—
It was stupid to get so excited. It wasn't like he was going to want to repeat the experience from last time. We hadn't talked about it since, not on the phone, not when we were texting, not anyhow. A pandemic had put a damper on my sex life, even if it had meant regular Friday night chats with Marshall. Plus, this time he would be here on business, not to mention that I had my kid for the week. I thought about getting a sitter, but that's not an easy thing to explain to a four-year-old. “Daddy’s friend is coming to town and Daddy has a lot of confusing feelings he wants to work out with alcohol and special hugs.”
Not that Marshall and I could do anything with her around, not really. Sierra was more visibly excited than I that Uncle Marshall was going to stay a whole weekend with us. They had only met once in person, but she had decided that Marshall was her “favorite boy,” except of course for me and whichever boyfriend she had that week in preschool. He’d started reading books over video for Sierra if she was with me when he called, and fuck me if that wasn’t the goddam sweetest thing ever.
“Is he going to sleep in my room?” Sierra asked from the backseat.
“No, remember how you helped me put sheets on the bed in the guest room? That's where he’ll sleep.”
“But,” she protested, “he could get scared. Uncle Marshall might be scared of the, uh, of the dark, and, um he can come sleep in my room.”
“Like you come sleep in mine? And I wake up with your stinky feet in my face?”
Sierra giggled and kicked the back of the passenger seat. “No, Daddy, your feet are stinky.”
“What? No they’re not!” I protested as we pulled into the passenger pickup area.
Most of the people exiting the airport still wore masks, so I looked for Marshall’s hair on top of every suit; that fluffy grown-out version of the cut he’d had the last time we spoke. I was starting to think he lost his luggage when a nearly-bald man tapped on the passenger window. Sienna screamed.
“What the fu—dge?!” I exclaimed before I registered the rest of Marshall’s face. He laughed as I unlocked the doors and popped the trunk.
“Didn’t mean to scare you, Sierra,” Marshall said as he shoved a rolling bag into the back. “I forgot to tell you that I was going to shave my head.”
My daughter clutched her baggie of cereal and stared at him as he rounded the side of the car to hop in.
“I wasn’t expecting Hitman 47,” I welcomed him.
Marshall’s chiseled jaw revealed itself as he repositioned his mask. “Hi there,” he said, thumping my shoulder lightly. My stomach flipped. God, but my friend was fucking handsome.
“Wow.” I reached over and brushed my hand over his head.
Marshall smiled sheepishly. “I got tired of styling it.”
Since video chatting with him two days ago Marshall had gotten a fade that left only a hint of dark hair on top of his head. He rubbed the shorn sides. “I’m still getting used to seeing myself in the mirror.”
I slapped his shoulder. “Looks really good, man.” What I meant was that he looked fuckable, but there were words that I wasn’t ready for Sierra to add to her vocabulary. My daughter was hiding behind a stuffed animal, playing shy now that she was facing her favorite boy. Marshall leaned around to talk to her.
“Sierra, what do you think about my new hair?”
Sierra roared at him.
“She’s a T-Rex,” I explained.
“Does the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex not like a tight fade?” he teased her.
She shook her head, smiling reluctantly when Marshall feigned heartbreak.
“Well, should I grow it out?”
She nodded in response, then apparently couldn’t contain herself as she blurted, “You look mean now. Like a bad guy.”
“Should I grow my hair long like your daddy?”
I touched the bun on the back of my head self-consciously. Did Marshall secretly hate my hair? He’d never said anything about it. Should I cut it?
“Daddy has pirate hair,” Sierra declared, shyness forgotten as she took my friend’s hand, “and you have bad guy hair.”
“Oh, so pirates aren’t bad guys anymore?”
“Some of them are bad guys and some are good guys doing bad things,” she explained confidently.
Marshall glanced at me. “Uh huh.”
I grinned as we exited the highway. “Sierra, can you tell Uncle Marshall the difference?”
It took only half the drive home for my daughter to remember how much she liked Marshall. She sang him a song from music class, offered her room in case he got scared (he politely declined), and pulled him outside to show him the succulent garden as soon as we reached the house. They talked through dinner to the point that I had to remind her to eat. She also insisted that Marshall be part of the bedtime routine, which involved a bath, two books, tooth brushing, and even demanding that Marshall be the one to take her to the bathroom to sit on the potty one last time. It was embarrassing to have my grown-ass friend dragged into potty training, but he was super patient and had clearly adopted some of the respectful parenting shit that I tried to do.
We shared a rye, just one finger with my fancy-ass ice spheres, before Marshall called it a night.
“I’m sorry,” he yawned, “but if I don’t sleep now I’ll fall asleep in the middle of my keynote.”
“Keynote speaker!” I toasted him with my nearly empty lowball. “My friend is a big damn deal.”
“A little damn deal,” he corrected me, “but either way. Bed.”
Even though I could have happily talked with him for another hour or five, I waved him away. If I was going to prove…if he could see…Marshall needed sleep and I should support him. It was the kind thing to do. I showed him the quirks of the guest bath and pointed out the towels and spare toilet paper.
“How worried are you about me clogging your toilet?” Marshall asked sarcastically.
I turned back to him at the doorway. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from dairy,” I replied solemnly, and Marshall swiped at me.
“Hey,” he said, changing the subject away from massive poops, “didn’t you say Jeron and Shayla had invited us over?”
I nodded, pleased that he’d remembered them, but answered, “They had an exposure at a concert, so they’re quarantined for another few days.”
“Oh. Hope they’re okay.”
“Yeah. Sorry we couldn’t go out; folks are not really concerned about safety here and I don’t want to bring Sierra into a restaurant.”
“All good. I feel kinda weird in crowds now. This conference is going to be a plunge into unfamiliar waters, so it’ll be nice to not be around a bunch of strangers at night.”
“I’ll bet. At least everyone is vaxxed, right?”
Marshall seemed so tired, braced on the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. At that moment I just wanted to give him a big old hug and a peck on the cheek. But his head followed me when I leaned in, so I ended up kissing his mouth.
He blinked. “Okay.”
“Sorry; shit. I don't know,” I stammered. Damn my impulsivity. “I wasn't really thinking. You looked exhausted.” Suddenly I could feel my heartbeat in my ears.
Marshall raised his eyebrows. “You kissed me because I look like shit?”
“No, it wasn't…I'm sorry. I made it weird. I was actually going for your cheek,” I finished lamely. “It's a dad reaction.”
He shook his head, yawning. “It's fine, Cooper. I'll see you in the morning.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Right. G’night.”
I couldn’t sleep for another hour. Marshall’s lips were so goddam soft.
Unfortunately for me, my daughter decided to crawl in bed with me well before my alarm and woke me with her wriggling.
“Sweetheart, can you show me how high you can count in a whisper?” I tried desperately.
Sierra was too excited for my clever diversion tactics. She got to twenty-eight before she tapped me on the face. “Daddy. Hey. Look at me.”
“My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, sweetheart.”
“Okay, I’ll go ask Uncle Marshall.”
I scooped her up before her feet could hit the floor. “If you leave Uncle Marshall alone I’ll let you watch—” I glanced at my phone “four whole Bluey stories.”
Sierra gasped. “Four?!”
“Go get your head phones, quietly.” The words were only halfway off before my daughter had scampered off. She returned moments later with a flying leap, knocking the headphones painfully against my face.
“Sorry Daddy! Can we, um, can we start with the, um, sheep dog one?”
—
“Look at Uncle Marshall in his fancy suit!”
Sierra glanced up from her cereal at her favorite boy. Her dark eyes widened; my company tries to be very chill and Silicon Valley, so she'd never seen a man dressed in a suit this early.
“You look like a businessman,” she told him in awe.
“Businessperson,” I corrected her.
Marshall laughed and kissed the top of Sierra’s head as he walked past. “Thank you. I'm a person doing business today.”
I couldn’t fault my daughter for being awestruck. Marshall had always been a handsome guy, but in a suit and tie he looked like a storybook assassin conjured up by a coven of horny moms. The only downside was that the jacket covered his ass, which was my favorite part after his face.
“Can Uncle Marshall take me to, um, to school today?” Sierra asked. What was this? A man wears slacks and suddenly I’m chopped liver.
“We both are taking you to school, because I'm driving both of you around,” I told the little traitor, tapping the table by her bowl so she would remember what she was supposed to be doing.
Sierra looked disappointed. “Can Uncle Marshall walk me to my class?”
Marshall snorted when I frowned. “I’d be happy to,” he said, “but your dad probably has to come, too, otherwise they'll think I kidnapped you. It's just for safety, because the school doesn't know me.”
“Because, um, because you have, um, you have bad guy hair,” my daughter said with a knowing nod. Sierra let us eat for a moment while she thought about that problem. “Daddy, can you tell the school that, um, Uncle Marshall is your friend?”
“How about we both walk you in?” Marshall suggested.
“No I, I want you to do it,” she replied, poking him in the arm.
Marshall looked at me for help.
“School rules, sweetheart,” I said, trying to sound sad. “I have to be there.”
Sierra pouted until we reached the parking lot. She was so proud to hold Marshall’s hand, dragging him into the school and introducing him to everyone she could. I signed in our guest with the front office and pretended not to notice when both the administrators came out of the office to get a look at my friend. Even with a mask on and no hair Marshall looked ready to steal your girl.
Usually my outgoing child greeted her teacher with a hug, but today Ms. Lambrusco received a high-five so that Sierra could keep hold of Marshall.
“Uncle Marshall is my daddy today,” she declared. “He’s dropping me off.”
Ouch. “Marshall is an old friend,” I explained.
“He’s my favorite boy,” Sierra added. Her teacher nodded encouragingly, giving Marshall an appraising look that made bristle a little bit. Calm down; she’s a nice person who happens to have eyes, I told myself.
Favorite Boy Marshall tried to help out. “I think your daddy stays your daddy all the time.”
Sierra shut that down real quick. “No, you're my daddy until you go home.”
“That's not how it works, sweetheart,” I said.
“Okay, you're both my daddy.” When she saw me about to protest she added quickly, “Josie has, um, two moms. It's normal.”
Her teacher sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “It is normal, that's true.”
I crouched down to Sierra’s level. “Josie’s moms are married. Uncle Marshall and me are not.” I could see my daughter’s mind working and interrupted whatever solution she was about to come up with. “Uncle Marshall needs to go to work. Show me you love me and get to class.”
I got a fist bump. Marshall got a hug, a kiss on the cheek, plus my daughter whispered something in his ear before she let him go.
“What did she say to you?” I asked as soon as we were out of earshot.
Marshall glanced at me, eyes crinkling. “She has life plans for me.”
“It’s just because you look like an ad for suits today. Even Ms. Lambrusco wanted some.” I made a pussycat growling noise.
“You’re full of…” he trailed off as he glanced at our surroundings.
I chortled as we signed out of the school and exited.
“Shit,” Marshall removed his mask to finish his sentence.
I pretended to brush lint off his lapel. “I’m not the one looking fly on a Wednesday.”
He knocked my hand away but smiled reluctantly. “This is how people with grown-up jobs dress.”
I shrugged, pulling my mask down. “If you want me to start calling you ‘sir’ I’ll do it,” I told him. “The power of the suit compels me.”
“Please don’t,” Marshall laughed.
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“Go away.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Cut it out, Cooper.”
“Sir, I can’t help it, sir! Related: you might need to drive because I’mma be too distracted by your fine self to watch the road.”
“Okay, you’re done.”
I managed to drive fifteen minutes to Marshall’s conference without changing the subject. I’d made him blush twice.
“Where’s my hug and kiss goodbye?”
“It’s at home with everything else I don’t need today.” He glanced at me and added, “Plus, you got one yesterday.”
Cute. “That was an appetizer. Now I want the full French course.” I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.
He laughed but gave me a funny look. “Coop, are you…hitting on me?”
I hadn’t thought of it in such deliberate terms, but yeah. “Like I said, the suit compels me.” He looked like he was about to dismiss me so I opted to push my luck. “And your pretty brown eyes. Them luscious lips. The jaw of a superhero. And your strapped bod. Those perky little nips hiding in your curly, lush chest hair.”
Marshall looked like a beet in a fine suit. “Okay, you’re done,” he laughed, embarrassed.
“And you’re so smart, and you’re caring, and loyal, and you got a good D.”
He got out of the car with a massive groan instead of a goodbye.
“And an ass like a Koosh Ball wrapped in steel. Everybody wants a piece!” I yelled through the open window. Marshall subtly flipped me off.
