"Let's go Philly," Juliette says, walking out of Ophelia's bedroom. She had on a white sweater and flared jeans. When she spotted me, she slightly paused—probably also trying to get used to the idea of me staying for the day. When I went over to my house, they made another excuse as to why I couldn't go back.
My appointment also got canceled—guy chickened out which I am very used to. I'm not an religious man nor someone who believes in the universe, but something wants me to live in eternal pits of hell—having to stay at this gorgeous woman's house.
"Ophelia is in a phase where she refuses to put jackets on, throwing a tantrum all the time. I'm letting her cool down before I make my next attempt," she laughs, and that smile. Fuck that smile is intoxicating. I want to drink it up like it is the most luxurious wine a man could get his hands on.
"I was like that," I joke. "My mother said that I would never want to wear pants as a kid." Now I'm slightly cringing at the fact that I just told this girl who I barely know an embarrassing fact about my childhood.
"You need to show me photos of that," she laughs, making me feel less embarrassed.
Well it's not that I don't really know her. Ever since breakfast, I spent all morning talking to her and learning everything I can about her. I know the basic things, her favorite color is mint green, has a birthmark on her shoulder that she always hides, favorite movie is The Godfather—part two specifically because she thinks it's the best series whose sequel is better than the first movie. She has been skating since she was six—begging her parents to let her skate after she got an ice skating Barbie for Christmas.
Then we got into the conversation about ex's and past relationships. I gave her brief details about mine—because truthfully, I've only had one significant relationship that I don't like to talk about. She told me about Ophelia's father. How they were friends since childhood, but when she turned seventeen they started dating. She moved to the same college as him, but he transferred when Juliette announced the pregnancy.
I'm not going to lie and say I didn't want to smash the plate that I was drying in my hands when she told me about the asshole of a man and father he was. A part of me wanted to find out who this man was and see him face-to-face, just to look into the eyes of the dumbass who would leave such a amazing—and slightly weird—child.
I brought up the military as well—which prompted the conversation as to why I didn't continue the family legacy. One thing I realized about her is that she speaks in movie references. She told me my family was like Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump. Which made me ask her if she actually finished the movie, and how I did not want to lose my legs. She found it funny, but also was very invested in hearing about the crazy stories I had from growing up on base.
"You are more than allowed to come with me," Juliette tells me, walking over to where I was sitting. "I don't want you just wondering around in the cold, and Ophelia is very attached to you, so it would be very mean to take her away from her new friend." She had to go to work, and I offered to just wander around the city until she got back.
I laugh, Ophelia has been very obsessed with me since I let her watch The Green Mile—with as few complaints and comments as possible. "I guess it would be very rude to do that. Sure, I will go." She smiles wide when I accept the offer. But then her whole mood shifts. It's almost funny to watch her become worried.
"Oh—" she stumbles a little. "Perfect. . . o..ok you n..need a jacket and...and a sweater maybe." She is running around as if I was another child she needed to take care of. I don't think she was expecting me to say yes, given the way her eyes widened once the impact of the words hit her.
Is. . .is she nervous around me?
"Juliette," I rasp, grabbing her arm as she began to run around. "I am a big boy who can get my own jacket." Her cheeks immediately flame, and I can't help the satisfaction it gives me.
She nods. "Yeah, you're right."
I make a mhm noise, before walking back to the guest room and putting on jeans and a jacket—kind of matching with her. When I get out of the room, I see Ophelia with a huge pink puffer jacket that seemed bigger than the child herself.
"Mommy said your going with us!" She couldn't even hold back her excitement as she runs to me, beaming in spirit and joy. Children are like little crack addicts and it's probably the funniest thing ever—and the cutest when it's this kid.
Juliette is standing nervously in the corner, until Ophelia is dragging her by the hand, more excited to go to work with her than Juliette is to actually go to work. "So do you drive or take the bus?" I question, looking away from Ophelia to the beautiful girl standing in the corner bitting her nails.
I wanted to rip her hand from her mouth, remind her she's not fifteen and this is not her first high school date. I wanted to remind her that we are both adults—and that I was thinking some very dirty adult things about her. But I was not going to be some creep and tell her that—especially given the circumstances.
But, when a man sees a very gorgeous and attractive woman, it's normal for them to catch feelings. But I am also not the type of be weird and make said person uncomfortable with remarks—no matter how close I believe we gotten within the past few hours.
It's called having respect; the bare minimum.
Automatically, when I was talking to her about relationships, I realized she was very different than I was. She wanted something that lasted—even though she explained to me the reason behind Ophelia's belief of midnight friends, as she also has casual hookups. But her goal is to find her soulmate. And me? I gave up on that after my last relationship.
"I take the bus, better for the earth," she tells me, finally emerging from her corner.
With one simple nod I give her, Ophelia puts her hand in mine—even though the sensation catches me off guard—I don't pull away. She drags us both with all the strength she can muster up. "She is a very interesting kid," I snap a glance at Juliette who is smiling under the nervousness.
"That's why I love her," she says under her breath.
>><<
"Theo you aren't doing it correctly!" Ophelia pouts, crossing her arms. We have been playing Barbie's for what feels like hours by now, and I don't think I can handle another second of this family drama between these two plastic dolls.
But I am pushing through, because Ophelia is probably the most entertaining kid I've ever met. "How about we draw, your mom put a bunch of coloring books in the bag." I desperately go digging in the bag Juliette gave me before she went onto the rink to teach one of her three classes of the day. She said it was full of snacks and entertainment for Ophelia to stay sane for the four hours that she takes teaching and practicing.
"Can I draw on your arm again?" Ophelia asks, her voice so innocent and whimpering that I am not sure I could reject her. My father would probably scold me for becoming so soft, but she looks so much like Juliette that I can't deny her.
"Fine," I groan, taking off my sweater, revealing the shirt I had layered underneath, the chill of the rink immediately hitting my exposed skin. I lifted up the short sleeve even higher so she could get my shoulder tattoos as well. Obviously, she goes for her favorite one, the skull—somehow adding hearts for eyes in bright pink marker.
"She looks so much like you," one of the ladies who has been watching—who I'm guessing—her kid practicing in Juliette's class, came over to me. She had her obvious mom grin, clutching the large tote bag she carried on her shoulder.
"Oh thanks but. . .she isn't my daughter," I say awkwardly, giving her a fringe smile. She made an O shape with her mouth, nodding slowly. Ophelia was in a whole other world, humming a tune in her head as she drew on my arm.
The woman probably became weirded out after the awkward staring, simply nodding as her exit out of the short conversation. Ophelia looked up at me, laughing with a demon smile. I cocked my head back, blowing out a breath.
Ophelia continued like that, once she was done laughing at my awkwardness. She moved down from my shoulder to my elbow—where I had a snake tattoo. She colored it green, doing more detail than she did earlier now that she has more time. Juliette's class finished shortly after Ophelia started drawing the snake.
Juliette took a break while a new group of parents filed in, taking seats around us. She took a sip of water, and fixed her hair—all while my eyes were fixed on her. Everything she did was with grace, if it was demonstrating how to do the cool spins, or if it was here gliding smoothly along the ice. Or simply, just readjusting the ponytail on her head.
All of it was with so much poise and perfection, like I could watch her repeat those moves for hours and never lose fascination. "Mommy's really pretty," Ophelia perks up, looking in my direction.
I probably look like a cartoon character with there jaw on the floor and heart eyes bulging. "She really is," I whisper. She wore leggings under her jeans—taking them off before entering the rink—and leg warmers over her skates. She had on the prettiest pink top. I could stare at her for hours. She looked as if she belonged in an art museum.
"You like to stare a lot," Ophelia mutters, concentrating on my arm again. I wanted to explain to her that it is ok to stare at pretty things.
If you told me last week I'd be sitting in an ice rink, with a toddler drawing bright pink hearts on my skull tattoo, while staring at the most gorgeous girl in the world—I would have double over laughing at you.
But right now, I'd ask you to pinch me—because none of this feels real. She is surreal.