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Sure enough, when I get home Amanda and Daisy are passed out on the sofa, surrounded by giant stuffed animals. Amanda's snoring drowns out the Paranormal Ice Road Truckers still playing on TV.
I throw a couple of blankets over the kids and look for Brian.
The fish, not the man. Brian the Man drove to his own house after dropping me off at mine.
I found Brian the Fish lazily swimming in a large mixing bowl on the kitchen counter. Note to self: buy fish bowl. And fish food. What else do fish need? Buy fish owner manual.
Why didn’t the carnival operators give us fish food? Do they feed the fish? How can they feed the fish when they’re trapped in knotted plastic bags? I’m now frazzled about goldfish.
I’m frazzled about a lot of things tonight. Mostly about Brian.
The man, not the fish. The drive home was more awkward than I would have liked. We had the windows rolled down and the radio turned up. He rested his arm on the back of the passenger seat. It had felt like he was resting it on me. I kind of wished he had.
As I was unbuckling my belt after he pulled up in front of my house, he reached to pull me in for another kiss. It was quick, but nice.
We said goodnight and that was it.
I wanted to invite him in. He knew his daughter was in my house, sleeping over with Amanda. I should have asked him if he wanted to say hi. Check on her. Something.
I remind myself it’s fine, that I will see him again soon. Probably tomorrow. Maybe I’ll walk Daisy over in the morning. Maybe he’ll come over in the morning to pick her up. Maybe—
My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Brian the Man: “Knock knock.”
He couldn’t just knock? Guess he didn’t want to wake the kids. I almost text back, “Who’s there?”
I quietly open the front door to Brian’s smiling face. I smile back. I half expect him to ask to come in, to talk, to say anything, but he just thrusts his hand towards me, a simple black bag in his grasp.
“It’s Daisy’s things. Toothbrush and stuff. I knew she’d want it in the morning. Surprised she didn’t go home to grab it herself.”
“Oh, great, thanks.” I take the bag. “Yeah, guess they really were exhausted.”
“Yep.”
Brian’s hands are in the pockets of his cargo shorts. I’m staring at his cargo shorts. “Um.”
He chuckles. “Well, I should probably go shower. That log ride water is more chlorine than water.”
“Ha. Yeah.” Brian turns to go. I don’t want him to go. I panic. “They put Brian in a bowl. Not a fish bowl, but, a bowl.”
He turns back. “Oh? Good. Maybe the girls will go get some proper fish supplies tomorrow.”
“Yeah. We, uh, should probably take them to get these supplies.”
“Definitely. And the pet store is right by the fishing and boating supply store. Saves me a trip.”
I smile nervously. “Do, um, do you want some coffee? Decaf. Or maybe tea. I think I could use some tea.”
Brian’s eyes go wide for a second. He smiles. “Yeah. Sure, buddy. Thanks.”
Internal screaming. The good kind of screaming. With jumping, and confetti.
We decide on tea. Chamomile. Amanda forced me to drink it after previous encounters with Brian. Claimed it would calm me down. It didn’t, but I told her it did.
“This is nice,” Brian says after taking a few sips. “Have you ever brewed it from the actual flower?”
“Uh, no.” Because chamomile is a flower. I totally knew that.
“Yeah, you put the flower in the tea pot, it looks kind of dried up, and then you pour in the hot water and it sort of blossoms. You let it brew a while. Daisy’s all about the herbal teas. She’s pretty determined to turn me on to the stuff instead of coffee.” He takes another sip.
“Is she succeeding?”
Brian laughs a little too loudly. He quiets himself. “Nah. Black coffee until I die.”
We both laugh a little too loudly.
When we finish, Brian takes the tea cups to the sink and rinses them. I toss the tea bags into the trash.
“Oh, you don’t compost them?” he says.
I stare at him. “Compost? The tea bags?”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him more. “I compost… uh… things. But—”
“I read somewhere it’s fine to do it with tea bags. Just not the paper tabs and staples.”
Huh. I retrieve the tea bags and find a plastic bag to designate as the compost bag. I am going to start a compost pile. Note to self: read up on starting compost piles.
Brian’s half-sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter, watching me as I decide where to put the compost bag. I place it next to the trash under the sink for now.
As I’m closing the cabinet door, a hand falls on my shoulder. It gives a light squeeze.
I stand up to see Brian smiling warmly. He looks tired, but content.
His hand lingers on my shoulder for a few seconds before drifting up to cradle my jaw.
It’s another awkward move for both of us, but we move in to share another kiss. His mouth tastes like flowers. The kiss lasts longer than it did during the fireworks at the carnival. Our tongues touch.
His beard tickles and scratches, but I don’t mind. I reach to cup his face, to hold him to me for more kissing.
A noise from the TV room makes me jump and I pull away from Brian. I wait for more noises, for the scuffling feet of a tired daughter wondering what all the commotion is about in the kitchen, but the house falls silent. I walk into the TV room and with the ambient glow of the kitchen light I can see that the stuffed animals won at the carnival have shifted, most of them fallen onto the floor.
I stifle a chuckle.
A warmth pulls in behind me. Brian is reaching an arm around, holding me to him. His chin rests on my shoulder.
“They okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
Warm breath and a beard tickle my neck. I hear Brian inhale.
Is he smelling me?
“We should shower,” I murmur, mirroring his earlier sentiment, but, you know, including myself in the smells-like-a-carnival-ride predicament. “I, uh, I have a shower,” I continue. “Pretty big.” I swallow hard. “Big enough.”
To be fair, Brian smells more like a campfire than a log flume, but I am prepared to lie and suggest that he very much needs a shower. With me. Because I smell, too. Very badly. Yep.
Brian backs away, but is holding my hand. He has a huge smile on this face when he says, “Lead the way.”
Okay, in all seriousness, our clothes reek. I give Brian my oversized bathrobe and find some clothes for myself, and throw the dirties in the wash. We’re practically giggling as we trot to the bathroom, naked, me praying the kids don’t see us.
And we shower. All business. I’m a little shy at first about revealing the rest of my Dad physique in the bright bathroom light, but Brian’s unabashed comfort with his own nudity relaxes me.
Later, clothes in the drier, Brian and I share a bowl of cereal. Okay, two bowls of cereal. Big bowls. Dad-sized bowls, with Dad-sized spoons.
With all the excitement that happened at the carnival, despite being hungry to the point of – what is that word Amanda uses? Hangry? Anyway, I’m absolutely ravenous, and Brian admits that he’s getting hungry too. We eat in relative silence, still trying to not wake the kids.
Brian looks good in my bathrobe.
“Would it be…” I stop myself, wondering if I should ask the question I want to ask. Brian looks up from his mound of cereal mid-chew. His eyes are wide, and even though he’s chewing I can see that he’s smiling. I continue. “Would it be weird if you… stayed the night?”
I immediately stuff cereal in my mouth.
Brian finishes what’s in his mouth and swallows. He lets his spoon settle in his bowl and stares at the colorful, totally, absolutely nutritious cereal. He scratches his beard. He holds the end of his spoon between finger and thumb and lets it go again. He looks across the table at me.
“Nah,” he says quietly. He looks again at his cereal. “Not weird for me, anyway.” He looks at me again. “Would it be weird for you?”
My spoon is in my mouth. How long have I had the spoon in my mouth? I take the spoon out of my mouth and stick it in the bowl. I stare at the bowl. “No. Not weird for me. But, you know, the kids. Maybe.”
We stare at each other for a minute.
“They’re smart kids,” says Brian.
“Yep.”
“They probably saw it before we did.”
“It?”
He smiles. “You know. Um.” He moves his hand over the table back and forth between our cereal bowls. “This.”
I stuff more cereal in my mouth. I nod. “Yeah. Probably.”
And Brian just smiles, and finishes his cereal.
We brush our teeth. I had a spare toothbrush to give him. Daisy could have used it. He probably knows that. This whole “She Forgot Her Toothbrush” thing was a ploy. A dirty, rotten ploy. I narrow my eyes at Brian as he spits into the sink.
I thank all that is holy in this world that I had tidied my bedroom recently. I even vacuumed.
I rock.
The window is open and a gentle night breeze wafts in. I close the door. Brian takes off the bathrobe. Is he going to sleep in the nude? Would anything else I own fit him? He’s huge.
I look down. It’s too dark to see much. Still, I look away.
Brian sits on the bed, which I made. Hotel corners and everything.
I absolutely rock.
Brian looks up at me. His mouth peaks in a gentle smirk. “Which side do you sleep on?” he asks.
Such a gentleman.
We settle into the bed, miraculously each claiming our preferred sides, sheet pulled over us. Brian raises his arm in an offer for me to cozy up to him. I do. He’s incredibly comfy. And he smells like my bodywash.
Brian leans forward, kisses my forehead, and turns off the light.
After a few minutes of me paying more attention to the fact that I’m using Brian as a pillow than actively trying to fall asleep, I’m jostled a bit by Brian’s slight movement. He clears his throat.
“You okay?” I ask.
He hums. “I bet I can be quieter than you.”
What? What is that supposed to mean? Is he insinuating that I snore? Because, if so… he’s right.
I attempt to say something. “I. Um.” I think more on his words. “Oh.”
Brian shifts again, moving his arm from around my shoulders. His elbow is propped on his pillow and his head rests against his hand.
In the near-dark I can just make out the hint of his smile. I start to grin. “I am the quietest of all Dads," I say. "Super quiet. I dare you to prove me wrong.”
Brian chuckles and moves over me, the sheet sliding off his torso. He grins wildly and says, “Challenge accepted.”
. . . . . .
It’s morning. My stomach is growling and I’m alone. Did I dream last night, or did it actually happen?
My bathrobe is hanging on the back of my closed door. Brian’s side of the bed looks like it was made up, somewhat.
Groggy and light-headed from hunger, I put my robe on over my nightclothes and shuffle into the kitchen. I immediately smell coffee. Wonderful, life-saving coffee. Someone’s made it strong.
There’s a mug set out by the pot. My mug, the one with the ironic phrase that I bought at that goth store. On clearance.
I pour myself a cup and shuffle my way to the TV room.
Amanda and Brian, each holding mugs, are laughing at something happening on the TV. Daisy, sitting next to Amanda, is busy petting her corgi Maxwell.
“Uh, morning everyone,” I say as I’m standing at the room entrance. “Where… did Maxwell come from?”
Daisy looks up. “Oh, I woke up late last night and realized Dad was here, so I went home to check on Maxwell and brought him here. Is… that okay?”
I laugh through my nose. “Uh, yeah. It’s fine.”
I get to pet a dog first thing in the morning. Excited internal screaming.
I look over to Brian, whose face is beet red. He’s embarrassed, I guess. “Everything okay?” I ask him.
He shoves his mug in front of his face and takes a big sip. “I, uh….” He takes another sip. “I forgot to feed the dog last night.”
Brian looks over to Daisy. He’s clearly ashamed.
Amanda and Daisy don’t seem to notice. Amanda’s enraptured by the TV and her coffee. Daisy’s petting Maxwell in that special place you pet a dog to get it to kick its leg super fast. She’s giggling.
I laugh and walk over to the couch, and sit on the floor in front of Daisy. I reach behind me to give Maxwell a pat. Brian looks over to me and smiles. He still looks ashamed. I raise my mug to him in Dad Solidarity.
I’ll make up for being a distraction to him later.