“No daddy!” Sage giggles and tries to remove the silver spoon hanging from Holden’s nose. “That’s not where spoons go!”
I lean back into the corner of the chocolate brown couch with a wide grin.
This has become a regular part of our routine over the past few weeks. Sage and I will do some sort of learning activity while her brother should be working on his homework, have a snack and then start to play together, which is when Holden joins in. Sometimes he’s just coming in from wherever it is he has spent the day, other times, like this, he’s just waking up. He often works all night and into the early morning, only crashing after the kids have gone to school. He gets anxious to be the one to drop them off, but by the time they’re dressed and ready, his eyes are usually struggling to stay awake. I’ve had to convince him to let me do it every morning not only as a part of their routine, but his. I didn’t think he’d be as stubborn about the adjustment period as his son is. The two of them are the most excellent example of the old saying ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’. Except in this case, both apples are a bit rotten and won’t let anyone give them the love they need.
Holden keeps the balancing act of the utensil going, this time moving it to his ear. “Here? Does it go here?”
“No Daddy! It goes in your hand...” Sage giggles and again reaching for the spoon. “Tu mano.”
At the same time she removes the spoon he furrows his eyebrows. “Apple? It goes in my apple?”
Sage shakes her head while sweetly correcting. “Mano means hand. Manzana is apple.”
A wave of pride washes over me.
Younger children have an easier time learning an additional language even if it’s just vocab. They typically don’t possess the conscious and unconscious resistance older adolescents do.
“You’re learning Spanish,” Holden sighs warmly.
“Si!”
“Yes, I do see.”
Sage and I snicker together, but he gives me a wink to let me know he’s joking around.
His playful nature is almost as intoxicating as his dominating one. The way he lets his guard down and connects to them as actual people rather than hard drives to fill up is beautiful. With Sage it seems his only mission is to make her laugh. I’ve noticed she laughs hardest when she’s being tickled or he’s doing his pathetic imitation of Batman. He sounds more like William Shatner in Star Trek than any version of the winged super hero. Lynk on the other hand, he’s jokingly competitive. Always goading him to take the challenge, to go the extra mile, to think outside the box and be more than just a sheep. Sometimes it’s inspiring to overhear the pep talks he gives while they play around in the back yard, when Lynk’s timid about making a risky shot. If I’ve learned anything over these past couple of weeks, it’s that there are two versions of Holden Reiss. The question is how do I get them to fuse into one?
“It’s almost time for Lynk’s soccer practice,” I announce. “Can you put your puzzle box away and go get ready, please?”
“Yes, Miss Meena.”
Holden helps her toss the loose pieces back inside and insists he’ll put away her dirty dishes.
Once we’re alone, I ask, “Did you play sports when you were Lynk’s age?”
He shifts himself to face me. “No, I was too busy getting ready to testify.”
The casualness of the comment informs me his closed off nature has returned. “Against who?”
“The man who killed my mother.”
There’s a lack of sadness in his voice that should frighten me yet it only spurs me to want to push him more. He needs to be able to open up to someone. I know he has friends, but something tells me even they don’t know how deep some of the wounds go. “You were a witness?”
“Character.”
“It wasn’t an accident then.”
“No,” he grunts, “and they didn’t actually want to let me testify. They were worried if the defense had a chance to question me it would weaken the case, but I didn’t care. I needed people to know the woman he murdered was more than just another prostitute. She was my mom. The woman who tucked me in at night and made me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, ya know? They needed to hear about how he forced me to watch him beat her when she made a mistake. They needed to hear how fucked up my life was because of him and how much I would miss her…”
Desperate to keep the Holden file open as long as possible, I ask, “She was killed by your father?”
He nods slowly. “Who also happened to be her pimp.”
Instinctively, I reach my hand across the back of the couch to touch his.
“He was a monster...and the reason I constantly toyed with wanting a job where I could take them down for a living.”
His vulnerability receives another gentle stroke from my fingers. He doesn’t pull away.
“Never thought it would be a requirement to keep myself out of prison.” Holden’s green eyes quickly fill with coldness and he moves out of my touch. “What about you? Were you into sports as a kid?”
Defeat over the lost closeness drops my shoulders. “There wasn’t time or money to be. I was the oldest of five at that point. I got plenty of exercise chasing Mario around. He was hell on tippy toes.”
Holden lets out a hearty laugh.
God, I want more of that from him.
“You’re the oldest of seven.”
I tease, “Can you name us all, Mr. Android?”
A playful gleam paints itself in his eyes. “There’s you-”
“Obviously.”
“Mya. Marc. Mona. Mario…”
The rambling of the list has me tilting my head at him in curiosity. “Why do I get the feeling you were prepared for this question?”
“I’m always prepared,” he flirts.
I cross my legs to dull the ache the words created.
Doesn’t help I haven’t been masturbating. After the conversation in which he admitted enjoying hearing it but his main concern was his children, I decided that I would just wait until the next time he wanted to be the one to get me off since that he didn’t bitch about. Since that’s what he really wants and for whatever reason won’t admit it. I know the scolding he tried to give me had nothing to do with worrying his kids were going to stumble upon me touching myself. They never get out of bed. Once they’re tucked in, that’s pretty much it for the night. Not even sure fireworks could make them flinch. I have to admit, I’m a little surprised Lynk gets up to the sound of his alarm, which he now uses after not being woken up three mornings in a row.
“Mia is your youngest sister, but there’s one more before her.”
“Mara.”
He smirks. “She’s a Freshman at Clover Rose this year. Theater major.”
“Yeah, her and Mia both have always had a flare for the dramatic.” After we exchange a small chuckle, I playfully ridicule, “You know, you didn’t have to Google me, Holden. If you wanna get to know me, all you gotta do is ask. I mean…it’s not like we’re exactly busy doing other things.”
I wet my lips provocatively and his face crinkles with a silent whimper.
The momentary weakness isn’t given any time to flourish. Sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs steal his attention.
“Ready,” Lynk announces, completely dressed in his practice gear.
“Got your bag?” Holden quickly asks.
“In the garage.”
“Did you fill up your water bottle?”
“Isn’t that her job?” Lynk snips and tosses his head at me.
Still not his favorite person. However, the sooner he understands I’m not the enemy, the better. Our progress isn’t much faster than the one I have with his father.
Holden tries not to bite. “Fill it up, Lynk.”
He rolls his eyes and heads into the kitchen, which is when I ask, “Did you finish your homework?”
The sound of the cabinet slamming is proceeded with, “I’ll do it when I get home.”
I brace myself for the pending battle of authority. “You’re not going to practice.”
As predicted both of them shout at me, “What?!”
Why couldn’t we have had a peaceful moment for just a minute longer?
His body darts into view and I repeat, “You’re not going.”
“Yes, I am!”
“No. You’re not.” He begins to argue, something he is notorious for when I cut him off, “You broke the rules. It is homework first. Always. You don’t do your homework, you don’t do anything else.”
“But-”
“I explained this from day one, Lynk. I have been nothing but honest and direct. Consistent. Homework then video games or TV or hanging out with Joey or Scott or whatever it is you want to do until dinner.”
“This is different!” He shouts. “This is practice! I can’t miss practice!”
“You should’ve considered that when you were busy not doing your homework.”
Lynk glares and turns to Holden. “Dad!”
“You’re not missing practice,” Holden quickly caves.
Unlike his son, I don’t shout my concern, I merely gnash my teeth waiting to chew him out in private.
“Just…go…get Sage from upstairs, so we can get going.”
Lynk gives me a snide victory smirk and then does as instructed.
The moment he’s out of earshot, I snap in quiet voice, “Are you fucking kidding me?”
His tone is equally seething. “Are you!? Who the fuck do you think you are telling my kid he can’t go to practice? Practice I fucking pay for, might I add!”
“The woman standing between him and a goddamn juvie record because daddy never learned to tell him no!”
Holden’s jaw drops.
“You are not helping your son by giving him everything he wants and letting him run this house. More importantly, you’re teaching him that a man’s word is more valuable than a woman’s.”
“Wh-”
“Every time you undermine me, every time you overrule my decision, you are engraving very clear messages to him. The man of the house matters, but the woman does not. You are the ally and I am the enemy. Most importantly, you’re teaching him, that no does not indeed mean no. It means, try again or ask someone else or throw a tantrum until you get what you want. That message is the absolute fucking worst, Holden. Today a woman says no about soccer, but he gets the yes to do it anyway. Where do you think the habits of men who don’t take no for answer in other ways start? Thin air?”
Indignation tears through his expression.
“How about we teach your son to respect both men and women. His father and his…” The wishful word I want to say causes me to clear my throat. “Caregiver.”
Lynk and Sage begin descending the stairs yet Holden leaves his eyes piercing.
I stand and quietly surrender. “Your. Call.”
“Can I pick the music, Miss Meena?” Sage sweetly asks.
With a forced grin, I state, “That’s actually up to your daddy, sunshine. I’m not taking Lynk to soccer practice tonight.”
Holden grouses, “That’s your job.”
“Is it?” It’s my turn to sneer with a winning smirk. “Hard to know exactly what that entails since it constantly seems to be changing based on your mood.” I saunter my way past him. “I’ll be in my room ‘til dinner.”
“Meena-”
“Enjoy practice,” I state sharply as I continue my path around the corner. “Or don’t.”
I know this is hard for him. I understand it, I really do. He’s not the only single parent I’ve had struggles with. Hell, he’s not the only widowed parent I have worked for. However, at some point he’s going to have to realize, just like his son, not all change is a bad thing.
Seconds after locking my bedroom door, I hear a very loud, very clear, “That’s not fair!” from Lynk.
A small smile of relief crosses my lips.
Guess he doesn’t want his son to grow up to be an asshole.
The sound of stomping is accompanied with more yelling. Rather than be a part of the argument, I flop onto my bed, and turn up the television to drown it out.
Even though I know this is temporary and I’m eventually going to have to leave, it doesn’t mean I don’t want the very best for everyone while I’m here. It doesn’t mean I don’t want their lives to be better from the few weeks or months we get to share. And I know that’s all I’ll get because I know Holden. I may not know much about his history or the horrors he hides, but I know his habits, especially when it comes to women around his children. The clock’s ticking. I just hope I make a significant difference for all of them before he pushes me out of their lives.