13. You Call That Work?
13
You Call That Work?
A new nurse listened while the doctor was yelling, “Typhoid! Tetanus! Measles!”
The new nurse asked another nurse, “Why is he doing that?”
The other nurse replied, “Oh, he just likes to call the shots around here.”
Natalie
“I’m really sorry, but there are no monkeys allowed in the ER,” I stated, pointing to a clearly marked sign on the ER door. No Monkeys Allowed.
The gorilla did not care. It banged on its chest and went to the blanket warmer to wrap itself up in blankets.
I wasn’t even mad. The blanket warmer was the best thing in the ER.
My phone started to chirp. I tried to answer it, but it wasn’t my work phone. It was my personal phone.
I frowned, because I knew I wasn’t supposed to have my personal phone on me at work. Gorillas were fine, but not phones.
And then I realized that I wasn’t at work. I was in my bed dreaming about work.
I groaned. I needed to get a new life. One where I didn’t think gorillas at my job place was weird.
“This is Natalie,” I said, hitting the answer button on the phone and trying to convince myself that five hours of sleep was a respectable amount.
“Oh good, I didn’t wake you,” Dylan replied. I glared at the imaginary Dylan on the other end of the line. It was a good thing he and his daughter were cute.
“Oh, you did. I just have a really good phone voice,” I replied, laying my head back down on the pillow and closing my eyes. If I tried, I hoped I might be able to fall back asleep for a little while longer.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, and I only felt the tiniest twinge of guilt at his chastised voice.
“Wait, is Ellie okay?” I sat bolt upright suddenly very awake.
“She’s fine,” he quickly assured me, but my heart rate wouldn’t slow down for a few minutes. That little jolt of adrenaline was better than a cup of coffee to get me up and moving. “But, I do need your help.”
I flopped back onto the bed. “What’s the problem?”
“I need to work today,” he explained. “I have to go to the practice center for a couple of hours and then I have some things I can do at home, but I’m struggling to concentrate with Ellie around. Babies are very needy.”
Kind of like NFL players, I thought to myself.
“I thought it was a bye week. I thought you didn’t have any games this week.” I covered my head with my pillow, but I knew it was too late now. I was awake. There was no going back to sleep.
“It is a bye week, but just because we don’t have games doesn’t mean we don’t have work,” he explained, sounding incredibly patient, which just made me want to thwack him with my pillow that much harder. “Please, Natalie? I really need you to watch her for just a couple of hours.”
I did the mental math. “You owe me double time for this. I was supposed to have the day off from everything.”
“Done.”
I was surprised at how quickly he agreed, but I wasn’t actually that angry. A day hanging out with Ellie was not a bad way to spend my day off of work. I liked the little baby, even if it meant I would miss my yoga class this morning. I would just change my plans to binge-watch something on Netflix. Maybe Bridgerton? Ellie was still too young to know that TV was interesting and we could watch what I liked for a few more months yet. I wasn’t stuck watching sing-song shows focusing on being nice to our friends.
“I’ll bring her over now,” he said and hung up the phone.
I glanced at the clock and saw it was only ten in the morning. Ugh. That was not nearly enough sleep, even though it was my night off. I rolled out of bed and threw on a hoodie over my tank top. I did not have the energy to put on a real bra and T-shirt, so hiding under an old college sweatshirt was the way I was answering the door. I managed to get the pot of coffee started before my doorbell rang.
“Hi, thank you again for doing this,” Dylan said as the door swung open. He stuttered when he saw me, his eyes doing the up and down thing before he caught himself.
“Yes, these are my pajamas,” I replied. “I was sleeping.”
“And I will pay you double,” he assured me, keeping his eyes firmly planted on my face. He held out Ellie and the diaper bag. “Thank you again. I just can’t concentrate with her around.”
I brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes before taking the little girl into my arms. “I get it.”
I wished I felt annoyed, but I didn’t. How could I when Ellie immediately snuggled into me and sighed with contentment?
“Penelope is upstairs with your aunt, Ellie just finished a bottle, I changed her, and there are three spare outfits, three bottles, and a partridge in a pear tree in the diaper bag,” Dylan explained. A soft smile crossed his face as he looked at the two of us. “Again, thanks.”
“Get out of here,” I said, smiling as I closed the door on him. “Go do work.”
At four in the afternoon, Ellie and I had both had an excellent nap and had discussed the finer points of 19th-century flirting techniques. I felt that she was ready for more episodes, but I was TV’d out for the day. I was ready for a walk, even if it was still late summer and warmer out than I preferred. I just didn’t want to sit on a couch with a wiggly baby anymore. I headed over to Dylan’s apartment to see if he had purchased a stroller yet. Given his thoroughness on all the other purchases, it seemed likely. The man had purchased nipple cream. He had to have some sort of stroller.
“Come in,” came the yell through the door when I knocked.
I opened the door and nearly chucked the diaper bag at his head.
Because Dylan wasn’t working. Oh no. He was watching a football game. It wasn’t his team but there was no way this counted as doing his job. He was watching a live game and was just sitting on the couch, absolutely absorbed by the little men throwing a ball around on the screen.
“Oh, so this is what you call work?” Sarcasm so strong it hurt dripped out of my mouth. “This is what you can’t do with a baby? I didn’t know that watching TV required so much concentration.”
“Natalie...” He turned, confusion painting his face. “I still need another hour. The game isn’t over yet.”
“But it’s work?” I wished I could cross my arms, but Ellie was in them so the best I could do was an angry hip cock.
“It is.” He frowned, looking at me and then back at the TV. Then his eyes widened. “And I can totally see why you wouldn’t think that it wasn’t.”
I kept the angry hip jut. I wished I could have lasers coming out of my eyes. That would have made me feel better if I could have lasered the TV. I’d spent the entire day taking care of Ellie. I’d skipped my yoga class, I’d skipped my fancy coffee, and I didn’t get any of my household chores done for the day because I’d been snuggling a baby. Sure, I probably could have gotten the chores done, but now I was angry and I wasn’t going to take the blame for anything.
“We’re playing the Broncos next week,” Dylan explained, standing up and hitting the pause button. All the men froze in strange half running positions. “Their defensive line is intense. I need to know their strategies and what I’m up against.”
“And that makes your time more valuable than mine?” I wanted to spit.
“No, no, not at all,” he assured me, hurrying around the couch and to where I stood. Ellie held out her arms for him, the little traitor. “But it is my job. Here, come sit with me and I’ll explain.”
I thought about just throwing the baby at him and tossing the diaper bag at his head. It would feel good, but I didn’t want to do that to Ellie. Besides, he was giving me wholesome puppy dog eyes and a hopeful smile that was very hard to say no to. So I just glared.
“I will make snacks,” he offered. “I have popcorn... and it’s the good stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How good?”
“Like the kettle corn they sell outside the stadium on game day,” he replied. He leaned over the couch and picked up a bowl, letting the delicious scent of fresh kettle corn popcorn waft through the room. “I only get it when I watch film.”
“Is that so that when you smell the kettle corn on game day you remember all the film better and have a better performance?” The popcorn smelled amazing. Sweet and salty filled the air and I could practically taste the chewy kernels of deliciousness.
“Sure. That sounds a lot better than the real reason, that it’s a bribe to myself,” he said with a shrug. He shook the bowl again. “But come sit with me so I can share this delicious food with you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Food is absolutely the way to my heart,” I said with a voice that let him know I was still mad.
He grinned, his entire face lighting up as he jumped over the back of the couch, somehow keeping the popcorn bowl steady in the process. Not a single kernel fell out of the bowl. It was a rather impressive physical feat, but there was no way I was going to tell him that.
I did not hop over the back of the couch. I pretended that it was because I still held the baby, but it was also that I knew I would fall flat on my face if I tried to flip my legs over the back of the couch the way he did. He was an athlete. I was not. I took a seat, baby on my lap and popcorn bowl nestled between us.
He turned the TV back on.
“So, the goal,” he said, pointing at the TV, “is for the offense to move the ball down the field and score in the end zone. They have four downs—or chances—to move the ball at least ten yards. If they succeed, they get another four downs. If not, the other team takes over.” His hands gestured as he spoke, like he was sketching the game plan in the air. I nodded along, but while the words were English, they were going over my head.
He must have noticed my puzzled expression because he shifted to strategy.
“Okay, look at the quarterback,” he said, motioning toward the player standing behind the line. “That’s the guy in charge of reading the defense. His job is to decide whether to pass, hand the ball off to a running back, or sometimes run it himself. See how he keeps looking around? He’s scanning for gaps or weaknesses in the defense.”
“That would be Marcus on your team, right?” I asked, remembering the name.
“Yes!” He grinned and turned to watch a play unfolded, a receiver sprinting down the field to catch a long pass. “That’s what a good quarterback does—he finds opportunities, like that guy who just got open. But it’s all about timing. If he holds the ball too long, the defense will sack him.”
“And that’s what you do, run the ball or try and catch it?”
“Exactly!” He looked so happy that I was understanding the game.
“And why do you have to watch it on TV?” I asked, motioning to the big screen. “And not have a baby in the room?”
He held up a notepad I hadn’t noticed.
“I’m learning their defense. I’m learning which players have which strengths, or, more importantly, their weaknesses. See that safety?” he asked, pointing to one of the guys on the screen.
“Is he unsafe? Running with scissors or something?”
He looked at me with an “are you serious” look. When I cracked a smile to show I was joking, he rolled his eyes.
“That’s Nick Latts,” he said. “He’s the best in the league right now. I need to know what he’s going to do to cover me. He’s fast and has great coverage, so I need to figure out a way to get around him. So far, I’ve noticed that he likes to stick to the inside. I can use that.”
He let the game run. I did not see how that one random guy mattered, but Dylan was busy scrawling in his notebook. He stopped, rewound the game, and replayed a pass pointing out exactly what Nick had done to stop the tight-end on the video from getting the ball.
“It’s like a chess game,” he added, his excitement contagious now. “The coach calls plays, but the players have to adjust in real-time depending on what the defense does. Watch this next play; they’ll probably run it since they only need a few yards for the first down.” Sure enough, the running back plowed forward, breaking through defenders for just enough yardage. I glanced at him, realizing he’d pulled me into the game without me even noticing.
I stared at him. Maybe this wasn’t a game for the brain-dead after all.
“This actually sounds more complicated than smashing bodies together and fighting for the ball,” I told him. I stuffed some popcorn in my face, trying not to moan with how good it was.
“You should come to one of my games,” he said. I would have said he sounded nonchalant, but every muscle in his body tensed like he thought I was going to tackle him.
“I can’t afford one of your games,” I replied. “They’re sold out unless I want to pay scalper prices, and remember? I’m a broke college kid now.”
He laughed. “I always wanted a college-aged nanny,” he teased. He winked at me. “Although it played out differently in my head.”
It was my turn to laugh. “You better be good, or I’ll put you to bed without dessert.”
Dylan’s pupils dilated and he looked away. Blood rushed to inappropriate areas of my body as I realized how sexual what I just said could have been taken.
He’s your boss. He’s a single dad. He’s a player. He’s not available.
I tried to keep that ringing through my mind instead of the he’s hot. He wants me. His bedroom is right there. The baby wouldn’t even notice! that kept trying to sneak in my thoughts instead.
I cleared my throat. “Ellie’s asleep,” I said, standing from the couch and carefully setting her down in the pack and play Dylan now kept in the living room for her naps. I focused on not looking toward the bedroom. Nope. I was not thinking about his giant bed or how warm he had felt on the couch next to me. Nope. Nope. Nope.
“Would you like some dinner?” he asked. “It’s roasted chicken and portobello deli sandwiches with honey-glazed carrots and whole grain pasta.”
“You cook?” I asked, glancing at the kitchen. He did have a lot of fancy equipment in there.
“Sometimes, but not this,” he admitted. “They make us meals to take home during training camp. Nutrition is important, so they tend to send us home with extra. It’s actually really good. Our chef is amazing. If you like salmon, I will have to bring you some.”
“You have a personal chef?”
“Lauren and Chad are not my personal chefs,” he corrected. “They work for the team. But I did help Chad out last year, so he always sneaks me extra food. They don’t work for the team all year, just during training and for game stuff.”
I nodded like that was a normal statement. “Sometimes we get pizza in the ER if a vendor is trying to sell equipment.” I realized that sounded terrible, so I quickly added. “I would love some dinner. Thanks.”
He stood up and went to the kitchen, humming softly. The game was finishing up the last few clips on the TV. I didn’t mind it for once. I tried to see the teamwork and skill rather than just the brute force and potential injuries. For the first time, I could see the appeal of the sport. I wasn’t going to start recommending it to anyone, but at least I didn’t feel the visceral hate I usually did when football was on the TV.
While our food warmed in the microwave, the doorbell rang. I answered, and Penelope was standing in the hall with my aunt.
“She was an excellent goat today,” Aunt Marnie informed me, giving Penelope scratches on her head. “I can’t believe how much progress we’re making.”
“I’m so glad. Thank you again for watching her,” I said.
“It’s my pleasure.” She patted the goat, said goodnight and headed back to the elevator.
The goat walked in the door like she owned the place, went over to the pack-n-play, checked to make sure the baby was doing well, circled the couch, hopped the baby gate around the arm chair, and curled up to watch some TV. She bleated at the TV, clearly not enjoying the football. She didn’t stop yelling until Dylan changed the channel to Supernatural . She happily laid down and watched Sam and Dean fight monsters.
“She seems to be finding her new lifestyle agreeable,” I remarked as Dylan handed me a box of food. It was one of the nice expensive-feeling boxes and the food inside smelled amazing. A girl could get used to a private chef. I snuck a bite of the sandwich, and sighed with pleasure. It was delicious. Way better than the frozen chicken pot pie I had planned for dinner tonight.
“We can eat on the couch,” he said, sitting down and motioning me to do the same. “It’s not fancy, but neither am I.”
I settled down next to him. It felt right to be here like this. Natural. Like this was how life was supposed to be. We ate in comfortable silence, making small talk occasionally about how the spice of the sandwich or what we thought was in the sauce. I said it was paprika and he thought there was a hint of anise as well. It was one of the better meals I had eaten in a long time.
Suddenly, the baby began to cry.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Dylan said, picking up his daughter and snuggling her into him as she protested that we were eating without her. “Were we terrible parents?”
I pretended not to notice that he had included me as a parent. I pretended not to notice how happy it made me, all the way down into the pit of my stomach. I pretended not to notice how much I wanted it to be true.
“How about I change our princess and then we can watch a movie?” Dylan offered. “That is, if our resident goat will allow us.”
Penelope bleated once, blinking her eyes at him with a slow, loving blink.
“I think you have a fan,” I said with a laugh.
“Good, I need at least one,” he replied.