two couches! And you know what?”
“What?’ she asks quietly.
“There’s a magical room there called the ball room,” I tell her. “Remember when we watched that movie and you saw the kid hiding underneath all the balls.” Unfortunately I think I’m remembering the movie Traffic, which she most certainly did not watch with me, but she doesn’t need to know that. “It’s so much fun. When I was a kid, it was almost as good as Christmas.”
Now she’s looking at me like I’m damn crazy.
“It’s true,” Bram says and she looks up at him. “You’re about to have a very fun adventure. Are you ready, little one?”
Because she’s so in love with Bram, her eyes light up and she smiles, nodding vigorously. I’d be jealous of him if I wasn’t feeling a whole whack of other things, especially in my uterus. It’s like it’s kicking at me – hey, Nicola, hey, he’s a good one – and I think I may have to put my uterus, vagina, and heart into some sort of holding cell where only my brain has the lock and key.
He eyes me with a lazy kind of excitement. “Are you ready?”
I take in a deep breath and manage a smile. “Let me just put on some clothes and run a brush through my hair.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are, babe,” he says. “Though those nipples of yours seem to be vying for my attention.”
I look down at my chest and see them poking through my thin top like they’re trying to tunnel their way out. Shit.
I slap my hands over them and hurry on over to my bedroom, wishing I could start the morning over and yet oddly giddy about where it’s been so far.
***
When we pull into the IKEA parking lot in Emeryville, I’m surprised that it isn’t full. Then again, even though it’s Sunday, it’s still early. I glance at the clock on the slick dashboard of the Mercedes and it’s 9:50, ten minutes till opening. I wonder if this is what middle age is going to feel like, trying to beat the crowds or snag a deal by going early.