Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Selkie
Nightmares do happen when you’re awake.
I’m sitting in a beach chair in the shade of Brody’s truck, beer in hand, legs outstretched in front of me, watching the battle of wills between Oscar and Henri.
They’re keeping their voices low so that we can’t hear them, but clearly by the expressions on their faces, they are a long way from becoming besties.
Mr. Meanie and I’ve silently called a truce.
He’s next to me, sitting upright in a lawn chair, beer in one hand, watching our adorables as they play tug-of-war with a tent.
“They’re gonna starve to death before they get the camp set up,” he observes.
“That’ll solve the problem.” He takes a swig of beer as Oscar grabs the canvas and wraps it around Henri, making her lose her balance.
“Oscar never acts like that,” he mutters. “Your kid’s makin’ him crazy.”
I don’t respond for two reasons. First, he’s right about Henri.
And second, it’s unnerving having Brody so close to me.
His scent makes my nostrils flare. He smells like pure male.
Not the unwashed sweaty kind, but the musky, masculine aroma that makes the pit of my stomach handspring around. I take a deep breath to steady myself.
Wanting to have sex with him is one thing, but the attraction is more than that. He challenges me at every turn, takes my shit and gives it back. His intense stare reaches inside me and breaks down my defenses.
Not good. I’ve made promises to myself that I need to keep.
Like letting go of my dream of happy-ever-after.
That means no man’s allowed inside my heart.
The ones I’ve let in try to bend me to their will.
They like me at first, but after a few weeks, try to tame me.
When they realize they can’t, they blame me for their shortcomings and run like they’re competing for gold in the 400-meter sprint.
It hurts, not the leaving part, but the blame part. It makes me feel insecure. And it’s not good for Henri either. She sees the failures of my relationships and takes it personally. In solidarity, she too hates men.
But it’s more complex than that. I need the intimacy that sex offers.
Lying in a guy’s arms after the deed is done, feeling his strength, feeling safe.
But I’m not a one-night stand kind of girl, so the alternative is to keep my relationships casual.
Any guy I’m with knows up front that he’ll never be invited over for dinner, never meet the kid and the whacko maternal unit.
He’s not allowed to think he loves me (because that’s delusional on his part).
We’ll never be in an exclusive relationship.
If he starts to wants more, I end it. If I start to want more, I end it.
That’s why I haven’t been with a man in a long time and when I mean a long time, I mean my vagina has cobwebs.
Brody gives me a side-eye glance. “You’re quiet.”
“Says the man who owns the world’s shortest dictionary.”
He snorts. “Says the woman who owns the world’s largest dictionary.”
I want to retort but my mouth is dry. He’s so virile, so solid, beautifully built, well-honed muscles, no fat anywhere.
And there doesn’t seem to be anything fake about him.
No bullshit. No pretense. I think about sex with him and feel myself flushing.
I know being with him would be the worst idea ever, but my girl bits want cock.
I bite at a hangnail as I watch him discreetly.
Casual sex would be a non-starter. He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy, and I doubt I could keep it casual for long.
He’s already met my kid, talked on the phone with my mom.
He’s still around, albeit under protest. It’s going to be a problem spending too much time with him so I have to solve the Henri-Oscar problem fast.
“Fuck!” he says suddenly as he bolts from his chair.
I watch as he runs towards Henri, scooping her up, bringing her back to me, and dumping her unceremoniously at my feet.
Oscar, in the meantime, is trapped in the canvas of the tent, a rope solidly wrapped around him so all he can do is shout and squirm.
Brody glares at me, then races back to his mummified son.
“How’d you manage that?” I say to Henri as she sits in Eight’s vacated chair.
“It was easy, really. When he wrapped me in the tent, I pretended that I was suffocating. So he eased up. which gave me a chance to shove the tent over his head. I kicked his feet out from under him and wound the rope around him so tight he couldn’t move.
I would’ve sat on his head, but his daddy came running. ”
I watch daddy as he fiddles with a knot in the rope. I wouldn’t mind sitting on his head. I look at Henri. “You could give him a break, you know.”
She shrugs. “He started it, called me a witch and threw the tent over my head.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “He called you a witch? That’s weird.”
“That’s what I thought. He usually calls me a BIH.”
The conversation ends as Oscar, freed from the canvas, barrels toward Henri so fast she can’t escape. He tackles her when he reaches her, knocking both her and the chair over and landing on her hard.
“Hey!” I shout without conviction as I juggle my beer to keep it from spilling. I watch them scrabble around in the dirt, pushing at each other, voices getting louder. No fists, hairpulling or biting yet, so I stay on the sidelines.
Brambles decides it’s playtime and joins the fray, rolling in the dirt with them.
Brody returns, grabs at Oscar and misses. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snarls, his angry eyes catching mine. He gets his hands on the back of Henri’s tee-shirt and pulls her away from Oscar. She struggles, screams and gets close to Brody’s balls with a hard kick.
I admire his quick reflexes. “What’s the worst they were going to do to each other?”
“Not the fuckin’ point!” he shouts as he continues to hold Henri while she struggles.
Oscar is on his feet now, fists clenched, red faced. “You butthole loser!”.
Brody glares at me. “No wonder your daughter is a nightmare. She has you as a mother!”
I jerk to my feet. “Henri has the right to freedom of expression,” I yell.
“Yeah, she’s independent, but why the hell shouldn’t she be?
” I take a breath as I yank her away from him and toss her next to me a little too hard.
She lands on her ass. “What makes you think you’re a better parent, you judgy, dead-eyed, tight-lipped hypocrite?
You just stand there and take it until someone rattles your cage. ”
Red-hot fury underlies his tone. “Unlike you and your daughter, thinking you can fuck with the world, thinking it won’t push back.”
“Yeah, sure, except Oscar has no problem bullying Henri.”
“In fuckin’ retaliation.” His eyes are hard and soulless. “She starts the bullshit, what’s he supposed to do, turn the other cheek every fucking time?”
If I wasn’t so worked up, I’d be afraid. “Maybe he starts the bullshit! After all, he attacked her with the tent first.” I clench my fists. I so want to hit him. “Maybe you should start raising your kid or give him back to his mother!”
“Don’t you go there, you goddamned bitch. You don’t have a fucking clue about my life.” He takes a step towards me, murder in his eyes.
Despite shaking inside, I hold my ground. “Says the wifeless prick.”
“One more word out of you--.”
“And what?”
“Dad!” Oscar intervenes like he’s the adult.
I swivel my head in his direction and see Henri next to him, frozen in spot, her eyes wide in shock.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Brody sucks in a breath as he eyes the kids. Then he turns his back and puts distance between us.
“Sorry,” I say to Henri. I might come home looking like I’ve been attacked by a lion, but I’ve never let the violence touch her.
My dad believed a good spanking and a lot of yelling would stop me from misbehaving.
It never worked, which meant there was a whole lot of punishment until he and mom split.
I wasn’t exactly traumatized by my childhood, but still, the day I found out I was pregnant I knew I’d never raise a hand against my kid.
Henri sidles close to me as she catches Oscar’s eye. “You’re dad’s as mean as you are.”
Brody turns and faces me. “I’m not like that, Fleming. I wouldn’t have hit you.” His voice sounds shaky.
I scrub my face because I was about to punch him. I’d be a hypocrite if I said otherwise. “It’s over and done with.”
“Yeah. It is.” To Oscar and Henri, he says. “Get those tents set up. Stop screwing around. Selkie and I’ll get some lunch on.”
Who put you in charge? I think but don’t say because I do have some survival instincts.
Oscar’s dead eyes move between Brody and me before settling on Henri. “Let’s go,” he says grimly.
Henri tenses but keeps her mouth shut, turns and stalks towards the tents. I’m proud of her constraint. And me too, for not telling both Brodys to fuck off.
Brody and I watch them for a moment as they pick up the tent and start working together, then I turn to him. “That was stupid. I don’t do that in front of my kid.”
“Yeah,” he says as starts setting up the barbecue.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned Oscar’s mother. Not in front of him.” I’m curious though about Brody’s reaction. “What happened to her?”
“None of your fucking business,” he says coldly without looking at me.
I’m hurt by his response, then remind myself that men do that. They hurt you. You start to like them and they treat you like you’re optional in their lives. I think of our fight. What he and I did in front of our 12-year-olds. No wonder they treat each other like shit.
We continue the set-up with clipped words and brevity.
But it gets done. Tents are up, lunch is served, then we all go our separate ways.
Henri and Oscar aren’t really interacting but they’re keeping their distance from Brody and me.
Brambles runs back and forth between them, then jumps in the bed of the truck.
Henri jumps in with him.
Oscar picks up some sticks and heads toward the shallow creek. Maybe he’s planning to build a dam.
I feel Brody at my shoulder, too close, but I can’t step away or I lose. “At least they’re getting along now. In solidarity I guess,” he says, extending the olive branch.
I think about taking it, trying to make peace with him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Then I’d start to want Brody and me to be a thing. And we can’t be a thing. It’s too risky for my heart.