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The clacking of heels pulls my attention away from responding to Cody.
“Morning, Remi.” Mae power-strides into the kitchen, barely looking at me.
“Mama, Mama,” Isabel babbles in her highchair, excited to see her mother.
She’s wearing black today. Mae has patterns and routines, each offering nonverbal cues as to what’s going on in her head. Red is her power color, and she wears it to important meetings. Blue is the color of her happiness. It hasn’t missed my notice that she’s been wearing that particular hue less lately. Purple looks beautiful on her, but I don’t like when she wears it. Those days, she seems defeated and introspective. But that inky suit she has on? That’s the color of her anger.
Heads will roll today, and hopefully mine isn’t one of them.
A woman like Mae doesn’t need a knight in shining armor. She’ll kick ass and take names all on her own. She certainly doesn’t need my interference in her battles.
It doesn’t stop me from wanting to know what happened … or wishing I could fix it.
Just focus on your job. That’s all this is.
“I don’t have time for breakfast. I’m just going to grab some coffee and head out.”
Not on my watch, Queeny. Going without breakfast will not do at all.
“No worries. I’ll pack it up for you.” Whistling, I grab a glass container and start loading it up with eggs and veggies. She loves my double chocolate cookies made with carrots and apples. Hey, when you have picky kids to feed, you hide veggies into everything. I make a mental note to stop by with lunch as I throw the cookies into a plastic baggy.
“Mama, Maaamaaa.” By the crescendo of her tone, I can tell Isabel is getting antsy for her mother’s attention. “Maa—”
“Enough, Isabel,” Mae snaps and then watches in horror as her daughter breaks out in tears. She walks over to pick Isabel up, but at this point, she’s arching her back, wailing and pushing Mae away. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, baby. Mama’s sorry.”
“Hey, hey, hey, Isa-bea,” I sing cheerfully to break the tension and get the baby to focus on me.
When she sees me coming, she throws out her arms and lunges for me. A sense of pride fills my chest, knowing Isabel feels safe enough to reach for me when upset. The bubble bursts when I see the hurt and shame in Mae’s eyes.
“She just needs a little reassurance, and she’ll be fine.” I cup Isabel’s head to my chest and kiss her hair, singing and swaying until her whimpers settle into hiccups. “Easy, sweet girl. Easy.”
Holding out my hand, I silently ask Mae to take it. Children are in tune with their parents, especially when young.
Mae needs to release her tension before she holds Isabel, or she’ll fuss. Lucky for her, I’m just the guy who can help. Giving her an encouraging smile, I wait for her to take my hand and mimic my demeanor.
When her small, warm fingers wrap around mine, I try not to concentrate on how perfectly they fit. I exhale an even breath, ignoring the tingled buzz racing up my arm. My glance shifts to a peaceful Isabel wrapped around my torso, and my chest tightens with emotion. She is sweet, smart, and funny. Quite possibly the cutest baby in the world.
The moment my gaze locks on Mae, the feeling in my chest flutters with buoyancy. She’s just … remarkable. Strong, intelligent, and so self-aware it’s admirable. And quite possibly, the most beautiful woman in the world.
How could I not get attached to them? It’s practically impossible. And wrong. But it isn’t bad that I want to take care of Isabel and support Mae. It’s my guilty pleasure.
I can tell the moment high anxiety leaves Mae’s body. Her face softens, and her eyes warm. This, right here, tells me they need me as much as I need them.
When her posture relaxes, I gently tug her arm. It is just a gesture of praise, but my heart has other motives. The poor schmuck wants them close and the idiot I am, I concede.
It’s worth it when she lets me pull her into an embrace. The three of us link in a little group hug. Something shifts the moment I realize I’m holding space for the both of them. Something I don’t want to examine too closely, but it won’t be disregarded.
Before I realize it, I’m making a silent vow to always be here for them, holding them together, protecting them and... Shit.
Clearing my throat, I shift to Isabel. “All better now?”
Oblivious to my mini panic attack, she rubs her sleepy lids and reaches for her mother. My little sweetheart.
Get a grip, man.
Mae pulls Isabel to her with relief and remorse. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
While she holds her daughter, I’m holding them both. No matter what personal fuckery I have going on in my head right now, I will not let Queeny walk out of this house with all that guilt bowing her spine.
