“I’m sure,” I tell him.
He nods. “All right then. Holler if you need anything.” He gives me a flash of a smile before he leaves the apartment. He closes the door behind him but I don’t breathe until I hear him shut the door to his place.
I collapse down on the couch and I’m suddenly sad to be getting rid of it and swapping in the new cheap ones. This couch is comfortable, it’s soft, it’s like a warm hug. Sure it’s falling apart at the literal seams but it’s been with me this whole time, there while my life became unhinged and I fell off track. I bought it from Anthropologie online and I remember Phil was so mad when it showed up at our apartment one day. He said our place was pushing him out, it was becoming too girly. That should have been a sign then. Maybe it wasn’t the furnishings that were pushing him out, maybe it was me.
I don’t want to let go of the couch. I want it to stay. I want to say, right here, where it’s safe.
“Mommy,” Ava says in her singsong voice, climbing onto the couch beside me.
“What is it, angel?”
“Is Bram my father?”
I nearly choke. “What? Your father, no. Honey. No. Phil is your father.”
She shakes her head. “But I don’t remember Phil. I have never seen Phil.” She says his name like it tastes bad. “I see Bram. Bram should be my father.”
Something in my heart cracks at that. “That’s not exactly how it works.”
“Why not? Doesn’t he like us?”
Oh, Jesus. I smooth her hair back off her face. “I think he does like us. Maybe you can ask Santa for him this year,” I add as a joke, just trying to get her to stop talking about it.
She smiles. “Okay, I will do that. How many months until Christmas?”
Shit. Obviously the joke is lost on her. I know I’m putting off the inevitable but now I feel like it’s going to turn into one horrible Hallmark movie come Christmas time. I wince at the sugariness.
I hear low bass come from next door and Bram has put on some of his 90’s British trip hop again. I can almost see him as a teen in Scotland, doing ecstasy and going to underground clubs. I bet he had short spiky hair and wore a beaded necklace and Adidas sports jerseys. I think I’ll ask him what he was like back then.
No, I tell myself. Get him out of your damn head. Now.
And so I listen to myself because I rarely steer myself wrong. I pick up my phone and I text Steph.
I know it’s Sunday, but I need a girls’ night BAD. And not to the Lion.
She’s instantly responding. Done. I’ll tell Kayla. We’ll get you good and drunk. Who is looking after Ava?
Good question.
I’ll find someone.
I then call my mother and when she can’t do it because she’s cleaning a house early tomorrow, I call Lisa. She’s got a dinner and can’t do it either.
Well, shit. I guess having two people on call for babysitting really isn’t enough, especially not on short notice. Maybe I’ll have to forget about letting my hair down after all, which is too bad because the more I imagine myself dancing without a care and drinking my face off, the more I’m beginning to crave it. I need it, need it.
I can’t find anyone, I text Steph.
What about Bram? Is her quick answer.
What about Bram? I immediately want to dismiss it. First of all, the night is supposed to be an escape from Bram and if he takes care of Ava, I’m going to be worrying about her and, by default, thinking about him all night. I also don’t know if I’d trust him with taking care of a child, especially mine, especially a diabetic one.
I also don’t want to ask him for another favor. So there’s that.
I don’t think so, I text Steph. I’ll find someone else. Even though we both know there is no one else. I mean, I guess there’s Linden, but he’d be even worse than Bram in the irresponsible department.
I lean back on the couch and start going through my phone contacts while Ava plays with her dolls on the floor. I consider Penny, James’s girlfriend, and am just about to Facebook message her when I hear Bram say, “Nicola?” from out in the hall.
Great. I put down the phone and go to the door, opening it. He’s on the other side with eager eyes.
“Yes?” I ask mildly.
“I just heard from Steph,” he says. “I’d be happy to watch Ava tonight.”
Steph? That bitch!
“She called you?” I ask incredulously. I immediately run over to my phone, all ready to send her messages with expletives and shouty caps.
“She did,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “She said you’d never ask yourself but that you wanted a girls’ night out and couldn’t find a sitter. So, here I am.”
I don’t know what to say. But Ava says it for me.
“Bram!” she yells as if he wasn’t just here ten minutes ago. She runs around the couch and right over to him, throwing her arms around his leg. It’s so cute I want to vomit. And remembering what she had said earlier about Bram, I think I might just do that.
“Did Santa bring you?” she asks.
Oh, God, I think. Please stop there.
“Okay!” I say quickly. And loudly. Both Ava and Bram jump a little. “Okay, that would be great Bram, if you don’t mind,” I lower my voice. “I know it’s asking a lot. There’s just a few things I want to go over with you, about her, uh, situation.”
“Diabetes!” Ava yells, running back and forth between us, knowing what I’m trying to skirt around. “The special disease!”
“That’s the positive attitude,” Bram comments to her. He smiles at me. “Show me the ropes, mum.”
I eye him in askance. “If you keep calling me mum, it’s going to get weird.”
“Right.” He nods. “Don’t want that mistake to happen while I’m shagging you sideways.”
I gasp and place my hands over Ava’s ears until she laughs and squirms away. “Language,” I admonish him.
“The dirtier the better,” he says, loving it. “All she knows is we’re talking about carpets. Speaking of carpets…” His eyes drift down to my jeans.
“Bram,” I say sternly. “If you want to help, shut up and come here.”
I take him into the kitchen where I keep the insulin and supplies in a special kit. “I need you to really pay attention. This is serious. Got it?”
He says he does but he’s still got a bit of that smirk going on.
“Have you even taken care of a child before?”
His smirk disappears. “Of course I have.”
“Oh really?”
He frowns at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not as incompetent as you think.” There’s an edge to his voice that catches me off guard. It’s the same kind of vibe I got when I asked about his stupid socks.
“I hope you’re right,” I say breezily, trying to ignore the sudden change in him. But while I have his rapt, albeit tense, attention I go over the basics with him. “This is the blood glucose monitor.”
“The spindle!” Ava cries out, running over and watching us eagerly. “That’s the spindle where Sleeping Beauty pricks her finger.”
“Is that so?” Bram asks and it seems like he’s calming down a bit. Sheesh. I think I like the jokester a lot better. When Bram McGregor gets serious, he gets serious.
“It’s just a tiny pin prick on her finger.” I hold the device and slide in the test strip, turning it on. I then take Ava’s hand and prick her fingertip quickly and gently with it. She shakes her hand after like it hurts. It probably does but she’s so used to it now and she’s smiling at Bram like a big girl.
“Then,” I go on, showing him, “we look at the results. It says its 170, which is about right for her right now. The only time you’ll have to do it will be before she goes to bed. Then it should be around 100 – 180.” I take out the test strip and put it in the garbage. “Then you get rid of the strip.”