I skip the fact that upon seeing him for the first time, my jaw almost dropped to the floor. I wasn’t expecting him to be so handsome. After all, he is well in his late thirties, making that quite an age gap between us. Sometimes, I wonder what we would even talk about if we ever found ourselves in such a situation. He seems to be the grumpy type, which is exactly the kind of people I usually don’t like around me but there is something about him, something mysterious and brooding; something that I admit, keeps me up late at night.
I wonder about him. We all like to enshroud these mysterious people into realities where they don’t belong. He and I couldn’t be further apart, and yet, we share some parts of our realities together. That, in itself, makes him someone strangely relevant in my life, and as such, I can’t but not think about him. Those aren’t romantic feelings, but rather, it is my mind trying to decipher who he is.
“He’s very respectful and keeps his distance,” I add for my dad’s peace of mind, and I guess, for my own as well. If he were one of those charming types that flirts with everything that has a skirt, I doubt I would feel comfortable enough to work for him. I just don’t like that type and I don’t want to be around them. His desire to keep things professional at all times suits me just fine. However, it makes me even more curious about him, which isn’t all that good, but at least, that curiosity is under control.
“That’s good,” my dad nods, glancing out of the window to his left. The sun is illuminating his face, which looks far older than his years. I resist the temptation to reach over and caress his cheek. My heart breaks every time I come here, and I always spend a minute crying in the car as soon as I leave. It is just my way of dealing with the pain, with the heartbreak. Then, after that minute passes, I can go back to the usual grind and the goal I have set for myself.
We continue talking about mom and how she burned the last batch of cupcakes. He laughs. It’s the laugh that makes his eyes sparkle, because he remembers how bad mom is at making any kind of cakes and cookies, but she always keeps trying. That is where I get my persistence from, my mom and my dad.
We talk for a few minutes longer, then the guard informs us that we only have a minute left. I know what that means. It is just enough to give him a goodbye hug and then I go back to my car to cry for one minute. Sometimes, it is hard to keep the tears from flooding while I’m still hugging him. I don’t want to let go. Every time I touch him, it feels like it might be the last time. He smiles, kissing me on the cheek.
“Same time next week?” he asks with the heartbreaking hope in his voice.
“You know it,” I smile back, fighting back the tears.
As soon as I’m in my car, my eyes are flooded. I let the tears roll down my cheek freely. I need to get it out of my system, all that pain and heartbreak. Once I am able to inhale properly, I check my watch. It’s time to pick up Marley from school.
Chapter Two
Dominic
I check my Rolex, and it tells me I’m late.
It’s the first special thing I bought when the first big deal pulled through. I still remember the goosebumps, the feeling I never wanted to share with anyone. I was trembling with excitement as the old salesman with the look of a thousand sales in his eyes, started showing me the newest models. I remember thinking he might not recognize me as someone who could afford it, despite my Burberry shirt and a tailor-made suit by none other than William Westmancott himself. I still had a few doubts left, lingering in the back of my mind, but that old man didn’t. I have been a returning customer ever since, and this evening, yet again, that same watch told me I was late.
I promised Marley I wouldn’t be, but sometimes these meetings drag on endlessly. I grab my phone off the desk and rush out. There are a few people still left in the building. I nod to all of them on my way to the elevator, although I don’t know each and every one of them by name. I make a mental note to find out. Those are the kind of people I want to give the right incentive to. They’re the driving force of this company.
The traffic on the way home is unusually light and I manage to arrive sooner than anticipated. I unlock the door, smelling the pleasant aroma of spaghetti and meatballs in tomato sauce, Marley’s favorite.
As soon as I open the door, I see her at the end of the hallway. She is running towards me with her arms wide open. Everything fades away into the background of my mind at the sight of those blue eyes and dark, chocolate curls that jump around her face as she runs towards me. She jumps into my arms, as I kneel, unbuttoning my blazer so I can hug her more easily.
We remain like that for a few moments, and I inhale the tomato scent from her hair.
“You smell delicious,” I tell her. “Are you stirring that sauce with your hair?”
“No, silly,” she chuckles, her grin widening into revealing all of her still uneven little teeth, which makes them all the more cute. “Lilly and I are making spaghetti for dinner. We’re stirring with a wooden spoon.”
“Aha, a wooden spoon,” I nod importantly, as she releases me from her grip, and the moment she does that, Lilly appears behind her, drying her hands off with a kitchen towel.
Lilly has been Marley’s nanny for almost four months now. Initially, I was reluctant to have a stranger in our home, but I had to have someone look after her while I was at work. Helen, my late wife’s mother used to jump in a lot, but she’s an old lady as well, and she simply can’t take on such responsibility any longer. Things needed to change, no matter how much I didn’t want them to. When my wife Julia died, I felt broken. Completely destroyed. If it weren’t for Marley, I wouldn’t have had the strength to go on but, for Marley, I had to. And a part of moving on meant that Marley needed someone at home, someone who would help her and teach her, and make spaghetti with her.
“Good evening, Mr. Hart,” Lilly tells me, smiling politely.
She is wearing a pair of tight jeans and a light blue Levi’s t-shirt, most of which are hidden by the apron she has put on. Her dark hair is up in a high ponytail, revealing her prominent cheekbones and wide eyes. She never wears any lipstick when coming here, but that doesn’t make them any less plump and always that slightly dark shade of ripe cherry.
“Hi, Lilly,” I greet her, equally cordially.
“Marley was in the mood for spaghetti,” she explains.
“That’s fine,” I nod, as Marley takes me by the hand and leads me to the kitchen.
When we get there, the sight that awaits me makes me gasp silently. There are dirty dishes everywhere, and some of the pasta has somehow even managed to get onto the walls. It’s like a ???
“Holy hell,” I say, biting my tongue immediately.
“We’ll clean it up, daddy,” Marley promises, “but first, we’ll all have dinner.”