“Is there something you need?” I asked. “I sent the slides for the full week’s worth of lessons directly to your district email.”
“The children are losing it, Ms. Brody. Little Brandon has told Emily that Santa Claus”—she lowered her voice to a whisper, and I could imagine the plump old woman attached to the wall phone with a hand cupping the receiver—“isn’t real.”
I sat up straighter in bed, pressing my back against the wooden headboard.
“And now the entire class is either in tears or in shock, and they’re looking to me for answers. I think Emily is two steps away from shoving a sparkly pinecone up—”
“Cindy,” I interrupted. “They’re eight years old. I understand the stress, but please don’t let a kid derail the entire day over Santa Claus.”
“What do I do?”
I hopped out of bed and trekked across the hallway into the bathroom. Teaching was never simple, especially at that formative age where opinions were being developed and solidified. Sometimes the solutions were obvious, other times they required a bit more mental gymnastics. Of course I didn’t have any kids of my own, but I grew up surrounded by siblings over a decade younger than me and watched the way my parents handled the hard questions firsthand. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy—God the world was so magical when you were a kid.
I wedged the cell phone between my ear and my shoulder as I dolloped toothpaste onto a brush. “My best advice is to give them another activity to do, and then assign homework tonight on the mystery of St. Nick. This is something that we shouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Send out an email to all the parents while the kids are at lunch explaining what happened and the reason for the homework. That’s really all you can do. Like I said, they’re eight; it’s only a matter of time before the veil comes down, but it’s not up to us.”
“Right, right, okay. I can do that,” Cindy said breathily on the other line. “Kids, can we all clean up our colored pencils and get into our reading circles?”
“See? Problem solved. If everything else is fine, I was actually still in bed when you called.”
“It’s eleven in the morning there, Miss Brody.”
I stuck the toothbrush into my cheek and pulled the phone away from my head to check the time. “I don’t tell you how to live your life, Cindy,” I quipped, and then hung up the phone.
Despite the headache, the wine hangover was mild and when I looked at myself in the mirror I almost felt—pretty? There was a dewy glow to my freckled cheeks, and my eyes looked brighter and bluer than usual.
I touched two fingers to my bottom lip to explore the still tender, swollen skin there. Then, traced those same fingers down my jaw to my neck, to the hint of a blush pink love bite just beneath my ear.
Even in the hour I’d spent rehashing the night swim to Natalia my lower belly hadn’t swirled like it did staring at the evidence of what Frankie and I did in the reflection of the mirror. It brought everything whirring back like a tornado.
The peaks of my nipples pressed against my thin tank top, and I let my fingers drop to trace them. The stimulation was delightful but the memory of Frankie’s tongue against the hard buds was more than enough to stir the throb between my thighs to life. I wasn’t sure the aftershocks of my orgasm the night before had even entirely dissipated, or if I would just truly never forget the way Frankie had demanded me not to.
But God, if I didn’t want more.
My cellphone on the bathroom counter vibrated again and broke the trance I’d fallen into. I snatched it up with an annoyed grunt, assuming Cindy was having another meltdown, but the name on the screen gave me pause.
Ophelia: God damn, you know your way around a woman.
Frankie <3: I appreciate that Ophelia, you know my door is open anytime
I snorted at the exchange, trying and failing to tamper the fluttering feeling of wings in my stomach. He was witty, I’d give him that, and he’d earned his bragging rights fair and square. There was a growing ache already rearing inside me again at the promise of more.
Ophelia: Not sure I could fit through with your head already stuck in it
Frankie <3: Which head?
Ophelia: Point made
Frankie <3: How’s my O after her first O?
He was really never going to let me forget it. And something about Frankie calling me his had me biting my lip and rereading the line of text several times.
Ophelia: Way to be humble about it
Frankie <3: I was shouting it so loud off our rooftop last night, Gino threatened to call the cops
Ophelia: The neighborhood is petitioning to have you and Mateo removed by New Year’s
Frankie <3: First the pineapple, now this. What are you doing to me, Trouble?
Ophelia: Don’t blame me, bingo club already had their eyes on you boys and your perfectly manicured lawn way before I showed up
Frankie <3: I told you, there’s nothing wrong with two men shacking up together and taking meticulous care of their personal belongings and outdoor landscaping
Ophelia: Are you trying to convince me or yourself?
Frankie <3: Do I need to convince you, Ophelia? I thought I was pretty convincing yesterday
Frankie <3: I could convince you again though, if you ask me real nicely with those bedroom eyes
Ophelia: I knew giving you my number was a bad idea
Frankie <3: I doubt any of your other conversations are as entertaining
I had a stupid smile plastered across my face as I walked back into the guest bedroom, pausing in the doorframe to lean against it and type out another message.
Ophelia: That’s where you’re wrong. I just got off the phone with my sub back in Colorado who was having a conniption over a rumor taking over the classroom that Santa isn’t real
Frankie <3: Fucking Cindy
I giggled out loud, staring down at my phone like a teenager with a crush. I dug my polish-chipped toes into the plush carpet and thought to suggest to Nat that we do a spa day at a place I saw online. The only obligations I let myself have when I planned the trip were rest, relaxation, and whatever local fare Natalia suggested was worth experiencing.
The men slightly complicated those plans.
Nat could barely go two days without seeing Mateo. A week prior that would have put a damper on my mood, but now I found myself looking forward to the additional company.
I finally glanced up from the phone to find my friend awake and regarding me with a cheeky smirk. Nat had fluffed up the pillows and was scrolling on her own screen.
“Let me take a wild guess and say that’s not Cindy making your titties tight.”
I blanched and looked down at my chest. “Jesus, is it cold in here?” With a forearm across my overzealous nipples I dove back under the cover of blankets beside Natalia, scooching up the headboard next to her. “You should turn your heat up a little bit,” I suggested.
“It's seventy-five and you literally live in Colorado; you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. What’s he saying?”
“Why do you assume it’s a he?”
Nat gave me a knowing glare. “I don’t assume it’s a he, I assume it’s him, and because you once told me the texture of a vagina reminded you of a Hot Pocket.”
“Sounds…delicious,” I grimaced.