Page 35 of Nutcracker with Benefits
I lay low for a few days, licking my wounds. The office is closed anyway, so I work from home, throwing myself into planning a coding event in January for one of our outreach programs for disadvantaged neighborhoods.
It’s the day before New Year’s Eve, though, and I’m supposed to be going to a big party with Craig and Uncle D. I’ve been thinking about canceling, giving my ticket to someone else. I’m in no mood to celebrate anything.
How could I have let things get so out of hand? My day with Clara was supposed to be fun and an adventure, not destroying our relationship.
Believe me, I’ve tried to talk myself out of loving Clara so often, but what I always circle back to is the way that she makes me feel.
And I’ve just made her feel like shit.
This was not how any of this was supposed to go.
I realized I was in love with Clara on a random Spring Tuesday. I hadn’t seen her in months, not since she came to New York in January for three days on a long layover, and we babysat the then-eight-month-old twins. I have no idea what possessed us to care for two crawling babies, but it had been hilarious and exhausting.
A few months later, Clara had messaged me a random picture of her with a baby on her lap while she was somewhere in Brazil and the message Aren’t they so much better when you can give them back?
I had looked at the photo and saw her with a baby that could have been ours—darker skin, a shock of black hair, and a toothy grin—and realized that my missing her was more than just as a best friend, more than just someone I slept with.
I wanted everything with Clara.
And now I’ve fucked it up.
See? My mood is sulky and morose with a dash of spiraling. I’m not fit for company.
Which is why I ignore the buzzer at my door. I wouldn’t have even heard it except that I was grabbing a cold beer in the kitchen before going back to my office.
But the buzzing is insistent, which means they’ve probably been buzzing for a while. If I don’t answer soon, they are likely to get in trouble with the doorman.
“Hello?” I say, pressing the button.
“Naaaassshhhhhh!” A tiny child’s wail comes through the speaker.
“Molly?” I ask, completely confused.
“And us,” Whitney says in the background. “Molly didn’t think you were going to answer and is having a meltdown.”
I shift on my feet. I can’t say no, either to Molly or Whitney. I push the button again. “Is Fritz with you?”
“Yes.” That voice belongs to him, and Molly’s wailing is slowly dying down. “Can we please come up?”
“Only if you promise not to punch me.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then I hear an oof, like someone’s elbow had an impact with someone else’s ribs.
“I promise not to punch you…as long as you don’t say anything stupid.”
“Seriously?” I hear Whitney reprimand her husband. “You can’t even be pleasant through the intercom?”
“He’s sleeping with Clara!”
“Cut it out with the patriarchal bullshit.”
Whitney’s voice is rising, and now I’m worried they’re going to get in trouble with security for an entirely different reason.
“I’m buzzing you up.”
I wait at my door, listening for the ding of the elevator. Molly leads the charge coming out, barreling toward my apartment, her brother holding Whitney’s hand and moving at a much more sedate pace.
“Uncle Nash!” Molly screams and barrels into my legs. I swiftly pick her up under the armpits, which makes her squeal, and I move us inside before my neighbors complain. “I learned a new word today,” she tells me, poking my three-day-old scruff.
