“Evening, Phil,” I say, ducking into the car as Phil closes the door behind me.
I glance up at the house, seeing the light in Eleanor’s room still on, that image of Miss Silver at my feet dancing in my head, accompanied by her words, Did you only want me for the night? I shake the thoughts away just as quickly as they appear and attempt to make small talk with Phil to distract me.
“How are the kids, Phil? Gerald still pursuing biology at Northwestern?”
I stare out the window on the drive as Phil tells me about Gerald’s first year in college. I do my best to push any filthy ideas about seeing Miss Silver on her knees in front of me out of my head.
I’m forty-two; the last thing I need to do is get involved with a twenty-something-year-old, especially since she’s my nanny.
Even if it’s torturous to have her living in my house.
Even if she stirs a desire in me that’s been dormant for so long.
I refuse to be that cliché.
3
MARGOT
“The hands are the window to the dick.”
“What?” I furrow my brow at Shelly’s statement.
“Well, you know how they say the eyes are the window to the soul? My theory is that the hands are the window to a dude’s dick.” She says this very emphatically like it’s a validated scientific theorem.
“I thought they myth-busted that rumor about the distance between the thumb and forefinger or whatever having a correlation to size?”
“Oh no, I’m not talking about size.” She takes a bite of her panini as she continues to shake her head. She chews and swallows before finishing.
“I’m talking ability. Motion in the ocean, baby. I think if a man has nice manicured hands and knows how to subtly gesture with his hands, it directly correlates to his abilities in the bedroom. And don’t even get me started on hand placement, like softly touching your waist or the small of your back or your wrist. It’s enough to make me positively feral.”
I can’t help but laugh. Shelly and I hit it off the moment we met at the café I briefly worked at after getting fired. She’s the epitome of an extrovert and very confidently speaks her mind. We’re very much opposites of each other. She hates school, didn’t go to college, and is perfectly content living day to day with no plan, just rolling with life’s punches and having a blast.
She’s one of those laid-back cool girls. I wish I was more like her.
“Where do you come up with this stuff?” I roll my eyes.
“I grew up on Cosmo. My mom had like five hundred of them in her basement and I’d sneak down there and read them after my parents went to bed. Also, TikTok.” She smiles before taking another huge bite of her sandwich.
“Well, Mr. Hayes has gorgeous hands”—I draw out the syllable of the word for emphasis—“definitely manicured and he does those little movements like running his finger over his bottom lip or playing with his cuff link…” My words drift off as I picture the way he looked up at me from messing with the small gold bauble.
“Sounds like he knows exactly what he’s doing.” She laughs.
“But,” I say, remembering how he failed to help me when I fell, “I stupidly tripped over the doorway and fell, or did like a small somersault thing, and landed at his feet, and he didn’t even attempt to catch me or even help me up.”
“Hey, I’m not saying guys with good hands are gentlemen or chivalrous. They just know how to fuck.” She winks. “Oh, and they know how to fuck your life up too so be careful.”
I just laugh and shake my head as thoughts of Graham float away while I drink my mimosa.
“So what’s going on with your dating life? How are things with Karter with a K?”
“Don’t do that.” She gives me a pouty look that tells me she’s still not fully over him.
“I’m sorry he was just so—” We both burst out laughing and she shakes her head.
“Yeah, he really was. We’re not really a thing anymore. Turns out Karter with a K was not exactly into monogamy with an M.”
She shrugs it off but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. I reach out and grab her hand. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She waves it off and picks up her mimosa. “Like I said, guys with good hands can fuck you up. I knew what I was getting into. Any guy that introduces himself like that is a walking red flag. Besides, there’s a million more Karters I can fill my bed with.”
“Still, you didn’t deserve that, especially since he was hyper jealous of you even spending time with me.”
“Screw him. I have a new outlook, a new plan for my twenty-fifth year.” She wipes her hands on her napkin as her eyebrows bounce up and down. Classic Shelly, always coming up with some harebrained idea to get over one guy and on to the next.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“This will be my year of just fun sex. No strings, no attachments, no expectations. If I like someone and we’re attracted to each other, then we can hang out and hook up. I’m not saying I’m going to hook up with everyone, just that there’s no need for me to be out there looking for someone to settle down with when the reality is, I’m still so young. I’m not ready for shared bank accounts and babies and peeing with the door open.” She wrinkles her nose like she’s disgusted.
“I think that’s great. I feel like that plan suits you. You’re good at not catching feelings. I could stand to learn a few lessons from you.”
I think about my last relationship. If you can even call it that.
Jake Dearborn. The editor of the university newspaper. Captain of the debate team. Star soccer player. Graduated summa cum laude. Only to turn around and give it all up to live in a van and travel across America sharing his experience via YouTube.
It sounds noble and amazing, a talented and gifted young man who gives it all up to pursue his dream and passion for traveling and sharing his experiences with the world.
At least, that was the image he portrayed to everyone.
The reality was, after graduation, his daddy handed him a trust fund that had more money in it than most of us will see in five lifetimes. So he had no obligations, no bills, and no reason to slum it with me anymore. I was merely a distraction for him while he was in college.
Actually, his words were, “You were a challenge and you know I can’t back down. I had an amazing time with you, Margot Dargo.” One day, he made up the stupid and pointless nickname that had zero backstory. “But this is my quest. I need to go experience life and all her hardships to become the man I need to be. I need to find who I really am beneath all these accomplishments and accolades. Life has been too easy. I need another challenge. I want to be self-made, like my father.”
A challenge? Self-fucking-made? His dad was born a millionaire. I wouldn’t exactly call living in a $150,000 custom van complete with every luxury plus some that my tiny studio didn’t even have, a hardship. He wouldn’t know hardship if it bit him in his mediocre dick. He had all his bills paid, no debt, and an empire to fall back on once his new quest bored him.
Did I scream all of that at him? No, of course not. I smiled and hugged him, wishing him well, and then I went home and cried my eyes out because while I was just a boring challenge to pass the time to him… I loved him.