Page 33

Emily Bond

Sort of Seeing Someone

“Harry fucking Potter?”

There he stands, donning an oversized black cloak with a satin interior.

A maroon scarf with golden-yellow stripes is draped around his neck.

Round glasses without any lenses in them encircle his pretty eyes.

He’s got a fake wand in his right hand, and a plastic pumpkin bowl with a handle in the other.

By all accounts, Olrik Zetterlind is ready to make Halloween his bitch.

“It was the last costume in my size left on the shelves at Target. Don’t judge.”

“I’m not. But the lightning bolt scar on your forehead is backwards FYI. Come on in,” I finally say.

“And what are you going as?” he asks as he follows me to the giant sofa in the living room.

I say nothing, but rather glance down at my outfit: black leggings and an off-the-shoulderblack sweater.

“Well then good thing I got you a costume, too,” he says back.

“You shouldn’t have,” I sarcastically say.

From inside his cloak, he procures a witch’s hat. With a flick of his wrist, it goes from a flat circle, to a brim with a pointed top.

“Oh, wow. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Come on, Moonie! Let’s have a little fun.”

Wait. The engineer is telling the woo-woo girl to have a little fun?

“Plus: a wizard and a witch. Has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

I grab the hat from Ollie and put it on. I’m not sure how long it’ll stay on considering the forecast calls for wind and storms later, but I figure it’s polite to show him I appreciate his thoughtfulness.

“Hottest witch I’ve ever seen,” he says, looking around—presumably for Charlie and Matteo.

“They’re outside playing soccer.”

“In that case…”

Ollie leans in and puts a sweet little peck on my lips. I secretly hope it turns into more when all of the sudden I hear Matteo come stumbling through the back door.

“Auntie Moo-Moo?”

“ Auntie Moo-Moo?! ” Ollie echoes like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

“Yeah? What’s up, buddy?”

“Um, who’s that?” Matteo asks as Ollie comes into frame.

“It’s my friend I told you about. The one who is going trick-or-treating with us. Remember?”

Matteo gives Ollie a death stare. I’m impressed that a kid this young has already perfected such a good Resting Bitch Face but then realize immediately heinherited it from his mother.

“What did you need, little man?” I ask, hoping to snap him out of the dagger glare.

“Charlie broke his foot.”

“Charlie broke his foot?” I repeat back in utter shock—not of the actual potential broken bone, but the nonchalant manner in which I’ve been informed.

“Yeah, I tripped him when he was trying to dribble passed me and now he can’t walk.”

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Ollie.

“I’ll come with,” he offers.

We follow Matteo out to the backyard where sure as shit, Charlie is on the ground crying and clutching his foot.

“You okay, Charlie Bear?” I ask as I bend down and take a look.

I feel his ankle, it’s swollen and bluish, but nothing appears to be dangling—thank god.

“Well, the good news is: I think it’s just a bad bruise. But the bad news is: this means no trick-or-treating.”

“What?! NOOOOOO!” both boys shout in unison. At that, Matteo joins Charlie in crying.

“There’s no way, guys. Charlie can’t walk. That’s essentially what trick-or-treating is—non-stop walking for three hours.”

“Not necessarily,” interjects Ollie. “Who says you have to walk to collect the candy?”

“What are we going to do? Rent a golf cart and drive from door to door?” I volley back.

“There’s a Radio Flyer wagon right there,” Ollie points out. “And a Home Depot on Ashland Avenue. As long as you guys are okay with a last-minute costume change, I think I have an idea. What time does trick-or-treating start?”

“In an hour,” I tell him.

“Perfect! I’ll be right back.”

I bring the kids inside and turn on The Nightmare Before Christmas . The classic film distracts the boys while Charlie ices his ankle and Matteo enjoys the last moments of sulking in his Buzz Light Year costume before we pivot to whatever Ollie has in store for them.

Ollie returns a half hour later and goes straight into the garage where Esteban keeps his tools.

I hear the sound of a power saw and some hammering.

I can deal with a bruised ankle, but I don’t know the first thing about treating a sliced off finger.

Whatever he’s doing in there, he better be careful.

“You guys ready to see your costumes?” Ollie says from the doorway into the attached garage.

The boys turn their heads around so fast, I can practically hear the whiplash. Admittedly, I’m just as excited.

Ollie wheels the wagon in from the back door.

It has effectively been transformed into a garbage truck.

Sheets of plywood have been painted in the same colors as the local waste management company, down to a mini-sized version of their exact logo, and both pieces have been adhered to the sides of the wagon.

He then hands Matteo a neon worker vest and a matching hard hat, along with a pair of utility gloves.

“Matteo, you’re going to be the garbage man. Your job is to hang off the back of the wagon and when we arrive at a house, you’re going to hop off, run up to the door as fast as you can, and get the candy.”

“What about me?” Charlie asks.

“Glad you asked, buddy,” Ollie says. “You’re going to be…

the garbage. And you’ll get to sit right inside the wagon, which is the back of the garbage truck, as we pull you from house to house.

No one will even suspect you’ve got a bum ankle.

They’ll just assume you’re expertly playing the role of… trash.”

He hands him a clear garbage bag filled with actual junk. In it, I see a crumpled KFC bag, empty Starbucks cups, some tissue paper, crushed soda cans, and more.

“THIS. IS. AWESOME!” Charlie screams.

Charlie is elated. I’m horrified.

“Don’t worry, this was all from my car. It’s clean. Well, as clean as garbage gets, I suppose. You’re bringing hand sanitizer, right?”

I locate the nearest container of Purell—seeing that this is Nora’s house, that’s not far—and hold it up.

“Perfect! Then I think we’re all ready to get into costume and hit the road. What do you think, garbage men? Are you ready to get a little dirty?”

The two of them let out squeals of excitement at an octave that only kids can achieve, and I am officially grateful that Ollie has saved the day. Now if only he could do something about the weather. Here’s to hoping the skies stay dry until we all come back with at least ten pounds of candy.

It’s 8:30pm by the time we’ve sorted through the candy and put the boys to bed.

I’ve changed into plaid pajama pants and anoversized t-shirt, while Ollie has lost the novelty cloak for a spare pair of grey joggers he kept in his trunk.

The backwards Harry Potter scar has also since been washed away.

“It’s just you and me now. They’re officially asleep,” I tell Ollie as I join him on the couch in the living room.

Normally, the boys don’t go down this easy, but all the walking combined with fresh air, combined with the steep fall of an intense sugar high, has rendered them near comatose. I am not complaining.

Ollie puts his arm around me. A giant bowl of popcorn (with a few M&Ms mixed in) is nestled between the two of us as we watch the cult classic Scream . A bolt of lightning flashes in the sky. It’s all so very spooky.

“I’m not sure I properly thanked you,” I say.

“For protecting you from murderers making prank phone calls in silly ghost-face masks?”

“No, for saving Halloween. I was this close to calling things off with Charlie’s bum ankle. But that little engineer brain of yours kicked in and got us back on track. A garbage man and a bag of trash? Genius.”

“I have to confess I did do a quick Pinterest search when I got to Home Depot and it was either that or ‘a toilet and fart cloud’.”

“Well, either way, you pulled it off in record time. Can I at least pay you back for supplies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Rigging the wagon probably brought me more joy than it did them, let’s be honest.”

“And let’s not forget,” I add. “Far more difficult than rigging the wagon is winning the boys’ hearts—which you did. They can be stubborn little shits, those two.”

“And how about you?”

“I guess I can also be a stubborn little shit.”

“No, I meant, with the whole…winning the heart thing.”

Who would have thought the buzzed prick watching soccer by himself at Tin Lizzie would grow to be concerned with winning my heart.

“Getting there,” I say with a smile. From a man who loves precision, I’m fine keeping the secret: he’s about there already.

A few seconds later, a loud boom cracks across the sky and suddenly the house goes from warm and cozy to dark and silent.

“Umm, what just happened?” I ask with a hint of fear in my voice as I put my hand to my chest to slow my startled breath.

“Looks like we just lost power,” Ollie says calmly as he turns on his phone’s flashlight. I follow suit to brighten up the pitch-black living room. “Does your sister have a back-up generator?”

“I don’t know,” I respond. “I can text her and find out?”

“Nah, that’s okay. It would have kicked on by now if she did. Do you know where the circuit breaker box is?”

“Downstairs. It’s in the laundry room on the left.” I’ve washed enough loads of the boys’ dirty clothes to confidently know the answer to that one.

“Okay, I’m going to go tinker with that. Maybe you can check on the boys and then try to round up someflashlights?It’s best to preserve the batteries on our phones in case this isn’t a quick fix. Meet back here in five?”

I nod my head yes in response to the marching orders. His abilitiesto problem solve and instill calm are incredibly sexy. I know a power outage is nothing crazy, but for some reason I feel so safe with Ollie right now as the wind whips branches against the window and raindrops pound the roof.

A few minutes later, Ollie surfaces from the basement and rejoins me on the couch.

“We’re at the mercy of the power company. But, never fear. I called and reported the outage.”

Of course he did.

“Did the boys wake up?”

“Negative,” I say.

“Good. And how about the flashlights? Find any?”

“Also negative.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.”

“But,” I say, with noticeable of optimism. “I have a box of Moon Batch candles and a lighter.”

I lean over the table and begin to light a variety of different sized and shaped candles.

“Oh god,” he grumbles. “It’s just such a fire hazard.”

“Plenty of people have lit a candle in a storm and lived to tell about it,” I remind him. “Just relax, it’s okay. I promise.”

Now, it’s my turn to instill calm.

Just then, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Nora.

“My sister just told me to check the sump pump, whatever that is.”

“Done and done. Tell her all dry.”

Again, I’m not at all shocked as I type my response to Nora.

“Oh, great. And now she just told me that they’re going to the bar for a nightcap until the storm lets up,” I say, recapping the latest incoming text. “Esteban doesn’t want to drive in the rain.”

“I checked the weather app. I think it’s going to be pretty bad until at least midnight,” Ollie says.

“So we’re alone til then?” I ask.Somehow, Ollie looks even more attractive amidst the glow of a few candles.

“Well, as long as the boys don’t wake up,” he says, moving a bit closer to me.

“They won’t,” I attempt to convince him.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Was…that a guest bedroom that I saw downstairs?” he asks.

“Mhmm.”

“Maybe we should double check it’s not taking on water?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

I hand Ollie a candle and tell him to lead the way.

I can tell he likes being in charge, so I happily follow him down the stairs. But the reality is I need a moment of privacy to quickly reapply the anti-vision spray just in case we end up touching palms if things...escalate.

Once properly coated and in the basement, I shine my phone’s flashlight at the ground.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, requesting his expert opinion. “Are the floors getting wet?”

“ Moonie , there’s only one thing down here that I care gets wet—and it’s not the floors.”

Oh, HELLO.

Whatever sweet peck he put on my lips earlier tonight has now officially been replaced by a passionate, deep, tongue-filled kiss, as his mouth melds into mine. He runs his strong fingers up and down my back as I throw my arms around him, holding as much of him as I possibly can gather.

The next thing I know, he scoops me off the ground and lays me gently on the guest bed.

The fact he still finds me sexy amid a ratty old t-shirt and pajama pants two sizes too big is exactly why I will re-up the cock block spray every single time, no matter how much it costs or how labor intensive it is to make.

Tops and bottoms come off the both of us as we’re sure to be extra quiet. Somewhere in between the kissing and caressing, he’s put on a condom (side note: where did that come from?) and there’s no discussion about what happens next because it’s completely, and entirely meant to happen.

He enters me and I can’t help but think that for as different as we are, we just fit.

We fit in every sense of the word. A few silent thrusts later and we both climax in a way that feels like we got what was ours.

Still, not a sound from the upstairs bedrooms as we slowly catch our breath and get dressed.

“I don’t know what’s in these candles of yours,” he says. “But I’m starting to think you’ve put a spell on me, Moonie Miller.”