Sitting Desire

“Eric, did you finish your homework?”

Small dark eyes peek out from behind the wavy locks that fall into his eyes.

“No.” It sounds more like a question.

Thankfully, this kid is honest to a fault. The day Violet first catches him in a lie is when she’ll be afraid he’s turning into his bitch of a mother.

“And why not?” Violet asks.

“I need help,” he says quietly. The shame in his voice etches a crack into Violet’s heart.

“Then you ask.” His babysitter sits down next to him at the kitchen table and pushes his honey-colored hair out of his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help, okay? Everyone needs it sometimes.”

Eric nods and pulls a folder out of his backpack. While he shuffles some papers around, a ruckus comes from his younger brother on the other side of the couch; car honking and crashing noises as he plays with his Hot Wheels.

“Johnny, are you hungry?”

“No!” comes the response in between fake automobile sounds.

Eric’s small, freckled hand slides a piece of paper in front of Violet, and her sapphire eyes give it a once-over. It’s no surprise that it’s his reading homework again. He often gets embarrassed about being behind the other kids in his class, despite the number of books stacked up in his room.

“Okay, we got this,” Violet tells him as she scoots her chair closer to his, the vinyl floor squeaking below them. “Oh, I know you know this word.” Eric stares at it, brow pinching in concentration. “Come on, sound it out.”

“D…dif.” Eric pauses to let out a sigh. “Differ. Differen. Different. Different!”

“You got it!”

A smile brightens his round face, and Violet lovingly wraps an arm around his shoulders. He looks so proud of himself, and the warmth in her heart spreads throughout her body.

Johnny abandons his toys and walks over to the table. Even though she has been watching the boys for over a year now, Violet still gets shocked at how much Peter’s youngest son looks like him. He’s a miniature Peter, only with blue eyes instead of brown. Johnny rests his head against the girl’s shoulder, and she wraps her free arm around his shoulders.

“What’s up?” Violet asks.

“Bored.”

“Bored? You were just playing.”

“Now I’m bored,” Johnny says. And so it goes with this precocious five-year-old.

From the other room, the front doorknob rattles, and both boys’ heads whip towards it. Johnny’s gone from Violet’s side before Peter even has a chance to set one boot inside the threshold. He’s expecting it, though, and swoops his youngest son up in his arms as he steps fully inside.

“Hey, what’s up, rugrat?” Peter asks. He kicks the door closed behind him and manhandles Johnny until the little boy is upside down.

“Ahh! Daddy! Put me down!”

“You sure? Okay.” Peter holds him over the couch and drops him on his back onto the soft beige cushions. There have been many times over the course of the boys’ lives that Peter has wondered why they went with a beige couch. It looks more like an art exhibit these days.

Peter kicks his oil-stained boots off next to the door and tugs the hair tie from the back of his head, setting his wild curls free. The ends just brush against his shoulders. Dark blue coveralls still adorn his legs, the arms of the jumpsuit are tied around his waist, and his plain white t-shirt is smudged with dirty fingerprints—all his own.

“Hi, Daddy,” Eric says, front tooth missing, making a cute smile even more adorable.

Peter presses a kiss to the top of his head as he walks by, pressing a teasing one to Violet’s next, and shoots her a playful smirk as he passes by the table to the fridge. Violet knows he’s only messing around, so she asks herself why her cheeks flame up as much as they do, as if it’s some great mystery.

“How was work?” She asks, looking back down at Eric’s homework. Maybe if she untucks the curtain of red waves from behind her ear, they will hide the even redder face.

“Same old, same old,” Peter says. He walks over to the table, pops the cap off a water bottle, and chugs down half its contents in one go. The way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he drinks catches in Violet’s peripheral vision. Her heart feels like a metronome that’s steadily being cranked up.

“How’s work for you?” Peter asks.

“Pretty good,” Violet says, finally brave enough to raise her head again. “You saved me, though, because a certain little someone told me he was bored.”

Peter rolls his eyes and turns to look at where Johnny’s head is peeking over the back of the couch.

“Bored? Again? Really?”

Johnny shrugs and runs around the couch to launch himself at his dad. Peter catches him with one arm, not spilling a drop of water from his bottle in the other. The effortless strength he has is both impressive and sexy—only one of which his job as a mechanic actually requires.

There have been a handful of times where Violet’s had to take her beaten-down Hyundai Sonata over to Goldman Mechanics for one of its persistent issues. Each time she’d managed to be there while Peter was working—a coincidence, she’d swear to anyone. Peter’s tall, lean frame bent under the hood allowed her eyes to take their time and scan over a side of her boss that she doesn’t usually get to freely gawk at. Once Peter had been on a creeper under a car, his legs spread, and old, worn boots planted firmly on the concrete garage floor to keep him steady. The mental image of him on his back, the occasional grunt of effort coming from beneath the minivan, flooded Violet’s mind with so many dirty thoughts that the associate at the front counter had to call her name four times to get her attention. It would be a lie to say that Violet never considered sabotaging her own vehicle.

Eric tugs on Violet’s sleeve and points down at his homework again, breaking the spell his father had unknowingly put her under.

“Right,” she says, shifting in her chair to look down at the second-grade worksheet.

“I can help him with his homework,” Peter says. Violet lifts her head and shoots Peter a smile that she hopes doesn’t look as dazed as it feels.

“It’s no problem. Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway.”

Johnny lets out a war cry as he hangs onto his dad’s arm, his little legs kicking dangerously close to Peter’s crotch.

“Watch the goods,” Peter warns him.

The fierce blush on her face forces Violet to look back down at Eric’s worksheet and try desperately not to think of said goods. It’s not as if she hasn’t thought about them practically every day since they met—or every night, more accurately.

“Enormous!”

“What?” Violet’s head jolts up to look at Eric, cheeks turning from pink to red, and eyes wide.

“That’s the next word! I know this one!”

Letting out a deep breath, Violet sees that the next word on the page is indeed “enormous.”

“Very good,” she tells him, doing her best to keep exasperation out of her tone.

“I know it ’cause it’s in my favorite book,” Eric tells her with a proud smile on his face. Thankfully, Eric isn’t like his little brother, who likes to point out when Violet’s pale face changes colors.

“You’re such a smartie,” Violet says as she ruffles his hair. His little legs kick back and forth under the table, and his tongue pokes out of his lips as he looks at the next word on the paper. Both boys have the same habit of sticking their tongues out just slightly when they’re concentrating, just like their father. It’s frustratingly endearing.

Eric is able to sound out most of the remaining words on his own, only needing help twice with some compound words. He happily puts his homework away, excited to show his teacher how well he did tomorrow.

When he goes off to play in his room, Johnny following behind him, Violet stands up and grabs her bag off the counter. Peter’s leaning against the doorway in the kitchen, and Violet’s eyes catch the clock over his shoulder. It’s become a habit for her to have a mental countdown to when the banshee comes home. Usually, Vanessa’s back by now. Violet realizes the thought must’ve caused her to make a face. Either that or Peter can read her mind—which she really hopes isn’t the case.

“Said she’s working late,” Peter says.

“Mm.” It’s the standard noncommittal hum the babysitter has unconsciously adopted whenever the matriarch of the household is brought up. Peter’s explanation is bullshit, and they both know it. Violet doesn’t trust herself to say anything about Vanessa without insulting Peter’s wife to his face, so she keeps her mouth shut, not even letting out another hum in acknowledgment.

“What do you want for dinner tomorrow?” Peter asks, pushing off the wall.

“Anything as long as you’re not cooking it.” Violet’s quip and teasing smirk have Peter knocking his shoulder into hers as he walks past.

“Oh, you’re so funny,” he says dryly as he opens the fridge and grabs a beer.

“Whatever the kids want,” Violet answers his original question.

Peter snorts as he opens his bottle. He turns back to her, and her eyes involuntarily track the beer up to his lips and the way his throat contracts when he drinks. She tells herself she really has to stop staring at him when all he’s doing is taking a damn drink.

“They’ll eat anything, you know that,” Peter says once he’s taken a sip. He makes no comment on the look Violet gives him, either too unobservant or too polite. “You’re a pickier eater than they are.”

Violet scoffs and reaches out to swat his arm, making him chuckle.

“I am not,” she argues. He raises his eyebrows and sets his beer down on the counter.

“So, should I pick up sushi on the way home from work tomorrow?”

“Oh, come on,” Violet whines. “That’s like, the one food I don’t like.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “I’ll leave money for pizza, then.”

“I can afford a pizza, Peter.”

When the two had first met, Peter had almost winced when she called him “Mr. Floyd.” He’s just been Peter ever since.

“You’re not paying for a pizza my kids are going to eat most of,” he says. “Bad enough you’re working outside of your usual schedule.”

“Peter,” she says, taking a step towards him. “I’m your babysitter. It’s literally my job to watch your kids when you’re not going to be home. My schedule is whenever you need me.”

Her boss gives a skeptical look.

“It’s a Friday night, you should be going out,” Peter says with a shrug.

“I could’ve said I was busy and I couldn’t watch them. But I wasn’t, so I am. Besides, it’s your anniversary.” At this, Peter gives a quick roll of his eyes, which Violet politely ignores. “I wasn’t going to just bail on you. And it’s not like I had a date or plans with friends or anything.” She thinks she imagines the spark of something in his eyes at the word “date,” but secretly hopes she’s not.

“Which is ridiculous,” Peter says. “Don’t understand how you’re not constantly hanging out with friends or dating or stuff.” He shrugs again and takes a step closer to her. “You work too hard. At school and work.”

“But I’m passing my classes,” she says. What she doesn’t tell him is that she’s turned down multiple invitations to hang out with friends, to go to frat parties, and even go on dates, because she’d rather watch Eric and Johnny just to see Peter for those brief moments before he leaves and when he gets home. She’s never admitted that to anyone because she knows it’s pretty pathetic to be so enamored with the father of the kids you babysit.

“Of course you are,” Peter says. He smiles and reaches out to tug on a lock of red hair hanging down around her ear. “You’re ridiculously smart. Can be anything you want to be.”

Your wife is her immediate thought before she mentally smacks herself. He’s married. And celebrating his anniversary tomorrow. Even if his wife is a cheating, lying bitch.

“I’m working on it,” Violet says. Speaking of which, she realizes she has a paper due tomorrow. So, she should probably leave, as much as she really doesn’t want to. “I should head out.”

“Okay,” Peter says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You will.”

Peter walks two steps ahead of her to the front door, and Violet grips the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles turn whiter than usual. It’s not fair, this effect he has. It’s maddening.

“Get home safe,” Peter says as he opens the door.

“Thanks.” Violet gives him a small smile as she steps outside. “Bye.”

“Bye.”