“You smell like Jack, so no,” I tell him.
“Who’s Jack?” Olive asks. “Was Jack at jail? Like Jack-in-the-Box, but Jack-in-the-Jail?” she giggles ferociously at her own joke—a joke I’d find hysterical, too, if my head didn’t feel like it were about to split in half.
“You don’t smell any better,” AJ tells me.
“Get her ready and I’ll take a two-minute shower,” I tell him.
I run up the stairs, tearing my clothes off on the way. As I rip the shower curtain across the rod, the squealing from the metal rings zings through my head. Jesus. I need Advil...a lot of it. With the water cranked to full heat, I step inside, letting the shower cascade over me like a warm blanket. The steam fills my head, leaving no room for wandering thoughts or the memories of the thoughts I was trying to drown away with booze last night.Fucking Charlotte.
Come to think of it, I’m a little surprised she didn’t come banging on my door when she didn’t see us at the bus stop. She must really be pissed off, not that I know why. For someone who runs a dating site and specializes in relationships, she should know better that communication is a key component. So I’m not wrong here, she is.
After soaping up my hair and body, I’m still in need of releasing some of my anger and frustration. I grab my cock, close my eyes and let my imagination run off, hoping to escape for a few minutes, except I don’t even know who to fucking fantasize about anymore. My manhood is a limp dud that won’t turn on. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t screw Charlotte last night. Maybe my virility died with Ellie.
I grab a towel and step out, snatching the Listerine off the shelf. I fill my mouth with the blue liquid, allowing some of it to seep down the back of my throat. The burn feels good for some sick reason, even if it reminds me of the Jack that’s still rotting my gut from last night. At least I won’t smell like it now.
It takes me less than five minutes to slip on some clothes and make it back down the stairs where I find Charlotte sitting on my couch.
“Hi,” she says. Her voice is shameful, despondent, hurt.
“Hey.”
“You okay?” She asks.
“Not really.”
She curls a strand of her hair behind her ear, pulling my focus to her glossy eyes.Was she crying? “I figured something was up since you weren’t at the bus stop.”
“Yeah, I have to take Olive to school. She’s late and it’s my fault.”
“Do you want me to take her?” She offers.
Some of my unreasonable anger from last night simmers in response to her question. “Thanks for the offer. I can take her. But…” I don’t know what the hell I did but by the look in her eyes, it’s definitely something. “If you want to come along for the ride, you can.” Maybe she can shed some light on my unknown mistake.
She takes a minute to answer me, stalling by looking out the window toward her house. I wish I knew what was going through that mind of hers.
“Please,” I tell her. I don’t want it to be like this. I’d rather go back to her couch and resume what we were doing yesterday, and skip over the whole part where my guilt almost pulled me away from something good.
Olive is ready and waiting at the door with her backpack on and her hair in some funky ponytail that AJ tried to...I don’t even know what he tried to do. Charlotte notices Olive’s hair at the same time I do and walks over to her, kneeling down beside her. She takes the rubber band out of Olive’s hair and slips it between her teeth while she runs her fingers through her curls. Charlotte’s face illuminates, like this makes her happy, taking care of my daughter. After a few seconds of studying Charlotte’s skill of sweeping up both sides, careful not to miss any loose hairs, she ties it up in a perfect ponytail—something I’ve yet to master. This is why the poor thing needs a mother. I wasn’t bred to do a little girl’s hair. “Perfect,” Charlotte says, pinching Olive’s cheek gently.
Olive wraps her arms around Charlotte’s neck and squeezes her tightly. “I love you,” she says.
My throat tightens; my heart swells with pain and relief, but mostly pain. Those three little words that have been only mine since the day Olive was born have now been shared with a woman who might hate me, a woman I wasn’t sure I could move forward with for reasons maybe I shouldn’t even have. The simple act of making her hair perfect brought out those sacred words. Olive doesn’t know it, but she needs a woman in her life as much as I do.Am I screwing up that badly?
Charlotte, still holding Olive tightly, looks up at me, this time with distress in her eyes, as if she wants to apologize for what Olive just said. I don’t want her to apologize, though.
“Ready to go?” I ask Olive. She walks over to me slowly and wraps her arms around my leg. “I love you too, Daddy.” What is going on inside of her little mind today? Sometimes I wonder if Olive feels the same kind of pain I do, but the only pain she really feels is the pain I’ve instilled in her. In truth, she didn’t know Ellie, she doesn’t understand what losing someone feels like, and she doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a mother. These are things only I feel in my head, and when I assume she might feel that pain too, it causes a lot of unnecessary guilt.
“I’ll see you at the site,” I yell in to AJ, who looks to be working on his third cup of coffee. He gives me a quick wave without separating his mouth from the mug.
While still wondering if Charlotte is going to come along or not, I reach for the door handle of the truck. “The seat is still free,” I tell her.
Charlotte looks across the street once more and places the tip of her thumb between her teeth, deeply contemplating this short ride. “Okay,” she says, almost inaudibly, before walking around to the other side. The moment we’re all settled in the truck, Charlotte spews out, “I’m sorry.”
“You have no reason to be sorry,” I tell her. I mean, maybe a little for getting angry with no explanation attached but I’ve never been a fan of people needing to apologize for things. Life’s too short for that.
“I shouldn’t have expected you to tell me everything,” she continues. “I guess—” She pauses for a moment and presses her fingers against the side of her head as if she has a headache.Maybe she has sympathy pains for me.“I guess I just wanted things to work out with us so badly and the thought of you maybe having something else going on with another woman made me feel a little crazy.”
Ah, what? Who would I have something going on with? “Why would you think that?” I ask.
