Miss Fix-It

by Hart, Emma

  “Shit!” I turned. “Oh, crap! Is she up here?”

  Brantley surveyed my feet, then the floor, then ran his eyes up my body. They lingered a little on my thighs, and I was going to believe it was because of the random pink stripes on them.

  I mean, it probably was. Why was I even thinking that it wouldn’t be?

  His lips pulled to one side. “No, she’s not up here. You’re all good.”

  “Thank God.” I bent over and put the roller back in its tray so it could think about the mess it’d made of my feet—twice. “Yes, I did say she could come up here with me. I swear she has some freaky voodoo that sends me on a guilt trip every time she doesn’t get what she wants.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. That’s something they should really mention before you have kids. That you’ll spend the rest of your life feeling guilty for anything from, “No, you can’t have a puppy,” to “You cannot eat the moldy cookie you hid behind the sofa six months ago.””

  “Why would you feel guilty about that?”

  “The eyes. They get you every time. Which is why they’re not allowed a puppy. I can’t have three people to guilt me into stuff.”

  “The puppy would probably eat the cookie, though. It’d solve that problem.”

  “There is that,” he agreed.

  We shared a smile.

  It was a little too intimate.

  I coughed and broke the eye contact, getting my roller once again.

  “Do you want a towel, or…” He paused, and I peered over at him. “The paint. It’s, um… You’re covered in it.”

  I glanced at my feet and my legs. “It happens. Today more than usual.”

  “You know you don’t have to have Ellie up here, don’t you? You can tell her no. I’ll even tell her no and take the guilt-trip for you.”

  I laughed and started painting again. “It’s fine. She’ll probably get bored of watching me and disappear without me knowing it.”

  He met my eyes and held my gaze for a long, hard second. “Your optimism. It kills me.” Then, he turned and left.

  “What does that mean?” I shouted over my shoulder.

  His answer? A barking laugh that made me shiver.

  At least I wasn’t too awkward in that conversation. That was a win.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Annen I told Daddy that if he won’t buy me the Cindewewa castle for my birssday I cry and ask Santa but Santa is before my birssday but I don’t wanna wait for Santa or my birssday I weally want it now.” Ellie paused to take a deep breath, and before I could interject some bullshit comment about patience, she started again. “Ewi got his superhewo cave and the twiceratops. It’s not fair.”

  I stared at her, paintbrush dripping into the tray.

  Now, I had two options here. I could resume my original attempt at talking to her about patience, but I had the feeling it would be falling on deaf ears.

  Maybe because she’d started talking again, while I stood here and blinked at her.

  My second option was to make soothing noises of sympathy and agreement and nod my head along with her that it wasn’t fair.

  Or, a third one, I could turn around and do my job and let her whine.

  That last one seemed right. After all, I’d already tuned her out. Aside from a dull buzzing, I was watching her lips moving at the speed of light, but I wasn’t hearing what she was saying.

  Now, that was a skill I was interested in developing further.

  I turned back to the wall, faking a nod, and finished my edging around the doorframe. She talked the entire time. Momentary flashes of paying attention said she’d gone from complaining to talking about how real unicorns were or the validity of fairies.

  It was a long-ass half an hour.

  “Done!” I said, stepping away from the door with a flourish.

  Ellie stopped talking.

  Oops.

  “Can I sweep here now?” She turned her head side to side, staring out over the room.

  “Uh…Not yet. You need a new floor, and curtains, and a bed…”

  She huffed from her seat in the middle of the floor. “Can Ewi sweep in his?”

  “Nope. I’m going to paint it now.” I put the brush in the tray and picked it up. Then, I paused. “Do you want to help me clean up?”

  She pursed her lips. “Cwean up?”

  “Yeah. I have to wash the pink paint off of this stuff.” I gave the tray a slight shake. “Do you want to do the brushes in the sink for me?”

  She clambered up to her feet, rushed to me, and peered into the tray. “Aww fwee?”

  “Not the roller. That’s hard. But sure, you can do the brushes.”

  She hesitated for only a second before she nodded her head and ran. I’d barely stepped foot outside her bedroom when I heard her shout, “Ewi! Get off the toiwet!”

  Okay.

  Maybe I wasn’t going into the bathroom right now.

  “No! I’m pooping!” Eli shouted back.

  That was too much information.

  “Well, stop pooping!” came Ellie’s response. “You smell bad!”

  Still too much information.

  “I can’t just stop pooping, Ewwie. There’s still poo in my tummy!”

  “Okay!” Brantley came up the stairs, taking them two at a time. “That’s your weekly quota of the ‘p’ word used in about ten seconds. Eleanor, let your brother use the toilet. Elijah…Please stop telling the entire neighborhood what you’re doing in the bathroom.”

  I snorted, dipping my head since I was still holding the tray.

  Brantley turned to look at me. “Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

  “So am I,” I replied.

  “Here, let me take this. I’ll clean it downstairs.” He grabbed the other end of the tray.

  “I can do it.” I gently tugged.

  His eyebrows shot up. “You just heard that conversation. Let me do it. Honestly. Think of it as my apology for it.”

  “It’s fine, honestly. It’ll take me about five seconds to do, and I—”

  He gave the tray a good yank and pulled it right out of my hands. “Thank you.”

  My jaw dropped. “I didn’t—hey!”

  He ignored me completely as he went down the stairs. I stared at his retreating back until I couldn’t see it anymore. I was frozen at the top of the stairs, and while a part of me wanted to chase him down and force him to let me clean the stuff, the rest of me didn’t want to be alone with him.

  Was it any wonder why?

  I left it. Turned and headed into Eli’s room where the blue and red cans of paint and a fresh set of brushes and a roller were waiting for me. After all, I didn’t need the dirty rollers, but I just liked to clean them while they were wet.

  I poured the red paint into the tray. Eli had been very clear he wanted the bigger walls red and the smaller ones blue, so I lumped a ton of paint into the tray, ready to get started.

  I touched the roller to the wall. The squelching noise it made as it transferred the paint to the wall always made me cringe at first. But not quite as much as the sound of Ellie shouting at Eli to wash his “poopy hands.”

  Yep.

  That was definitely the worst thing I’d hear all day.

  I shuddered and carried on with the painting. I’d pushed the door almost closed, and the boards outside in the hall creaked. There was muffled whispering, and I braced myself for the onslaught of two tiny people, but then…

  “Ellie. Eli. Downstairs!”

  “But—”

  “Down. Stairs!”

  There was a pause, then there was the unmistakable sound of two people going downstairs.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Thank you, Brantley.

  ***

  The door creaked open.

  Kneeling on the floor with my brush dipped in the tray full of red paint, I peeked over my shoulder. Eli hovered in the doorway, his eyes wide with delight as he looked at the two bright-blue walls.

&n
bsp; “Hi,” I said slowly.

  He jerked his attention to me and held out a bottle of water. “Daddy said you might want some water.”

  Actually, I did.

  I set down the brush and motioned him to come in. “I’d love one. Thank you. That’s so nice of you to bring me it.”

  He blushed. Quickly, he handed me the bottle and shuffled back. His eyes flitted side to side again, never really making eye contact with me.

  He was looking at the walls again.

  “Do you like the blue?” I asked softly, tracing my gaze over his face.

  He nodded. “Wots,” he whispered.

  His shyness sucker-punched me in the gut. Never had I known twins so polar-opposite in their personalities.

  Then again, Ellie spoke so he didn’t have to.

  “Do you want to see the red, too?”

  He nodded again, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

  “Come here.” I capped the water bottle, set it down, and shifted over for him to see. “There’s not a lot, because I just started doing the edges.”

  He bent forward at the waist, looking at the bottom corner and where I’d started to edge the corner of the wall. “Why are you doing that?”

  “Just at the edges?”

  More nodding.

  “Well, it’s quite tricky. It’s to stop me getting a lot of paint on the other wall or the ceiling or baseboards with the roller. Look—watch.” I removed excess paint from the brush and gently painted a little, getting the bristles in at the corner. “Sometimes I use tape to help me, but this blue might still be a little wet.”

  “Is that the tape?” He pointed at the taped baseboards.

  “It is. I don’t like to take it off until the paint is dry. I think the other wall might be done. Want to see?”

  Nodding again. “How does it work?”

  I dropped the brush and shuffled across the room on my knees. “It helps me get the lines right. I don’t have to be as careful, because if I get paint on the tape, it doesn’t matter.” I pinched the edge of the tape and slowly pulled it. “See?”

  He basically leaned right on top of me and watched as I gently peeled the tape from the baseboard. He moved with me as I crawled across the floor.

  “You see? It’s a perfect, straight line.” Near enough.

  “Wow,” he breathed, awe filling his tone with lightness. “That’s ‘mazin’.”

  “It is. My daddy taught me that trick.”

  Eli turned to me, eyes wide with delight, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Do you think my daddy knows the tape twick?”

  “Maybe. I think a lot of daddies know it.”

  “Wow,” he repeated. “Is the udder one ready?”

  “The tape on the other wall?”

  He nodded.

  “Not quite. Did you want to help peel it off?”

  Another nod. How did he not have a headache?

  “How about I come and get you when I think it’s ready?” I offered. “It’ll be before bedtime tonight.”

  I’d have to re-tape these boards tomorrow, but oh well.

  Eli gazed out at all the boards. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Deal?” He stuck out his tiny hand.

  I took it and shook. “Deal.”

  “Can I watch you paint?”

  I hesitated. I couldn’t say no, could I? I’d let Ellie. “Sure,” I said. “As long as you don’t touch anything.”

  Nodding his agreement, he dropped to sit exactly where he was in the middle of the room. He crossed his legs and put his hands in his lap, staring at me expectantly.

  My lips twitched at his interest in my work.

  I remembered when I was a couple years older than him, sitting like that, and watching my dad do exactly what I was doing right now.

  I was sis. My mom had died nine months before. It’d been the first week of summer and Dad couldn’t get a sitter. I’d been brought to work under the rules I wouldn’t touch anything, I wouldn’t go anywhere without him, and if I was really bored, I could pass him tools.

  That was the day I grew a real interest in everything he did. The day I was first amazed that two hands could change a house so much with nothing more than love and dedication.

  I glanced back at Eli and picked up my brush with a smile. He sat silently as I painted. I didn’t even hear him cough—not even a creak of the floorboards. If I didn’t turn and check on him every now and then, I wouldn’t have guessed he was there—or moving to get a better view of what I was doing.

  It was peaceful. And fun, almost.

  Until Tornado Ellie blew in.

  “Whatcha doooooooooing?” she sang, hovering in the doorway.

  Eli sighed.

  “Painting,” I replied.

  “Can I watch?”

  “No,” Eli said. “You watched your woom.”

  “I wanna watch yours, too.”

  “No.”

  “Kawi!”

  I shrugged, rolling the paint on. “Sorry, Ellie. It’s up to Eli. I think he’s having fun watching me.”

  “I had fun watching you, too!”

  “You aweady watched,” Eli said quietly. “I wanna watch now.”

  Ellie stomped her foot on the floor.

  “Ellie!” Brantley shouted from downstairs. “You better not be upstairs!”

  “I’m not,” she shouted back.

  “Go away, Ewwie,” Eli said.

  I shook my head as she stomped her head again. I was focused on a patch of wall by the ceiling and, in my attempt not to get red on the white ceiling, I didn’t know until it was too late.

  “Nooo! Ewwie! Nooooo!” Eli shrieked, stomping and thumping as he got up.

  I turned.

  And, fuck.

  “Ellie!” I didn’t mean to shout, I really didn’t. But seeing her deliberately and spitefully plant her red-paint-covered hands all over the blue wall because Eli said no made me.

  Eli cried as he pulled her away from the wall and pushed her over. They both went down, kicking into the tray of blue paint.

  It happened in slow motion.

  They hit the ground.

  The tray flicked up and over.

  The paint splattered over the floor and the wall I intended to be red.

  I stood there, covered in pink and blue and red paint, on the opposite side of the room, roller in hand, dripping paint on the floor, and stared at the twins.

  They were still struggling. Ellie was screaming. Eli was shouting. And they were both covered in paint.

  “What the—” Brantley stopped in the doorway, cheeks red. Slowly, he swung his gaze from the fighting twins to me. “What the hell happened?”

  “Are you sure you want that answer?” I replied.

  He took a deep breath. Picking his way between the paint splatters, he separated the twins. Holding them both by the arm, one in his left hand and the other in his right, he knelt down and stared at them both.

  Ellie’s face was bright red from screaming. Eli was still crying, and as a number of emotions danced over Brantley’s expression, I could see he was torn on how to react.

  “I just wanted to watch Kawi paint,” Eli sobbed, hiccupping halfway through the sentence.

  “What happened?” Brantley demanded, turning to Ellie.

  My eyes widened a bit.

  Boy, that was hard.

  Even I wanted to tell him what happened and he wasn’t talking to me.

  “Eli hit me first!”

  “No, he didn’t,” I interjected. I put the roller in my tray, folded my arms over my chest, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Did he, Ellie?”

  She sniffed. “He pushed me over.”

  “And why did he push you over?” Brantley asked. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the red handprints on the wall now, would it? The wall Kali has spent all day painting.”

  “It was Eli!”

  Brantley turned over her hands. “Really,” he said flatly.

  Ellie shrunk back.

  “You h
ave ten seconds to tell me the truth before I go and put blue handprints on your walls and see how you like it, young lady.” He dropped her arm and pulled Eli into his side. He’d almost stopped crying now, but he looked like he’d gotten in a fight with a Smurf.

  Ellie glanced across the room at me.

  I didn’t move or change my expression. She had to know I’d tell the truth even if she didn’t.

  “I wanted to watch Kawi paint, too,” she finally started. “But Ewi wouldn’t wet me. So, I painted, too. But then he pushed me over and frew paint on me.”

  “Did not!”

  “Let me get this straight,” a now-paint-covered Brantley said. “You disobeyed me in coming upstairs, you lied to me, and you deliberately ruined your brother’s wall because you didn’t get your own way, although you already spent the morning upstairs with Kali while he helped me in the kitchen.”

  Ellie looked, for a second, as if she was going to deny it. Instead, her bottom lip trembled, she dropped her chin, and she nodded.

  Brantley put a finger under her chin and met her eyes. “Don’t fake cry. It’s not going to work this time, Eleanor. What you did was very cruel. I suggest you go and sit in the corner of the bathroom and think about what you’ve done while I put Eli under the shower. You can have one when he’s clean.” He pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

  She sniffed, but she went, trudging across the hall to the bathroom.

  Eli tugged on Brantley’s shirt. “Daddy, are you mad I pushed her over?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m not angry about it, Eli, but I’m not happy. You shouldn’t do it again. I know she upset you, but you could have really hurt her, okay? Plus, now there’s paint everywhere. Maybe next time you shout for me instead of hurting her, okay?”

  He hesitated for a moment before nodding his head. “Can I had a shower now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh.” He stopped and looked at me. “Kawi, are you mad at the walls?”

  Much like Brantley had done, I inhaled deeply, and looked at the walls. I was frustrated, annoyed, feeling helpless, but not angry. The extra few hours I’d now need to cover it up, not to mention repaint the baseboards, were totting up in my head, but I was more resigned to it than anything.

  “We need to get you in the shower, buddy.” Brantley stood and, taking hold of Eli’s shoulders, directed him toward the bathroom.