by J. Daniels
Fiona started squirming until I put her down, and ran after her sister, screeching in delight.
Their voices poured out of the house.
I stepped aside so Val could enter next.
She stopped in front of me, eyes soft, and put her hand on my shoulder. Her hair was tied back. There was pink on the ends, like Shayla’s. “You look good, Sean,” Val said.
“So do you,” I replied, meaning that. My ex was a beautiful woman. Sweet face. Pretty smile—she still had it. The hardened life I’d put her through hadn’t changed her.
If anything, it made Val more beautiful, just knowing what all she’d survived.
“Well, come on. Give me a tour,” she said. Her hand gave me a squeeze, then she dropped it and took a step, getting halted by Caroline, who popped her head out the door.
“Mommy, I have a ladybug dresser!” she screamed in one breath, eyes wide and making her look half crazy. She glanced at me before disappearing back inside in a rush.
Laughing, Val went on inside.
I walked in after her, thinking about Shayla, that pink in her hair, and how she’d be smiling right now and telling me, “I told you so,” if she were here.
As promised, I gave a tour of the inside before showing the girls and Val out back.
The tire swing I’d put up was a hit, as was the house, especially the girls’ pink bedroom and the fish I hadn’t told them about.
“You got fish, Daddy?” Caroline asked, tapping the barrel, while Fiona tried feeding them the entire bottle of food.
Both of the girls were sitting up on the counter. Once they discovered the fish, they couldn’t get up there fast enough.
I took the bottle of food from Fiona and dumped some flakes into both of their hands. “Yeah. They got names too—Mac and Cheese.”
Caroline started giggling, covering her mouth, while Fiona licked her lips.
“I really love mac and cheese, Daddy,” she told me, expression dead serious.
My chest rattled with a laugh. I knew that. It was practically the only thing Fiona ever ate before. I wondered if that had changed much.
“Which one’s Cheese?” Fiona asked as she carefully dropped her flakes into the water.
“That one,” Caroline answered, pointing at one of the fish. “He’s definitely Cheese. Look at him.”
Fiona bent down and studied the fish. “Yep. That’s him,” she said.
The fish were identical.
I looked back at Val, who was observing us by the refrigerator. Her shoulder leaned against it while she still held Caroline’s bag in front of her. She was smiling. She looked happy.
“I can’t believe you have fish,” she said.
I couldn’t believe it either, but I didn’t tell her that. “Yeah. They were a gift.”
Her brows lifted in surprise. I was pretty sure I had that same expression when Shayla gave them to me.
“All right, girls. We gotta get going,” Val said, looking at her watch.
“No!” Fiona hollered.
“Mommy, we wanna stay!” Caroline punched her thigh. “We still need to take turns again on the swing!”
I grabbed Fiona first and helped her down. Then I put Caroline on her feet.
I didn’t want them leaving yet, but I wouldn’t argue with Val. She was controlling this. It didn’t matter how I felt about it.
Any bitching on my part might lead to pissing her off, which could lead to her keeping the girls from me.
So I said what I could say. I didn’t ask for more time.
“When you come back, you can take turns,” I told Caroline.
She was pouting and kept hold of that pout when she looked up at me and asked, “Okay. When?”
I looked to Val.
She was unzipping the book bag. “Soon. Your daddy and I have to talk about it. Now, here. Do you want to give him this?” Valerie pulled out a piece of paper and held it out for Caroline.
I didn’t like that. Talk about what? Did I not pass her test? She’s been smiling this entire fucking time.
Gritting my teeth to keep my mouth from going, I watched Caroline take the paper and carry it over to me.
“Here, Daddy. I made you this in school.”
I took it, flipping it over to see the drawing she’d done for me.
It was four stick-figure people, the two larger ones on the outside and the kids in the middle. My hair was the length it was now. Our names were written under us—Daddy, Caroline, Fiona, Mommy. We were all holding hands. Caroline was covered in pink.
I bent down and kissed her cheek, saying, “Thank you, baby girl.”
Then I stuck her picture on the fridge, securing it with a magnet.
We walked outside. I helped with putting the girls in their car seats, taking care of Fiona and kissing her feet when she took off her shoes. I tickled Caroline. Then I stood back and waited for Val to walk over to me.
“The house looks great, Sean. It really does,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I want the girls to be able to see you whenever they want. I don’t mind bringing them over after work or on weekends if we aren’t busy. I just don’t want this to be…complicated. They’ve been through enough.”
I nodded in agreement. I couldn’t speak.
She was letting them see me whenever they wanted. Holy fuck. What the fuck was happening?
“Your job, you’re going to keep it, right?”
“Wanna keep the house, so yeah.”
“I’m serious.”
I stared at her. “I’m keeping it. I got a good thing going there. I won’t fuck it up.”
She nodded tensely. “This is your last chance, Sean. I will not say this to you again. If you mess up, you’re done.” She stepped closer, grabbed my hand, and whispered, “Please. For them, do not mess up.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
Val had tears in her eyes again. She threw her arms around my shoulders and gave me a quick hug, pressing her body so hard to mine, I could feel her heart pounding. Then she turned and walked around the car, climbing in hastily as she wiped at her face.
I waved at the girls as the car backed out of the driveway and pulled off. Then I reached for my phone, wanting to tell Shayla everything about the visit, but I changed my mind.
After locking up the house, I got on my bike and took off.
I wanted to see her face when I told her.
I parked my bike in the spot beside Shayla’s car, cut the engine, and swung off.
I was shaking now for another reason entirely. It was shock. I couldn’t fucking believe how that all had gone down.
Jumping the three steps to the basement level, I got to the door and knocked with a heavy fist.
The door swung open not a minute later, and Shayla stood there, still wearing her work uniform and smiling at me around the fork hanging out of her mouth.
She pulled it out to question, “Hey! How’d it go?”
“Good.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded and stepped forward, backing her inside and stopping beside her. I put my hand on the side of her neck, squeezed gently, and pressed my mouth to her hair.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “Real good.”
I breathed her in. Honey. Fuck, I like that.
Shayla was still and silent for a breath, then she made a soft, squeaking sound, turned to face me, and wrapped her arms tight around my middle. “That’s so good, Sean. I’m so, so happy for you,” she said, chin on my chest, beaming up at me. “We should celebrate.”
I had an idea in mind for that, but before I could suggest it, Shayla pulled away from me to shut the door, then took hold of my hand and tugged me in the direction of the kitchen.
“Come on. I’m eating dinner. Sit with me and we can talk.” She released my hand when we reached the table.
I took a seat across from the plate of food she’d been working on—chicken, brown rice, and vegetables—while she stepped inside the kitchen and opened the fridg
e.
“What do you want to drink?” she asked.
“Whatever. Coke is fine.”
“I have beer.”
“Don’t drink. Coke or whatever else you got is fine.”
Her head popped out of the kitchen, and she studied me. “How come I don’t know that about you?”
I shrugged. “You ever seen me drink?”
“No, but…huh.” She quit studying me, grabbed something out of the fridge, then emerged out of the kitchen and sat a Coke down in front of me. She took her seat. “So, how come you don’t drink?” she asked, forking a bite of chicken and eating it.
I cracked the can open. “Mom drank. Did other stuff too. I never had the urge to try anything she ever touched. Not after seeing what all it did to her.”
“You’ve never done anything before? You never had a drink or smoked weed? Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“Wow. That’s seriously cool of you.”
I took a sip of my Coke and watched her above the can.
Her hair had those braids in it I liked—two in the front, both tucked behind her ears—and the rest of it was in soft waves that stopped just below her chin.
“Sean, do you want to tell me about your mom?”
“Nope.” I licked my lips. “I had a good fuckin’ day, and she ain’t touchin’ it.”
Shayla’s eyes got soft, then she smiled and forked some rice. “Tell me all about it. Tell me everything. Oh, wait.” She pointed at her plate. “Do you want something to eat?”
I wasn’t hungry, but since she was offering, I snagged her fork—ignoring her quiet little protest—and got a bite of chicken mixed up with the rice and some vegetables. Chewing it, I sat back after setting the fork on the plate.
“You make this?” I asked, keeping disgust from my face as I swallowed.
“Uh, no Lean Cuisine made it.” She blushed a little. “I just like putting it on a plate and pretending I cooked it.”
“Don’t. That shit is awful.”
Shayla laughed, holding her hands up. “Well, excuse me. I didn’t have some professional cook over here making me dinner. I had to make do.” She forked another bite and popped it in her mouth, smiling.
“You want me to cook for you?”
I didn’t know if she was just saying that or if she meant it. She never asked me to before.
Shayla paused in her chewing. “Are you serious?” she asked. “Um, yes. That would be amazing.”
“Say when, and I’ll do it.”
“When!”
I chuckled.
Shayla laughed at herself, then ate a carrot, which I knew did not taste like a fucking carrot. “Just kidding. You are only allowed to sit there and tell me all about your girls and how happy they were to see you. Did they love the house?”
I nodded.
“Did they give one…fucking…shit about anything you were worrying about?”
I stared at her. She stared back, getting extreme with it and leaning over her plate. Smiling, I shook my head.
“See? I told you so.” She bobbed her head from side to side in victory. “Now, tell me everything, from the beginning. From the moment you saw them and they saw you.”
I leaned back in my seat and stretched my legs, getting comfortable. Then I recounted everything, from the beginning, sharing with her what I was now regretting she hadn’t witnessed for herself, firsthand.
But Shayla didn’t act disappointed or even mention once how she wished she would’ve been there. She listened. She kept her eyes on me the entire time, taking everything in, smiling, laughing, doing little dances in excitement when I told her how the girls reacted to the bedroom furniture and the fish.
Her little dances were cute.
How Shayla looked watching me, happy for me, smiling, was not. That wasn’t cute at all. It was a lot more. It was a helluva lot more.
I was telling her about Caroline drawing that picture for me when someone knocked at the door.
Shayla was in the kitchen washing off her plate. “Can you get that?” she hollered over the running water.
I stood from the chair and crossed the room, yanking the door open.
Some tall, skinny kid stood there, wearing a pressed dress shirt and holding fucking flowers. His hair covered half his face.
He looked like an asshole.
“Uh, hey,” he said awkwardly. “You’re not Shay.”
My eyes narrowed. Who the fuck was this?
“I, hey!”
I snatched the flowers out of the prick’s hand and slammed the door in his face. Then I crossed the room, reached the trash can against the wall just outside the kitchen, forced the lid to open with my foot pressing down on the pedal, and dropped the flowers inside.
I closed the lid just as Shayla stepped out.
“Who was that?”
“Nobody.”
“What the fuck?” The door swung open and this dead motherfucker actually walked into her apartment. “What’s your problem, man?”
“Uh, hey, Patrick,” Shayla greeted him, looking at me suspiciously.
Patrick. My nostrils flared.
“You walk in here when she invites you in. Last I checked, she didn’t.” My voice was low, murderous.
“I got a key. Technically, I can come in whenever I want,” he sassed.
I was in front of him before he could blink, grabbing this little shit up by the collar.
The kid gulped and wrapped his hands around my wrist.
“Sean! Hey! What are you doing?” Shayla slapped at my arm, then started tugging on it. “He’s my super! Let him go!”
I looked back at her. “He’s your what?”
“My super! Or whatever you call the people in the manager’s office. He’s a friend! Quit it!”
Her manager. Managers had keys.
Managers didn’t bring tenants fucking flowers, so what the fuck was that about?
I let the prick go.
“Dude, you are psycho.” The kid started rebuttoning his shirt. He was breathing heavily. “Shay, you know this guy?”
Shayla still had her eyes on me, full of confusion and questions. Then, shaking her head in discontentment, she looked at the kid. “Patrick, this is Sean, the cook I work with. I told you about him…”
She touched my arm, which I liked for several reasons, but the biggest reason being she wasn’t touching him, but what I didn’t like was her labeling me as just the cook she worked with. That pissed me off.
“Sean, this is Patrick. My super, like I said.”
“And her friend,” he added.
I took a sharp step toward him and backed him up against the door.
“I was saying it like, just her friend, you know?” he explained. His hands raised between us. “Christ.”
“Sean.” Shayla tugged on my arm again.
I looked back at her and glared. “That’s all I am? Just the cook you work with?”
She sucked in a breath and pressed her lips together, looking like she had no fucking idea how to answer that question.
That pissed me off more.
“I ain’t your friend?” I growled.
“Oh.” She blinked several times. “Yes! Of course you are. That’s not what I meant…I, I’m sorry. I just, when I’ve talked about you before, I would mention how you were the cook there. That’s how Patrick would know you. That’s all I was saying. It was for reference. I swear.”
I steadied my breathing.
“Oh, man, you’re Stitches, right?”
I slowly turned back to the kid.
He was smiling, looking between me and Shayla.
“Stitch,” she corrected him. Then she reached forward and punched the kid in the chest.
“Ow! What the fuck?”
“Your shirt was wrinkled,” she said, glaring at him the way you would do when you were silently communicating something.
I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. All I knew was this kid knew about me. Shayla just admitted to tal
king about me to him. And he was her super. A friend. Nothing else. Not sure why that gave me comfort, but it did.
Wanting my drink and no longer feeling inclined to put this kid through a wall, or standing around to fucking chat, I turned and walked back over to the table.
“Uh, can I get my flowers back?” Patrick called out.
Drink nearly at my mouth, I froze.
Shit.
“What flowers?” Shayla asked.
SHIT.
Before anything else was said, I sat my can down, went over to the trash can, flipped the lid open, dug out the flowers, and stalked back across the apartment. Then I shoved the bundle at the kid and walked away.
“Uh,” Shayla began. “Okay. Those are pretty.”
“They’re for Angela. I’m taking her out. Thought I’d class it up with flowers, which now smell like chicken. That’s cool.”
Shayla giggled.
I could’ve felt bad about the flowers, but Shayla was laughing, so I did not feel bad. At all.
The two of them talked for another minute before Patrick left. I finished my drink and watched Shayla close the door, turn and smile at me before she started walking over. She stopped in front of where I was standing by the chair and tipped her chin up.
“You’re my friend,” she said quietly, her smile softening and making her look regretful. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you as that. I was just—”
“I get it. You already explained,” I told her.
Shayla nodded one time. She wasn’t back to smiling at me. She stayed regretful. I didn’t like her looking that way, and I was hoping my offer would change that.
“Thought about goin’ for a ride to celebrate. Is that somethin’ you’d wanna do?” I asked.
Her eyes lit up first, then her mouth lifted and stretched into a full grin before she covered it with her hands and made that soft, squeaking noise again. “You’re asking me to ride on the back of your bike?” she asked excitedly behind her fingers.
“I sure as fuck ain’t riding on the back,” I answered.
She looked to the ceiling and burst out laughing.
Nobody laughed like Shayla. It was loud and pretty at the same time. It was too much coming out of someone so little.
It was a noise I liked hearing.
“Get your shoes. Let’s go,” I told her, picking up my empty can and crushing it.