“And what happens if it’s not in that range?”
“You adjust her diet,” I tell him. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s just an ongoing thing really, making adjustments. I do the test about six times a day, some times more. She gets insulin injections three times a day, in the morning, the afternoon and then before she goes to bed. I just gave her one in the bathroom at IKEA but tonight before I go, I’ll give her the last one and show you, just in case.” Suddenly I realize I’m out of breath and I’m grasping at my heart.
Bram puts his hand on the side of my cheek, peering at me intently. The feel of his hot skin is steadying, even though I’m starting to have a minor panic attack. “It’s okay,” he says in a soothing tone. “I’ll be fine.”
“Sorry,” I manage to say, trying to breathe. “It’s always hard, every time I leave. I feel like I’m leaving her fate in someone else’s hands.”
“And you are,” he says, stepping an inch closer, his palm still cupping my jaw, his fingers gently brushing back my hair from my cheekbone. “But I’ve got this. You’ll go out, have fun, and then you’ll come back. She’ll be fine, she’ll be asleep and I’ll be going through all your photo albums.”
I somehow smile at that.
***
When seven o’clock rolls around, I’m all dolled up in a black cocktail dress suited for an episode of Mad Men, with red lipstick and 60’s hair piled up.
“Mommy, you look like a princess,” Ava says as she sits on the edge of my bed, swinging her legs back and forth while I put the finishing touches on my liquid eyeliner. “No, a queen.”
“Why thank you,” I tell her, smiling at her in the reflection. “Now, you behave for Bram, okay?”
“I will,” she says and I believe her. One of the many beautiful things about Ava is that she’s never been a bratty child. She’s always been polite and considerate and even when she has the occasional temper tantrum, she’s quick to stop and quick to learn from it. I certainly wasn’t like that as a child and sometimes I wonder how she’s turned out so good when our circumstances could be so much better. But then again, as long as she has food in her belly, a roof over her head and a mother that loves her, a child can’t really want for much. Except maybe some of those new generation My Little Ponies but that’s what Christmas is for.
Along with other things now, apparently.
It’s not long before Bram comes by. He brings himself a bowl of pre-popped popcorn, which I think is kind of adorable, and he nearly drops it the moment he sees me.
If it’s petty to have wanted that kind of reaction from him, well, I can I own up to it.
“You look fucking edible,” he says in this throaty, husky voice that makes me want to clench my legs together. The word edible from his lips conjures up oh so many amazing scenarios.
“That’s what I was going for,” I tell him, not even bothering to correct his swearing.
“So, you’re going out to hook up?”
I frown at him. “I never said anything about hooking up.” And why do you care? I mean, do you care?
I kind of want him to care.
“Sweetheart, when you go out looking like a bloody movie star, the kind that young boys put on their walls and wank off to inside of a sock, you’re going to be hooking up. You may not know it yet but,” he waves at me with his fingers, “you’re giving the fuck me vibe.”
“Giving the vibe and wanting it are two different things,” I tell him.
“Oh, do I know that. But I’m just saying…be prepared to be hit on a lot.”
“Pshhh,” I dismiss him. “If I can handle you hitting on me, I can handle them.”
He smiles softly. “I suppose you’re right about that.”
After I show him how to give Ava her insulin shot – God forbid he needs to use it – I leave the two of them and go downstairs where Steph and Kayla are waiting in an Uber. The last vision I have of them is Bram standing by the door and Ava bouncing up and down on the couch in the background. If the couch breaks tonight, it looks like I’ll be spending my Monday morning in the IKEA assembly line.
“Nicola,” Steph says as I squeeze into the backseat of a Prius. “You look fucking hot.”
“Yup,” Kayla says, leaning forward to look at me. “Props.” She gives me the thumbs up.
They don’t look too shabby either, dressing in tight jeans and slinky shirts and ankle-breaker heels. Steph’s, I notice, are authentic Rodarte, which makes me hella jealous for a moment.
“I am so glad you decided to do this,” Kayla says later as we approach the first bar, Bartlett Hall just outside of Union Square. “I’ve needed girl time. I say we make up fake names and fake jobs for ourselves. I’ll be Lorraine Moneypenny, a circus trainer for the pigeons that perform during Cirque du Soleil. The ones in the rafters during the shows. Then we’ll ask guys for dick pics. You know, just approach random guys and ask for them, see who wants to play.” She pauses mid-scheme, adding a saucy smile. “Did I ever tell you, that you two are the best wingwomen a girl could hope for?”
“Oh, hold up,” Steph says, putting her hand on Kayla. “Tonight is about Nicola, not you. And I know my bestie. If she says she needs a girls night out, she really needs a girls’ night out. Hot mama needs to get laid. We want dicks, not dick pics.”
They both eye me, expecting me to deny it. But I don’t.
I nod. “Yeah. I need to get fucking laid ASAP.”
The Uber driver is smiling to himself as he pulls up beside the bar.
“Does this have something to do with living next to Bram?” Kayla teases.
“This has everything to do with living next to Bram,” I practically moan and the both of them look shocked. “If I don’t screw something soon, I’m going to end up screwing him. And we all know how bad of an idea that is. Even our Uber driver knows. Right?”
Uber driver eyes us in the rear-view mirror. “Sometimes bad ideas are good ideas.”
“When the guy in question happens to be my neighbor and my landlord?”
The guy whistles. “Hoo, boy. Good luck with that one, missy.”
I look back at the girls. “And this is why I need to get laid.”
“Think you can be a wingwoman tonight?” Steph asks Kayla.
Kayla puts on her serious face, like she’s going into battle. “We will get you some dick, honey.”
Our first bar isn’t really the dick-getting kind of place but it is a nice start. We each have a beer flight and share some appies and by the time I’m done with my Kolsch, I’m feeling buzzed. I’m feeling great, actually. I only thought about Bram once, too.
Actually I texted him while I was in the washroom, just checking up on Ava. He answered back that she was asleep and he was watching porn in preparation for my return and that he hoped I was having fun.
I assume the whole porn thing was a joke but part of me started fantasizing over the idea of it not being a joke at all. I mean, I know I don’t have porn on my TV, I just have basic cable, but what if I returned to the apartment, all tipsy and hot and bothered and he was there, ready to go. What would I do?
I think I know the answer but it’s all the more reason to hook up with someone else.
“All right girls,” I announce. “Time to move on.”
Next, we go to a bar called Dirty Habit, which seems to be more subdued than we’d like but still stay for serval more beers and martinis before we end up at some no name place outside of Chinatown where a rowdier crowd thrives.
Things are getting a bit spotty now. We’re sitting in a booth we managed to snag after eyeing the couple in it like a hawk for an hour. There’s a lot of dancing happening on the dance floor and it’s becoming too hard to hear what we’re each saying, so we sit in silence while the music thrums around us. I stop drinking at this point because it’s getting too expensive but before I know it there’s a guy standing in front of the table and whispering something in Kayla’s ear.