Now that it’s almost July, instead ofBachelorTuesday, Lauren and I havePride and PrejudiceWednesdays. PBS is showing the entire BBC mini-series, one hour at a time, over the next six weeks. We’re getting caught up before the show starts and I’ve just been telling her about my new side hustle.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re now babysitting your contractor’s kids for him?” Lauren asks.
“Kid. Singular.”
“And this doesn’t seem odd to you?” she says. “Your contractor brings his child to the work-site and leaves you to deal with her.”
“She’s actually a cool little thing. Plus, I’m getting paid, so…”
“But, have you forgotten you don’t like kids?”
“That’s not true. I like my niece and nephews.”
“You mean the ones you once referred to as the tyrants of Portland?”
“Okay, they’re a little wild for me, but Olive is…more like a tiny grown-up. She likes to draw and color, and she has surprisingly good taste in music. She’s a huge Beatles fan. In fact, she knows almost every word on The White Album.”
“But you don’t like The Beatles.”
“I do, actually. I forgot about them after college, but now that I’ve heard them again, I’m right back into their music." I pour some salt and pepper chips into a bowl and walk into my living room. “In other news, I can officially watch Mr. Darcy on my television in my living room, which is now fully carpeted and furnished with a sleek but oh-so-comfy couch, armchair, and coffee table.”
“Sweet. Send pics,” she says. “Now, back to you, your hot contractor, and his adorable daughter.”
“I never said he was hot.”
“You never said he wasn’t, so I filled in the blank on that one.”
I laugh. “And, how exactly would you come to that conclusion? Maybe he’s hideous and I just didn’t want to be cruel.”
“Is he?”
“No.”
“I know. I could tell the first time you mentioned him. You tried to sound overly disinterested but there was this almost giddy quality to your voice that is a dead giveaway.”
“I have never sounded giddy in my entire adult life,” I say, indignation rising in my chest.
“Umm, yeah, Angelo from the art department?”
“Okay, Angelo is a very special case. Even Isaac was giddy when he met him. With that accent and the muscles and the fitted dress shirts and the whole hand-kissing thing? He’s like a walking pheromone factory. It’s ridiculous.”
“Exactly. And you get that same tone when you start with the ‘Liam said the funniest thing today,’ or ‘I was having the worst morning, and Liam just swooped in and fixed it.’”
“You are dead wrong. I’ve only talked about him because he’s been in my space all day long for months. Nothing is going to happen between us. We’re just friends, if that. It’s mainly a business thing.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
“Seriously, quoting Shakespeare to make your point? You’re grasping and you know it.”
“It’s okay to like him, Abby. Let yourself have some fun for once.”
“Well, Liam and I are not about to have that kind of fun. He’s still in love with his wife, and my heart will always belong to Isaac. End of story.” Before she can continue badgering me, I say, “Show’s starting.”
An hour later, I shut the TV off and yawn, then notice the green stains on my fingers. Olive and I made playdough, which I almost think I enjoyed more than she did. Lauren is updating me on another writer of hers who’s been going all man-diva on her lately. As I listen, I pick at the green cuticle on my thumb, finding it hard to believe the different ways I’m filling up my time these days.
“…Drew thinks I should fire him, but I don’t know. I’d feel so bad.”
“I don’t know how you do what you do. Most writers are slightly to moderately insane.”
