I can’t find anyone, I text Steph.

What about Bram? Is her quick answer.

What about Bram? I immediately want to dismiss it. First of all, the night is supposed to be an escape from Bram and if he takes care of Ava, I’m going to be worrying about her and, by default, thinking about him all night. I also don’t know if I’d trust him with taking care of a child, especially mine, especially a diabetic one.

I also don’t want to ask him for another favor. So there’s that.

I don’t think so, I text Steph. I’ll find someone else. Even though we both know there is no one else. I mean, I guess there’s Linden, but he’d be even worse than Bram in the irresponsible department.

I lean back on the couch and start going through my phone contacts while Ava plays with her dolls on the floor. I consider Penny, James’s girlfriend, and am just about to Facebook message her when I hear Bram say, “Nicola?” from out in the hall.

Great. I put down the phone and go to the door, opening it. He’s on the other side with eager eyes.

“Yes?” I ask mildly.

“I just heard from Steph,” he says. “I’d be happy to watch Ava tonight.”

Steph? That bitch!

“She called you?” I ask incredulously. I immediately run over to my phone, all ready to send her messages with expletives and shouty caps.

“She did,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “She said you’d never ask yourself but that you wanted a girls’ night out and couldn’t find a sitter. So, here I am.”

I don’t know what to say. But Ava says it for me.

“Bram!” she yells as if he wasn’t just here ten minutes ago. She runs around the couch and right over to him, throwing her arms around his leg. It’s so cute I want to vomit. And remembering what she had said earlier about Bram, I think I might just do that.

“Did Santa bring you?” she asks.

Oh, God, I think. Please stop there.

“Okay!” I say quickly. And loudly. Both Ava and Bram jump a little. “Okay, that would be great Bram, if you don’t mind,” I lower my voice. “I know it’s asking a lot. There’s just a few things I want to go over with you, about her, uh, situation.”

“Diabetes!” Ava yells, running back and forth between us, knowing what I’m trying to skirt around. “The special disease!”

“That’s the positive attitude,” Bram comments to her. He smiles at me. “Show me the ropes, mum.”

I eye him in askance. “If you keep calling me mum, it’s going to get weird.”

“Right.” He nods. “Don’t want that mistake to happen while I’m shagging you sideways.”

I gasp and place my hands over Ava’s ears until she laughs and squirms away. “Language,” I admonish him.

“The dirtier the better,” he says, loving it. “All she knows is we’re talking about carpets. Speaking of carpets…” His eyes drift down to my jeans.

“Bram,” I say sternly. “If you want to help, shut up and come here.”

I take him into the kitchen where I keep the insulin and supplies in a special kit. “I need you to really pay attention. This is serious. Got it?”

He says he does but he’s still got a bit of that smirk going on.

“Have you even taken care of a child before?”

His smirk disappears. “Of course I have.”

“Oh really?”

He frowns at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not as incompetent as you think.” There’s an edge to his voice that catches me off guard. It’s the same kind of vibe I got when I asked about his stupid socks.

“I hope you’re right,” I say breezily, trying to ignore the sudden change in him. But while I have his rapt, albeit tense, attention I go over the basics with him. “This is the blood glucose monitor.”

“The spindle!” Ava cries out, running over and watching us eagerly. “That’s the spindle where Sleeping Beauty pricks her finger.”

“Is that so?” Bram asks and it seems like he’s calming down a bit. Sheesh. I think I like the jokester a lot better. When Bram McGregor gets serious, he gets serious.

“It’s just a tiny pin prick on her finger.” I hold the device and slide in the test strip, turning it on. I then take Ava’s hand and prick her fingertip quickly and gently with it. She shakes her hand after like it hurts. It probably does but she’s so used to it now and she’s smiling at Bram like a big girl.

“Then,” I go on, showing him, “we look at the results. It says its 170, which is about right for her right now. The only time you’ll have to do it will be before she goes to bed. Then it should be around 100 – 180.” I take out the test strip and put it in the garbage. “Then you get rid of the strip.”

“And what happens if it’s not in that range?”

“You adjust her diet,” I tell him. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s just an ongoing thing really, making adjustments. I do the test about six times a day, some times more. She gets insulin injections three times a day, in the morning, the afternoon and then before she goes to bed. I just gave her one in the bathroom at IKEA but tonight before I go, I’ll give her the last one and show you, just in case.” Suddenly I realize I’m out of breath and I’m grasping at my heart.

Bram puts his hand on the side of my cheek, peering at me intently. The feel of his hot skin is steadying, even though I’m starting to have a minor panic attack. “It’s okay,” he says in a soothing tone. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sorry,” I manage to say, trying to breathe. “It’s always hard, every time I leave. I feel like I’m leaving her fate in someone else’s hands.”

“And you are,” he says, stepping an inch closer, his palm still cupping my jaw, his fingers gently brushing back my hair from my cheekbone. “But I’ve got this. You’ll go out, have fun, and then you’ll come back. She’ll be fine, she’ll be asleep and I’ll be going through all your photo albums.”

I somehow smile at that.

***

When seven o’clock rolls around, I’m all dolled up in a black cocktail dress suited for an episode of Mad Men, with red lipstick and 60’s hair piled up.

“Mommy, you look like a princess,” Ava says as she sits on the edge of my bed, swinging her legs back and forth while I put the finishing touches on my liquid eyeliner. “No, a queen.”

“Why thank you,” I tell her, smiling at her in the reflection. “Now, you behave for Bram, okay?”

“I will,” she says and I believe her. One of the many beautiful things about Ava is that she’s never been a bratty child. She’s always been polite and considerate and even when she has the occasional temper tantrum, she’s quick to stop and quick to learn from it. I certainly wasn’t like that as a child and sometimes I wonder how she’s turned out so good when our circumstances could be so much better. But then again, as long as she has food in her belly, a roof over her head and a mother that loves her, a child can’t really want for much. Except maybe some of those new generation My Little Ponies but that’s what Christmas is for.

Along with other things now, apparently.

It’s not long before Bram comes by. He brings himself a bowl of pre-popped popcorn, which I think is kind of adorable, and he nearly drops it the moment he sees me.

If it’s petty to have wanted that kind of reaction from him, well, I can I own up to it.

“You look fucking edible,” he says in this throaty, husky voice that makes me want to clench my legs together. The word edible from his lips conjures up oh so many amazing scenarios.

“That’s what I was going for,” I tell him, not even bothering to correct his swearing.

“So, you’re going out to hook up?”

I frown at him. “I never said anything about hooking up.” And why do you care? I mean, do you care?

I kind of want him to care.

“Sweetheart, when you go out looking like a bloody movie star, the kind that young boys put on their walls and wank off to inside of a sock, you’re going to be hooking up. You may not know it yet but,” he waves at me with his fingers, “you’re giving the fuck me vibe.”