Perfectly Adequate(50)

“There’s a list of numbers on the counter. He’s already had dinner, but there’s also a list of snacks he can have, but don’t give him anything later than seven-thirty. Bedtime is eight. There’s a list of that routine as well. Going pee is at the top of the list. Make him go first thing and again one more time before you actually put him in bed.

“Eli, I can read. And this is not my first time babysitting. Go.” She glances at her watch.

Again, I feel like something is not right with her. She gives off a nervous vibe that’s different than her other vibes.

With Roman in the other room, I move in on her, hoping to erase the weird vibe with a kiss. She stiffens at first. Then she grabs my shirt and lets me kiss her, allowing her tongue to slide against mine.

Fuck the massage. I want to put Roman in his bed and get Dorothy naked in mine. When I release her mouth, my nose rubs against hers as I whisper. “Maybe when I get back you can kiss me … lower.”

She rubs her lips together and lifts her gaze to mine. A few seconds later, they widen a fraction as my intentions must make their connection in her brain.

“Oh …” She shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”

I chuckle, stepping back, feeling the burn of rejection. Maybe I should have texted that to her. Maybe she might have inserted a winking face emoji. Maybe the one with the tongue sticking out. Maybe an eggplant emoji.

Maybe … my blowjob days are over.

I sigh. “Well, thanks. See you in a while.”

She glances at her watch again, chewing on her lower lip, and nods. “Okay.”

“Bye, Roman. Keep an eye on Dorothy.” I slip into the living room where he’s surrounded by Duplo Legos and give him a kiss on the top of his head. When I get into my car, I whisper on a laugh, “Oh … No. I’m good.” My ego-crushing laughter continues as I pull out of the driveway. “You’ve lost your game, man. It’s just … gone.”

*

After my massage, I have a string of missed calls, messages, and texts on my phone from Julie.

Why does the hospital transporter have our child at the farmer’s market?

Where are you?

Why aren’t you answering your phone?

Why didn’t she know where you’re at?

Did she have a car seat for him?

I’m taking him with me since he’s on my watch again tomorrow anyway.

Dammit, Eli! Why did MY child have a fit when I tried to take him with me? OMFG, I’m so embarrassed that he threw a tantrum because he wanted to stay with her. A police officer asked HER if everything was OK, like I was trying to abduct my own child!

WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

I call her on my way to my car.

“Jesus! Where are you, Elijah?”

I rub my forehead. “I had an appointment. Calm down. What’s going on?”

“Are you fucking the transporter girl? Is that why she was at brunch on Sunday and at the farmer’s market with Roman tonight?”

“If only that were your business. Do you have another question for me?”

“That’s my son. You can’t leave him with just anyone. She had no fucking clue where you were.”

“She said that?”

“She said you had an appointment. I asked where, and after a few minutes of this deer in the headlight look, she shrugged. How is she supposed to get ahold of you in an emergency if she has no clue where you are? How would she get ahold of me or—”

“I got a massage. I tweaked my back on my hike the other day. And for the record, Dorothy has a full list of names and numbers, including yours, to call in the event of an emergency. Roman and I have been spending time with Dorothy for almost six weeks now. She’s not a random stranger. She’s a nursing student and an EMT. I’m completely confident in her ability to keep our son safe and act appropriately in an emergency.”

“Are you dating her?”

“So we’re done here. Good. Thanks for calling, Jules.”

I back out of the parking spot and drive home, organizing my thoughts to tactfully find out why the hell Dorothy had Roman at the farmer’s market. When I pull into the garage, the car seat is next to the back door.

I stop at the car seat, bending down to inspect it closer. The straps look dirty. And when I feel them, they’re sticky with white smudges like adhesive.

“What the hell?” I mumble before going into the house.

Dorothy looks up from the sofa and holds a finger to her lips. “He’s asleep,” she whispers.

But he isn’t asleep in his bed. And he isn’t in his pajamas. He’s asleep on the sofa with his head on her lap, food on his face, and a pile of books around him.

She smiles, stroking his hair.

I ease into the chair opposite the sofa and rest my arms on my legs, dropping my head for a few seconds to rake my fingers through my hair. “Dorothy …” I whisper, shaking my head. “What were you thinking taking him to the farmer’s market?”

When I glance up at her, I expect guilt and remorse. Nope. Instead, she twists her lips to the side and releases a slow breath as she eases Roman’s head off her lap. Without looking at me, she shuffles her socked feet to the kitchen, so I follow her.

Dorothy turns toward me and leans against the counter. “You talked with Dr. Hathaway.” She scrapes her teeth along her upper lip while nodding slowly, contemplatively. “Yeah, that was really awkward. She wanted to take him home with her. I figured that would be fine, I mean … she’s his mom. But he didn’t want to go, and it just escalated. And I kinda felt bad that I couldn’t remember where you said you were going. Sometimes I space off certain details. Anyway … she just kept asking over and over. I’m not used to seeing her so on edge. Boss Bitch usually shows such authority and control. Like … I felt really sorry for her.” She shrugs. “What was I supposed to do?”