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I give Breanna a moment to comment, if she wants, about how she’s felt recently. I leave the open space there like a friend, ready to accept her thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be.
But Breanna just stares into her wine glass. Then, she puts it bottom up and drains down the last of her glass.
I immediately stand, pointing to where the bottle is on the kitchen counter. “Let me get you a refill.”
“No, I can,” Breanna says. She stands up, and I see her stumble with her first step. She laughs. “God, I barely drink anymore. Can you tell?”
I can, but I don’t want her to feel bad.
She pours herself another glass brimming with wine, then comes back, a bit more steadily. When she flops down, though, she’s a lot closer to me than she was before. I wonder if that was a conscious decision.
“I appreciate you hiring me, you know. I mean, I’ve never been a nanny before. All I’ve done is teaching, but I’ve never even held a year-long position.”
“I remember from your resume.”
She glances at me, like she’s trying to read my face, but I keep my face unreadable. “Well, I appreciate it anyway. You’re paying more than I could earn at a school, working with a classroom full of kids. And Jaxon,” Breanna flops her head back onto the couch with the jerky movement of someone who is struggling with death perception, “he’s just so sweet.”
The lingering awkwardness fades, replaced by a semblance of camaraderie as we start to talk about Jaxon, one of my favorite topics of conversation. I glance at Breanna, appreciating the resilience she's displayed in the face of adversity.
It becomes evident that she's not just here for the money; there's a genuine willingness to connect and make the best of the situation. And I see the love she has for Jaxon, which is one of the most important things in my book.
“You know,” Breanna says after we’ve both been quiet for a little while. “A lot of times, guys suck.”
I jerk back at this obvious parry in my direction. I feel like I’m being a pretty decent human being right now. “Why do you say that?”
Breanna shakes her head, but she’s not saying no. She just seems like she doesn’t believe herself for just admitting her thoughts. “I just… I was in that relationship for a long time.”
My interest piques, but I know not to press Breanna too hard.
She lays a hand on my leg, though, and even though she’s not touching my skin, just my pants, I feel an instant prickle of desire at the touch.
“Two years. You know, that’s a long time to dedicate to someone. And for that person to just… well, he didn’t take care of me the way he should have.” Breanna takes another gulp of her wine, then sets the glass down on the carpet and turns so that she’s sitting sideways on the couch and looking directly at me.
“That is a long time.” I think back over my history of relationships for a moment, trying to see if any of them have even crossed the year mark. Jaxon’s mother, unfortunately, became addicted to heroin around the time when Jaxon was born. I had to fight to get custody for him, and… I smile as I realize that my relationship with Jaxon might be the longest relationship I’ve ever had with a human.
Breanna starts rubbing my leg, like the fabric of my jeans fascinates her. But she stares at the dark TV across the living room. "It started out great, as they usually do, but over time, things changed. It became controlling, suffocating, and I felt like I was losing myself."
Her gaze meets mine, a flicker of resilience shining through. "I finally reached a breaking point where I realized I deserved better. It wasn't easy. Breaking free from that toxicity required a lot of strength and support from friends and family."
I nod, acknowledging the weight of her words. "It takes courage to walk away from something like that. I'm glad you found your way out."
Breanna smiles, a mixture of gratitude and triumph in her expression. "Yeah, it wasn't easy, but it was necessary. Life's too short to be stuck in something that makes you unhappy, you know?"
I raise my drink in a silent toast, recognizing the strength it took for her to make such a significant change. Breanna touches my arm as though she’s seeing it for the first time. “Did you know that you have such soft skin? Ohmygod, I can’t believe I just said that.”
She covers her mouth, but I just smile. Maybe if I was as drunk as she was, then I would be able to let down all of my barriers and tell her exactly what I like about her.
But it takes a lot to get me inebriated, and it probably comes from years of building up my tolerance.
I want to ask questions about Breanna’s previous relationship, but I keep my mouth shut and watch her hand as she strokes my wrist.
After a moment, she smiles at me. We aren’t that far apart, and I’m thinking about leaning forward and kissing her again. I want to touch her, to taste her.
She picks her glass up from the ground and takes another sip.
Was it really only this morning that we touched each other for the first time?
It feels like so long ago, and my body is already missing her.
