“I call her Monster.” I lie. I call her many things: Lilly Pad, Squirt, Munchkin—take your pick, all cute nicknames are fair game, but I’ve never, not once, called her Monster.

“Monster? This little cutie?” The girl studies us. “Noooo, not her!” She coos down at Lilly.

Lilly scowls, the cockblocker, popping a strawberry in her mouth and chewing sullenly. “Go away.”

Oh crap.

The girl tilts her head. “What did she say?”

Around a ripe berry, my niece repeats herself, loudly and clearly. “Go away.”

The girl startles, taken aback, clearly insulted. “What?”

As Lilly opens her mouth to repeat it a third time, I clamp my hand over her tiny lips to shush her. “Sorry, its been a really long day for her, she must be tired.”

PS: it’s ten o’clock in the morning and the mall has only been open an hour.

“Right.” The girl hefts her shopping bags. “Whatever. Maybe she’s a monster.”

“Yup. Just like I said.”

Without saying good-bye, the girl saunters off in a bit of a huff, long blonde hair flying—it’s most likely fake, wafting up around her as if static electricity has gotten ahold of it—tanned, orange legs carrying her farther away.

“Well, Lilly Pad, you scared another one off.”

As she gets older, she’s becoming more difficult to manage, especially now that she can string words together to make sentences. It doesn’t help that her grandfather is the coach of the wrestling team and takes her to practice—so she’s exposed to cursing and dudes with a lack of manners on a regular basis.

Then there’s the time she’s been spending with me, now that I’m back in town to manage the team, working side-by-side with her grandpa Joe. Her mom, Annabelle is still enrolled in school, so the poor thing spends way too much time being influenced by men; her grandpa, her dad—and me.

Cutest monster ever.

“We still have to buy me something to wear, little Missy. But first we have to find a bathroom and wash your mitts.”

She licks her lips. “Dis was good.”

“Looks like it. Can I have a bite?” I open my mouth and she unceremoniously jams an entire strawberry in my mouth, damn near choking me. “Shit.”

“Shit.” She repeats. It sounds like she’s saying sit, but I know exactly what she’s trying to say.

“No, not that word. Funcle Rex meant poopy.”

“Shit.”

“Lilly.” I crouch so I can look her in her beady little blue eyes. “Lilly Pad, should we get ice cream?”

Yeah, I’m trying to bribe her, but I know this kid; she’ll get home and curse a blue streak in front of her parents and I’ll get my ass chewed out for being a bad influence.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Her little head gives a nod, punctuating the end of her naughty sentence as if settling the entire matter.

Sit, sit, sit.

What a little turd.

“Okay munchkin, let’s go get you cleaned up. You’re giving me anxiety.”

She nods as if she understands what I’m telling her and I pick up the berries, paper wrapper, and chocolate chunks that have fallen off onto the bench. I don’t have any napkins, either, so my fingers get dirty in the process.

I go to scoop Lilly up, but think better of it, and have her hold my hand as we head for the family bathroom so I can wash her messy fingers and face. Make short work of that, and ask if she has to use the potty before heading back into the mall.

“Do you want to try sitting on the big girl potty?”

“No toilet.” She stubbornly squishes up her face. “Monsters.”

“There are no monsters in the potty, Lilly Pad.”

Another shake of her cute head, blonde hairs swaying. Man, she is too damn adorable for her own good.

“Should Funcle Rex check your diaper?” We’ve been here over an hour and I’ve given her two juice boxes—no way has she not pissed her diaper.

She crosses her arms and hmphs.

Whoa. So sassy!

“Fine. Walk around with pee in your pants,” I finally say, relenting, one fresh diaper stashed in my back pocket, just in case. Totally not worth arguing with a two-year-old over. I’ve been down this road with her before and I’m not going to win.

Even at my age, sadly, she has me beat when it comes to wit, determination, and stealth.

Lilly eyeballs me and I know she’s about to put her arms up so I’ll lift her.

“Come on squirt. Let’s get me a shirt.”

2

Hannah

Me: I’m not sure I can actually meet you this afternoon. I have a lecture to study for, the professor gives a quiz at the beginning and half way through every class.

Rex: That’s fine.

That’s fine? What’s that supposed to mean? I’m really getting sick of this guy being so agreeable; I googled him. I know his reputation as a Class A douchebag. So I’m really confused about why he’s so easy to get along with.

Me: So yeah. I know it’s last minute and I didn’t give you much notice…

Rex: It’s not a problem. Although, I think you’re full of shit and just coming up with excuses—which is fine. But just say you’re not interested in meeting, don’t feed me a line of bullshit about a class.

Me: It’s true! My professor DOES give two quizzes every class!

And he does. But it’s not a matter of urgency for me to study. Rex is right, I’m inventing an excuse so I don’t have to meet him tonight.

Rex: Good luck studying then.

Me: Thanks.

Rex: **thumbs up emoji**

I stare at that icon, guilt slowly seeping into the pit of my stomach—which is ridiculous, because I’ve never met this guy and he is a nobody to me. The thing is, I’m not an asshole; not really. Sure, I say some pretty stupid shit at some really inappropriate times, but I’d never intentionally hurt someone’s feelings or intentionally make them feel rejected or unwanted.

Fine. That’s a total lie.

In the past, I’ve told a few guys to fuck off to their faces and told a few others I wasn’t interested.

But Rex already knows I’m not—the point of this little get-together is for purely educational purposes. For me. So I can learn how to talk to a guy without pissing him off…learn how to be a bit sweeter.

You catch more bees with honey than vinegar, my Granny used to say. Too bad I’ve never taken her advice until now.

I click my messages with Rex closed, setting my phone down on the coffee table in front of me, prop my feet up and lean back into the cushions.

Who cares if I broke our plans?

It’s not like we’re friends.

Plus, the information I’d found about him on the web was less than stellar; his reputation sucks. People talk and people had plenty to say on the campus blogs about the former manager for the university’s wrestling team.