Chapter 10
The bus ride home chugs along with a new quietness. I don’t cram myself toward the window, and when the bus hits a pothole, and our knees brush up against each other, a jolt of energy surges to my groin. I don’t pull away, and neither does he.
“That was quite an amusement-filled afternoon,” Olan says, facing forward.
“Yeah, it was fun.”
“I haven’t had that much merriment in a long time,” he says. Who talks like this?
“I’m glad you came.”
I turn to him. He faces me, pulls his lips in slightly, and nods.
“For Illona, I mean, I know she was thrilled to have you here,” I say and pray he believes me.
* * *
Back at school, with only a few minutes until dismissal, Jill and I scramble to get all the children back inside, packed, and ready to go. Both Mrs. Schroeder and Olan come back to the classroom. Teddy grabs his backpack and lunchbox, his mom waves, thanks me, and takes him to the office to sign out. Olan plants himself on the rug, helping children with zipping and attempting to fit various items not designed to fit inside tiny backpacks by shoving with all his might. Watching him surrounded by children, playing whack-a-mole, trying to help each of them, I’m overtaken with a sense of affection. For my friend. We’re friends. Just friends. But if he’s trying to receive a good grade from me, he’s exceeding the standard.
The intercom spits to life, Jean’s voice announces pickups, and Kristi pokes her head in. I dispatch most of the class with her, leaving only Illona and Ricky.
“Ricky, I’ll walk you down in just a minute.”
I look at Olan. “You can take her and sign her out whenever you’re ready. Or you can walk down with us.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you something. Would you mind if I wait here for you?”
Gulp. So, there’s a reason for his lingering. As if on cue, Jill strolls by with her pickups.
“Mr. Block, I’ll gladly take Ricky down for you. Come on!” she belts, putting her hand out for Ricky and smirking at me.
And it’s just the three of us.
“So, my question for you…” Olan resumes.
“Shoot.” I mime shooting him with my right hand in an attempt at humor, but he only stares at my hand and tilts his head.
“I’m not sure if you’re available or if this is acceptable, but would you consider watching Illona Friday evening? I’ve kind of found myself in a pickle?”
Oh. He wants me to babysit. Visions of me laying on my stomach in a bedroom with three tween girls as the fourth and gayest member of the Baby-Sitters Club flash in my head. Teachers do this all the time. Sandra, the preschool teacher, works with a family regularly, and three years ago, I watched two little boys, one of whom was my student, a few times so the parents could have some date nights. But what about Cindy? Isn’t the whole point of having a nanny not to need a babysitter?
“Um, sure. I mean, I think I’m free Friday night. Yeah, I could do that,” I stumble out.
“Are you sure? No pressure, but you’d be a lifesaver. I wasn’t sure who else to ask.”
“No, really. I’d love to.”
“I’ll text you the address.”
“Oh, I have it in her file. I mean, I can look it up,” I reply, not wanting to let on how I already curiously mapped his address on my phone.
“Perfect. How about six? Does that work?”
“Yeah, I can do six.”
Olan asking me to babysit confuses me. On the one hand, I’ll get to explore their house and maybe scope out his bedroom once Illona goes to sleep. Not in a creepy way, in an oh-this-is-where-you-sleep way, which sounds a tad sketchy, now that I think of it. Maybe I’ll skip Olan’s bedroom.
I relish Illona. Yes, she’s sweet and funny, but she also has a tenacity I always admire in children. She’s in a new city and school, surrounded by new people, and yet each morning she skips in with a smile ready to have the best day ever. Spending a little time with her outside of school would be wonderful, but, as Illona’s babysitter, I’d officially be paid for my services by Olan, and friends don’t pay each other for helping each other out. I could make up an excuse and cancel, but he’s clearly pressed and wouldn’t ask if he didn’t have to. I’ll just refuse if he tries to pay me. Doing this for Olan isn’t a big deal, so why should I make it one?
* * *
Checking my phone for the address, I ensure I’m in the right place and ring the bell. The house overlooks the ocean and rests in one of the most scenic spots in the city. Three stories, to take advantage of the view, there’s an abundance of glass, with no shades drawn. On the top floor, what appears to be a bedroom and sitting room has the best view in the entire house. It’s hard for me to imagine how much a house like this costs because I can barely pay the rent on my minuscule apartment, but I’m clearly entering a place that doesn’t come cheap. These are the homes you walk by and think “how can anyone afford to live here?” And yet people do. Olan does.
“Mr. Block, come in, welcome. I’ll go get Illona.”
Cindy, not Olan or Illona, greets me at the door. She wears a long periwinkle dress and taupe high heel shoes, with her hair swooped up into a messy bun that looks anything but unkempt on her. The exquisite makeup on her face is another clue about why I’m here, and my ribs grow tight with the clarity of the situation.
I step inside to wait. It’s one of many houses I passed on my walk over that made me wonder who would need all this space. There must be multiple bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs. The entire downstairs is open, with a modern kitchen as the centerpiece and a living room, dining room, and den (with a large television) combined. You could fit four of my one-bedroom apartments in this downstairs space alone. Suddenly, I regret not letting Jill Google him. Between the full-time nanny and this house, I can’t help but think that was no lemonade stand he sold.
Olan glides down the long stairway that’s off the side of the living room. Tonight, he wears a navy cable-knit sweater, gray slacks, and deep brown loafers. His hair stands up in all the right places, and he wouldn’t be out of place in any men’s catalog or one of my fantasies, and oh crap, I’m staring.
“Marvin, welcome. Thank you again for doing this. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your assistance.”
We. And there it is. I feel like a complete dolt. It’s not like me to take friendliness for flirting, and yet here I am.
“Illona is upstairs putting her pajamas on.” He approaches me with an outstretched hand. I put mine out to shake it, but he grabs it and pulls me into a handshake/bro-hug combo I have no idea how to carry out, so I let him lead. Continuing to grasp my right hand, his left wraps around my shoulder, and he pulls me in for the embrace portion of the greeting. I squirm and attempt to mirror him but end up patting his back like I’m petting a stray dog on the street. In such close proximity, all his smells, the coconut, the cherry, his skin, electrify me. Even with the awkward start, my chest expands with comfort being this close to Olan.
As I fidget away, Cindy reappears at the top of the stairs, now with Illona clasping her hand. They trot down the stairs together, never dropping hands and humming a song together until they approach the bottom and Illona spots me.
“Mr. Block! You’re here!”
Before I can speak, Olan interjects, “Yes, princess, remember, Mr. Block is going to stay with you while Cindy and I go out for a few hours.”
As the overplayed hip-hop duo Tag Team sing, “Whomp There It Is.” With that one sentence, my fantasy of Olan sweeping me off my feet, stealing me away to a Mexican resort – where a gorgeous young waiter brings us frozen drinks but Olan comforts me with “Oh Marvin, you’re way more my type” – and we lounge by the ocean all day while I put sunscreen on his rippling back are dashed. In stereotypical fashion, the ridiculously handsome single straight dad is dating his equally stunning, on the younger side, nanny. I’m slightly embarrassed I ever thought this exact outcome wasn’t inevitable, but here I am. Deep breath. Moving on.
Plucking my backpack from my shoulder and unzipping it, I reveal the goodies I smuggled in for my time with Illona.
“Illona, look what I’ve brought.” I procure each item from my bag with a flourish as I announce it. “Popcorn… Swedish Fish… Shrinky Dinks… and The Very Hungry Caterpillar . For your bedtime story! When is bedtime?” I ask Olan.
“We usually do a story at eight and then lights out,” he replies.
See, I can do this. I can spend the evening with Illona while Olan and his sultry nanny go out for a romantic evening together. No problem.
As I’m bent over chatting with Illona, Cindy and Olan are watching and, honestly, looking rather chummy. The two of them are dressed to the nines, like they could be going to a concert or trendy awards show. And then there’s me in a comfy hoodie, joggers, and backpack. I’m the teenager coming to babysit for the hot parents heading out for a date night. Except double the age. And the dad in this set of parents makes my insides jiggle like jelly. This is my version of hell. Feh!
“Well, Illona’s had dinner, and it appears you’ve brought provisions. That was kind, Marvin. You didn’t have to do that. Illona, listen to Mr. Block, have fun, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He lifts Illona into his arms, and I swear the fabric on his sweater lets out a little scream as he flexes to raise her. He gives her a goodnight kiss and gently puts her down while Cindy grabs their coats.
“We should be home by ten. If you need anything, just text.”
“Got it.” I smile and nod, trying my best to hide my awkwardness.
As they glide out the door I entered through only a few minutes ago, Olan gently puts his hand on the small of Cindy’s back, turns to give me a small wave, and pulls the door shut. A consummate professional, the click of the door reminds me to focus on Illona.
“Have you ever made Shrinky Dinks?”
“Um, I don’t even know what those are.”
“You are in for some wild fun tonight, my friend.”
Illona and I head to the kitchen for some Shrinky Dink shenanigans. I’m unsure if I can fully explain the gorgeous fanciness of this kitchen. Where the kitchen in my apartment is beyond basic, and the dishwasher doesn’t work and probably never will, this looks more like a place a cooking show might film. The number of buttons and lights overwhelms me. The stove has eight burners. Eight. Who needs eight burners? I barely use one on my small compact stove. What army does Olan prepare food for? Two stove doors confuse me as one appears smaller than the other, and I can’t understand why. Then again, why two stoves? Eight burners and two stoves. Does he cater events on weekends? My brain insists on torturing me because now I’m picturing Olan whipping up a feast for me wearing a crisp white apron and nothing else.
Turning our attention to the Shrinky Dinks, Illona and I set up shop on the enormous granite kitchen island. I’ve brought a collection of animals, and Illona chooses a unicorn, horse, and cat. Not to be left out on the fun, I work on a lovely butterfly. To complement our story, I attempt to match the colors of the illustrations. Our treasures baking in the oven, we feast on popcorn and candy. Filled with anticipation, Illona twirls in front of the oven as I click the light on so she can watch our creations shrivel up.
“They’re shrinking!”
Illona watches gleefully as the colored plastic animals wrinkle and writhe in the oven. Much like my heart when Olan left with Cindy. Even though seeing the two of them together felt like a punch in the stomach, spending a little one-on-one time with Illona is a wonderful consolation prize.
At eight, we head upstairs so she can brush her teeth.
“I don’t need any help,” she instructs, so I sit on her bed with the book and wait.
Illona’s bathroom is attached to her bedroom and has a large tub, way bigger than a small child would ever need. The wallpaper has purple and pink peonies and somehow appears both juvenile and sophisticated. Her room, about three times the size of my bedroom, is a lighter shade of purple, and multiple unicorn, horse, and kitty stuffies join Noelle on her queen-sized bed. Small twinkle lights are tacked onto the ceiling, and it’s not hard to imagine any small child loving this space. Heck, I’d move in and never leave.
On her bedside table, a framed photo of Illona with both her parents rests. I’ve never seen her mother, and naturally, I’m curious. The woman in the picture has long sandy blonde hair pulled away from her face and hazel eyes that sparkle, just like Illona’s. She’s stunning, which given Olan, doesn’t surprise me. In the photo, Illona appears to be about three, and everyone smiles and appears connected when this moment was captured.
“Ready!” She sprints into the room, jumps onto the bed, and scurries under her pink pastel comforter.
One of my all-time favorites, Illona knows The Very Hungry Caterpillar well from class. I hoped she would read it with me, and as soon as I begin, she joins in. We giggle at the caterpillar eating all the junk food, and she nestles into the space between my arm and chest as we finish the story.
I close the book and Illona instinctively scoots down and lays her head on the pillow. I’m still in my spot and Illona says, “Mr. Block, can I ask you a question?”
“You know, outside school, you can call me Marvin if you want.” I should have offered this earlier, but given our evening together, it’s a no-brainer. Her eyes open wide, and she lifts her shoulders, and I know she’s fond of the idea.
“Now, what’s your question?”
“Okay. Do you think the butterfly misses being a caterpillar?”
“Hmmm. You know, I never really thought about it. I bet he misses eating all the yummy snacks.”
“I’d miss the cupcake and the ice cream.”
“Well, I’d miss all the fruit. And the chocolate cake. Okay, mostly the chocolate cake,” I add. “But, no, I don’t think he misses being a caterpillar.”
“Why not?”
“Well, even after he changes into a beautiful butterfly, he’s still the same on the inside. He’s been the butterfly all along, he just wasn’t ready to grow yet.”
“Yeah, that makes sense,” she says, and I’m not sure if I’ve gotten too philosophical. “Thanks for watching me, Marvin,” she says with a yawn.
“Thanks for letting me. Goodnight, Illona.”
“Good night, Marvin,” she whispers.
Illona snuggles Noelle and, witnessing how ferociously she loves her stuffed kitty, I think of Gonzo asleep in my apartment, waiting for his dad to return. I know having a cat isn’t the same as having a child, but being here with Illona, spending some quality time with her, and putting her to bed, I understand the fuss over being a dad. Nothing would make my mother happier than having a grandchild, and sometimes I think I want that, but I’m not sure I’d enjoy doing it alone. Being a single parent seems incredibly difficult. Maybe I need to cut my mother a little slack.
I turn the lights off, leaving Illona illuminated only by the sparkly lights above. As I close her door, leaving it open a few inches, I contemplate what to do with myself for the next couple of hours. At least a modicum of snooping is expected. Jill directed me to investigate. Not wanting to be a total creeper, I’m going to look in rooms but refuse to open any drawers or medicine cabinets. That feels fair. Getting a vibe for the space works for me but looking at Olan’s personal items crosses a line.
There are many doors up here, but there’s one room I’m most curious about. I head down the hallway, and doors have been left open, making it easy to glance inside. The first door next to Illona’s bedroom appears to be an office. A large white desk wraps around the entire corner of the room, filled with computers, printers, and other technology I’m unable to identify but that appears as if it belongs in a home office.
At the end of the hallway, I poke my head into a room, and if I were a betting man, Olan’s bedroom lies in front of me. Why a single person needs or wants a king-sized bed is beyond me, but Olan’s bed, covered with a deep brown blanket with orange and red accents, invites me. I carefully sit on the edge of the bed and take it all in. A deep cedar dresser rests opposite the bed, with a large television on it. Photos of people I don’t know, but I’m assuming are friends and family, decorate his bedside tables. One looks like it might be his parents and brothers, based on the resemblance. The size of this house and high-end furnishings has piqued my curiosity. I need a distraction because my mind begins to wander off to a foolish place where I might belong in this bedroom.
I lounge on the bed, fish out my phone, and shoot Jill an SOS text.
Marvin: Guess where I am? Lying on Olan’s bed. Call me.