The Offer (18 page)

“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.

He’s pretty
hot. Athletic with big round shoulders and short dark-blond hair. A
nice smile. Bright eyes. Young. Wearing a Giants shirt. Pretty
standard stuff but whatever Kayla is saying to him has him eyeing
me appreciatively. I would have thought she wouldn’t have been a
very good wingwoman herself but she genuinely seems interested in
Project #Dicks (hashtag needed) as she ended up calling it. I noted
she called it plural, but I suppose there could always be one for
her at the end. After all, Steph has her #dick at home.

Okay, I think
I’m drunk. The guy is leaning forward and asking me something but I
can’t hear him so I just nod. Then he holds out his hand for me and
takes me to the dance floor. I look behind my shoulder at the girls
and I can tell Kayla is yelling “Dicks!”

“What’s your
name?” the guy asks, as he wraps his arms around my waist and
brings me up to his chest.

“All yours,” I
tell him with a smirk. I can’t believe that came out of my
mouth.

And next thing
I know, the guy is kissing me. He tastes like beer and his tongue
is too sloppy but I’m into it. The alcohol, the music, the feeling
of anonymity on the dance floor. I can be anyone, he can be
anyone.

Yet, no matter
how hard I try, he can’t be Bram.

The next thing
I know, we’re in a cab. Steph is here. Flashes of Kayla. She’s
making out with some guy, sitting on his lap. I’m on this Giants
guy’s lap.

Then we’re in
another bar. Woodbury or something. There are two bars inside. We
stay at the one that’s just for beer and shots.

I do a lot of
shots. After a while they don’t burn anymore. I make out some more
with Giants guy and then he takes me into the handicapped restroom,
a place I know is tailor-made for having disgusting bar bathroom
sex.

The guy lifts
up my dress and asks if I’m on the pill. I am – I’ve been ever
since Ava – but I lie. I don’t know why. I tell him I’m not.

“You should
be,” he says as he pulls down my underwear. “You don’t want to end
up pregnant.”

I look around
the bathroom and stop at my reflection. She looks like someone
else. Drunk and pretending to be unafraid. The girl in the mirror
breaks my heart.

So, I look
down at the guy who is grinning up at me and I say, “Doesn’t make a
difference, I already have a kid. Ava. Want to see her
picture?”

That stops him
dead in his tracks. He lets go of my underwear and I widen my leg
to prevent it from falling to the dingy floor. I pull it up as he
stares at me with panicked eyes. He’s young, too young for the
truth.

“Look, uh,” he
says, nervously running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mess
around with moms. I’m only 24 and I—”

“It’s fine,” I
tell him, pulling down my dress. I’m too drunk to try and pretty up
my face though, so I just punch him awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Thanks for the make-out session though, it was fun.”

“Yeah,” he
says, looking sheepish now. “I had no idea. You’re just so fucking
hot. And young.”

I nod him my
thanks and then unlock the door, heading back out into the bar.

“What
happened, did you score?” Kayla asks as I walk over to her and
Steph. I notice her boytoy isn’t around either.

“No,” I tell
her. “And it’s fine. I just…fuck it, let’s drink everything.”

We immediately
order another round of beer and shots of Jameson and we drink until
things go back to being blurry again.

When reality
starts to fade in a bit, I find myself being walked to the door of
my apartment building, my arms draped over both Kayla and Steph. We
go up the stairs and now I’m standing in front of my door, wobbling
back and forth, trying my hardest to look as sober as possible.

Steph goes to
knock on the door but it’s already open. I guess we are being loud,
giggling, in the hallway.

Bram looks at
the three of us and my God is he a sight for sore eyes.

“We brought
her home,” Steph says, motioning with her hand for Bram to get out
of the way, “your shift is over.”

“No,” I tell
them as they shuffle me inside. “He can stay.”

I know the
three of them are exchanging a look over my head.

“I’ll make
sure she goes to bed,” Bram explains. “No funny business, I
swear.”

“Pinky swear?”
Steph says and I turn to see her holding out her pinky to him. “You
know I don’t break those.”

Ugh, Steph and
her damn pinky swears. She wouldn’t even be married to Linden if it
weren’t for one.

But Bram does
a pinky swear with her.

“No funny
business,” Steph warns him.

“Good thing
I’m not funny!” I yell as I flop down on the couch. The room is
beginning to spin.

“Nic, that
was, like, five minutes ago,” Steph says. She reaches over the
couch and pats my head. “Do you want us to undress you because
Bram’s not allowed.”

“No one
undresses me but me!” I yell, throwing my fist up into the air.

“Have fun with
her,” Steph says to Bram. “And remember, she’s untouchable. Don’t
make me make your brother punch you in the junk or something.”

Bram
makes a scoffing noise. “Last time he tried to do that, I got him
back good. You just ask him what happened on January
16
^th
, 2005
and why he’ll never eat pudding again.”

“I mean it,”
Steph threatens and I hear her and Kayla leave and the door
closing.

I close my
eyes too. Drift away for a moment. The spinning has stopped and
there’s a beautifully cool breeze wafting over my skin.

“I’m not
supposed to touch you,” Bram’s gruff voice says and when I open my
eyes, he’s crouched in front of me, a lock of dark hair over his
forehead. His face is shadowy in the dark, the only light now being
from my bedroom behind him.

“That’s okay,”
I mumble into the couch. “You can touch me. I say it’s fine.”

“How about I
bring you something to sleep in? Do you have a favorite nightshirt?
I always see you in that top that your nipples try and poke right
through.”

“No, not the
nipple shirt.”

He goes to get
up. With a lazy hand, I grip his shirt. “Don’t leave. I’m fine
here.”

“I can’t
imagine you being comfortable.”

“I’m drunk.
Everything is comfortable. Except I wish I had a cheeseburger. I
would eat it and use it as a pillow. Or maybe use it as a pillow
and then eat it.”