Cinderfella

by Xavier Neal

  With a crooked smile I nod, “I can do that.”

  She stands up and I grab her an old white t-shirt and a pair of clean boxers, thankful I did laundry recently. As soon as they are in her hands I open my mouth to explain where the bathroom is when she starts kicking off her shoes.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Changing,” she hums in return. Before I can insist she changes in the other room, her top is off and I'm staring at a perfect pair of tits propped up in a black bra. My dick starts to swell at the first pair of boobs I've seen since this sick, sad, internal vow of celibacy. Knowing I should look away, I swallow the lump of excitement from just the glance of her like this. Gianna places a hand on her hip. “You're staring.”

  “You're fucking gorgeous,” my mouth mumbles all on its own.

  “Thank you,” she replies and slides my t-shirt on covering the blindingly beautiful sight. “For both compliments.” Confused I tilt my head to the side until she points to my package.

  I turn on a groan and adjust my hard on. “Sorry. It's been awhile...”

  “How long?”

  Pulling off my own shirt, I give her a sideways smile over my bare shoulder. “Thought we agreed to save all the hard hitting questions until the morning?”

  Gianna rolls her eyes and begins to unbutton her jeans. I drag my eyes away before the sight of her in a thong undoes years of self-restraint in seconds. Focusing on myself, I grab a pair of basketball shorts off the floor and change into them. When I’m finished I turn around to see my girlfriend, leaned against the dresser in my clothes, making me long for something I know that's not a real possibility.

  “So…bed time?” She questions pointing to the space on the other side of Mak, who has rolled over, her bear in a choke hold and her thumb in her mouth.

  “I actually have some math homework I need to do, but you can crash if you want.”

  “Well since we have the same math teacher, why don’t I just do my homework with you? They were just book problems right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Swiftly she yanks up my backpack and dangles it in front of me. In a playful tone she says, “First, theater partners. Now Math partners. Wherever shall we end up next?”

  I know she's just being playful, but I can't keep myself from wondering the same damn thing.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, I’m rudely awakened to the sound of banging on my bedroom door and a rattling door handle. Through my own groans I manage to force myself to sit up, stretch for a moment, and glance at both Gianna and my daughter who are still sleeping. Rubbing the sleep out of my eye, I manage to smile at Mak, who was nestled between us, and the way she's curled into Gianna like this is how we wake up every morning. Another harsh banging has them stirring and me moving quickly before the sound ruins everyone's morning.

  I unlock and open the door to see my mother with a livid expression. On a yawn I bite, “Can I help you?”

  “Why the hell is your door locked?” she snaps her coffee cup in a death clutch, nails clinking the sides.

  “Safety,” my raspy voice comments. Unexpectedly, she shoves the door and exposes the view I woke up to.

  “And who the hell is that?” My mother raises her voice. “Is that a girl in your room, Connor?”

  Gently nudging her forward to shut the door behind me, I state, “I don’t really feel like talking about this right now.”

  “Oh we’re going to talk about this right now,” she bites bitterly. “In the kitchen now.”

  Annoyed, I follow her into the kitchen where I immediately go to the washroom to grab Mak something to wear.

  “Why is there a girl in your bedroom, Connor?”

  “Why was Paul here yesterday?”

  “Don't change the subject!” Tossing around clothes I search for something more spring friendly than her jeans she complains are too hot. “Why is there a girl in your bed?”

  “She spent the night,” I nonchalantly answer pulling out jeans for me and a short sleeve sweater dress for Mak. Knowing she'll probably need leggings to go underneath, I start digging again. “Now why was Paul here?”

  “No.” Her heel covered foot stomps the kitchen floor. “This conversation isn't over. What the hell makes you think you can have girls sleeping over?”

  Not in the mood to start my day this way, but having no choice, I toss our clothes over my bare shoulder and lean against the kitchen counter. “I’m gonna go with the fact I’m eighteen—”

  “Exactly Connor! You’re only eighteen!”

  “Yeah. Eighteen carrying the weight and responsibility of a thirty year old! It’s about time I start reaping the benefits of my actions.” There's no way I'm about to fucking reap the benefits of my actions. I'm not stupid, but am tired and in no mood for her to feel like playing parent.

  “Have you thought about the consequences of your actions?”

  “You mean from having a girl sleep in my bed? Yeah mom. I’ve thought about the fact my sheets are going to smell like sugar and vanilla for the next few days.”

  “You know what I mean smart ass.”

  “Do I?”

  “I know you do.”

  “Just say it. Ask that question the way you really want.”

  “Sex Connor. Have you thought about the consequence of having sex again? And if you have, which I'm thinking you haven't by your not giving a damn attitude, have you forgotten that your daughter should serve as a reminder of why you should keep that thing between your legs there and not in someone?”

  “Look, Mother of the Year, I think about that every day, every minute with every fucking decision I make. Everything I do, every choice I make, good, bad, difficult, and painful I make for that little girl who only has one fucking parent. And not that it’s any of your damn business, but I didn’t have sex with her. I haven’t had sex since I became a father and until I’m comfortable with the thought of another kid popping into my life I’m not going to. I’m not as dumb as you fucking think I am.”

  Slowly becoming more defeated with each passing sentence she huffs, “Then why’d you let her stay the night? You think MaKayla is going to have a healthy reaction? She’s going to get confused and start to call her mom and—”

  “And what's the big deal with that?” I interrupt, which makes her choke on her coffee. I know what the big deal is. I'm already in over my head with the choices I keep making in regards to Gianna and I's relationship in direct correlation to me and Mak's. Mak doesn't need to get attached or her hopes nestled in someone so understandable, so selfish, so used to not thinking about anything other than her small line of vision, but there's something there. There's a way Mak looks at her that she's never looked at anyone else. The same way she gets lost in her princess movies. How can I just yank that away? Especially with this nagging feeling that I'm more tempted to call it love every time I look into her eyes too long. Fuck. Why is life so Goddamn complicated?

  My mother stutters, “Wh-Wh-What's the big deal?”

  “What if this is the girl for me and this is going to be Mak’s stepmother?”

  “Stepmother?!” She shrieks.

  What the fuck am I saying? Which part of this is true anymore and which is for shock value?

  “Stepmother?!”

  “Shouldn’t they both be given the chance to slowly make that adjustment? Shouldn’t Mak get to transition slowly into a new life where she has two parents?”

  Frustrated my mother clinks her nails against her cup growling through gritted teeth, “I don’t think this is a good idea Connor. Any of it. Not slumber parties! Not the idea of you feeling you're ready for that kind of commitment! None of it! You're only 18 for Christ sake! Just no Connor! I don't think any of this a good fucking idea.”

  “Noted. Can I go now?”

  “No!” She reaches for my arm, which is when I notice a path of bruises up hers. “You need to think about this Connor! You need to be aware of what you’re doing!”

  “Why don’t you take
your own Goddamn advice huh?” I turn her arm over and point to the marks. “Why don’t you think about the guys you bring into this apartment and the damage it has done and is doing to your own fucking child?”

  “Excuse you. I am a grown woman,” her voice raises. “And I know how to handle these situations!”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Yes, Connor.”

  “Then why do I have bruises all over my body because of the white trash you married?” I point to the marks covering my stomach, which is when I watch my mother’s body cringe. Tilting my head back, I point to the ring around my neck. “Do you see this? Do you see this?” She looks away and I pull her a little closer and harshly point again, “Look at it! Look at it Mom! This is from where your piece of shit husband threw me into the wall by my neck—”

  “I know.”

  “By my neck!” I reiterate. “You’re worried about a girl falling asleep in my bed and Mak being traumatized from a new person waking up with us, yet you couldn't give a shit less about the fact your own son is fucking breaking. Death a realistic option every time I step foot in the door. You're worried about me moving on to a healthier situation instead of the fact I have lie to my own daughter, your granddaughter, about how I got the marks, not to mention my teachers, and my bosses because if I were to explain to them the kind of environment I actually live in, they might try to take my own child away. You call putting your son through this being a grown woman?”

  My mother's voice warns, “Connor...”

  “Which part of that is the adult way to handle life?”

  She threatens again, “Connor don't...”

  “You haven't been a fucking parent since dad died.”

  Her hand flies across my face, the sting sharp. “Don't! You don't have any idea what that was like!”

  “I was there too!” I shout, tears filling my eyes. “I watched him die too! And I have to live every day without him just like you, so don't fucking tell me I don't have any idea what that's like.”

  A sob chokes her voice and the hand holding the mug shakes severely.

  Swallowing the lack of self-control that has spun out of control, I sigh in a softer volume, “Next time you approach me with some bullshit about not having a girl sleep over because it might…MIGHT…hurt my daughter, try to remember this fucking conversation. Excuse me.”

  I push past her, the sound of her sniffles coursing through me. She didn't deserve all that. But you know what? Neither did I. On an annoyed I sigh, I make a note to smooth everything over after I've had more sleep, food, and passed the econ test that I'm not so sure about.

  When I open my bedroom door, I'm not only surprised at the sound of the music pumping through it, but Gianna, braiding Mak's hair, the two of them giggling. Leaning against the door frame, I watch for just a minute as Mak sings loudly into the hairbrush. The sight of the two of them looking so natural and so real feels like a double edged sword to the ribs. What am I supposed to do? Rip Mak away from the first mother figure to ever enter her world because it might not last or keep her around until she gets bored of playing house and she breaks both of our hearts.

  “Daddy!” Mak finally notices me lurking. “See my princess braids! I have princess braids!”

  “You do.” I step into the room and close the door. “And you look beautiful angel.”

  “I know!” She croaks as Gianna turns to look at me.

  “Had some things in my purse. Figured, why not? Doubt you know how to braid her hair.”

  “I'm a headband kind of dad, what can I say?” She smiles in return and I curiously ask, “When did you get your purse? I thought you left that in the car last night.”

  “I did. I got it while you were asleep.”

  “You snuck out of the apartment in the middle of the night? Alone?” my parental tone kicks in.

  With a displeased look she raises an eyebrow, “I am not your daughter. Please do not talk to me like that.”

  “That's Daddy's grumpy voice,” Mak adds.

  “It's not a nice voice for sure,” Gianna replies to her before looking back up at me. “I'm a big girl Connor. I can walk to my car on my own.”

  “It's not safe.”

  “And yet here I am,” her sarcasm joins the pile of shit I'm not in the mood for this morning. “I'm okay. I appreciate the concern.”

  “I hate the idea of something happening to you, especially if I could've prevented it. Could you just wait for me next time?”

  “There's gonna be a next time?” She excitedly asks.

  “Yay! More sleepovers!” Mak giggles hopping on the bed.

  This is the drawback to talking so damn much. Words just fly out of my mouth without waiting for my brain to finish processing it. I need more sleep. I need more time to think about all this shit. I need...I need...I need my dad.

  “Let's get you dressed for school,” Gianna speaks up. “Looks like your daddy brought you something to wear.”

  “I don't wanna wear that dress!” Mak pouts folding her arms.

  “Makayla--”

  “You sure?” Gianna cuts me off. “I think that's the prettiest princess dress I've ever seen.”

  “Really?” Mak's eyes pop out of her small head. “Ever? Ever?”

  “Ever. Ever. Ever,” she exaggerates with hand motions. “If you're not gonna wear it, I sure will!”

  “It's too small for you silly,” Mak insists bouncing across the bed and into my arms. “Daddy, I'm hungry.”

  “Me too,” Gianna adds rising to her feet. “What if we all get ready for school and then grab something quick? My treat.”

  Not enjoying the increasing feeling like a charity case I sigh, “We have food we can eat here.”

  “Good.” She folds her arms across her stomach. “You'll need it I'm sure, but as for now, I'm thinking pancakes?”

  “Pancakes!” Mak squirms for joy in my arm. Her hands fly to my cheeks and she squeezes. “Pancakes daddy!”

  With a smile I press a kiss on her forehead. “I heard. But this is a special treat. Tomorrow, back to normal. Okay?”

  “Yes daddy.” She touches my nose. “I have to potty.”

  “Come on.” I open the door. “Let's go potty, get you changed, and your teeth brushed before pancakes and school.” Excited she nods and I shoot Gianna a look, “I don't...I don't have anything for you to wear.”

  She points to my dresser, “I do.” My eyes cut to a pair of jeans laid out with long sleeve black top. “Always prepared.”

  Mumbling under my breath I shake my head walking out of the room, “Of course you are...”

  After we're all dressed, we take Mak for pancakes, before dropping her off, skipping all of first period. The two of us park with just enough time to give each other a quick peck before rushing to opposite ends of the school in fear of being tardy. Thankfully, my econ test requires more of my focus than anything else leaving no time for me to dwell on what I haven't said and explained or what I haven't put a stop to and should. As soon as lunch hits, I blend in the crowd until they reach the library, which is where I slip away to hide out in my favorite corner, praying I won’t have to face Gianna again until theater.

  Opening my math book, I'm surprised when the one face I thought I had succeeded in avoiding slides into the seat across from me with a dissatisfied disposition.

  “Do you remember my name?” She drops her bag beside her on the floor.

  Confused by the question I slowly answer, “I do.”

  “So we've met before?”

  Now understanding where this path of sarcasm is headed, I shut my math book, “Once or twice. You enjoying your day?”

  Nonchalantly she shrugs, “Not really.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah craziest thing happened. I woke up in the bed of the most amazing guy I've ever dated, next to his precious daughter,” the word causes me to glare hoping she keeps her voice down. “We had breakfast and when we went separa
te ways to class this morning, I was under the impression everything was fine. That we were fine. Then I find him here. Avoiding me.”

  “What? No I'm not.” I shake my head, my first lie to her being a blunt and dumb one.

  “Liar.”

  “I like actor personally,” my humor keeps me from completely digging myself into a hole.

  Gianna folds her arms. “You don’t want to talk to me do you?”

  I don't answer, knowing I don't want to lie again.

  “Why? Because I wanna talk about—”

  “Sh,” I hush her opening my book back up. “There are very few people who know and I work damn hard to keep it that way. Please, don’t ruin it.”

  With a nod she leans forward on her arms, “Can we at least talk about it now?”

  “Sure,” my eyes don’t leave the textbook that looks like nothing more than blurry random letters and numbers no matter how hard I try to concentrate. “What do you wanna know?”

  “Everything,” the expected answer rushes from her mouth.

  “Be more specific,” I mutter.

  Shutting my book for me she grunts, “Can you at least look at me while you talk to me?”

  Leaning back in the chair of the back corner table, I toss a hand in the air. “Fine.” “How old is she?”

  “2 ½. Almost three.”

  “So you had her when you were…”

  “A little before my 16th birthday. While my friends were getting cars, I got a lifetime responsibility of a different variety.”

  “You sound like you were thrilled about it.”

  “Ecstatic,” my sarcasm takes her by surprise.

  “You mean to tell me you don’t love—”

  “No. I do love her and wouldn’t trade having her for anything in the world. Make no mistake, every morning that little girl is breathing, is the happiest day of my life and I am most thankful for it. But when you’re sixteen...” My head shakes slowly. “When you're sixteen, it's not only the most difficult concept to wrap your head around, but the most crucial. Someone else’s life was about to be my responsibility and all I wanted to do was take back the choice that got me in the situation.”