by Max Henry
“That’s if we decide to take you up on your offer. I might be able to cover it with what I still have in savings.” Sera drops a grunt of annoyance when I scoop her into my arms. “Thanks for stepping in today, J, but I’ve got it now.”
He says nothing, his top lip curling up on one side while he eyes me with nothing short of irritation.
I don’t give the jerk time to get in his ute before I march back inside, Belle’s head snapping up from where she stands in the kitchen.
“Everything okay?”
I set Sera down in the middle of the floor for her to seek and destroy until her heart’s content. “Fine.”
She’s not convinced, but, unlike her old man, she knows when to keep her opinions to herself. No doubt I’ll get grilled on it later, but when I’m charged and ready to rain my frustrations on whatever looks satisfying enough, she’s smart enough to pick her moment.
It’s not as though we can afford to replace anything if I shove it or kick it harder than intended.
“Go for a run,” is all she says, back turned while she stirs whatever smells so fucking heavenly on the stove. “This has another ten minutes to go, so you should be able to fit in a sprint around the block.”
“It’s starting to rain again,” I moan.
“Like I give a fuck.” Spoon in hand, she glowers over her shoulder. “For the first time in weeks, we’re sitting down to a proper meal. I’m not having you ruin it with your complaints about my dad.”
“I don’t have an objection against him.”
“Bullshit.” She glances down, taking a step back to let Sera crawl past. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t let her crawl around the house while I’m in here with hot things.”
Two strides and I reach my daughter, snatching her up from the floor and making her squeak. “Don’t spill anything and it’ll be fine.”
“I’ll let you explain that attitude to her when she asks you at sixteen why she has an ugly burn scar on her face.”
“Everything has to be so dramatic in your family, doesn’t it?”
The silence behind me slows my movements. I set Sera down in her playpen gently and cautiously turn to check what kind of shitstorm I face. Yeah. I said the wrong thing. Too far, Zeus.
“My family?” Belle asks scarily level with one eyebrow raised. “Are we picking sides now?”
“Like I’d ask you to do that,” I retort. But not for the reason she thinks.
More like, she’s still yet to meet my parents. Her side at least lives within driving distance for a day visit. If I asked her to pick sides, I know who’d end up with the army behind them.
Not me.
I’m a strong guy, sure, but I ain’t no Rambo.
“If you’re not going for a run,” she snaps, turning back to dinner. “Then have a damn shower and give me a moment to myself.”
“You get a moment to yourself all damn day while I’m at work.” I mumble the line under my breath, yet her supersonic woman ears pick up on the comment.
“Some moment that is when I have a baby to look after!”
Our bedroom isn’t far enough away; I can still hear Belle mutter to herself through the walls as I shed my work clothes and do as I’m damn told like the whipped bitch I am.
She may think she won that round, but what my dove fails to realise is that I live for these fucking moments when she fires up. I’d take her slinging shit over the melancholy void that usually greets me any day.
At least this way she looks alive.
Even if it is solely to murder me in my sleep.
THIRTEEN
Belle
My family. Huh.
Arsehole knew what kind of button he’d push by saying that, and not only did he shove the fucking thing down, but he may as well have danced on it.
I am not my mother. And if he thinks he can get away with likening my behaviour to hers, then he has another thing coming.
I slap our meals down on the table with a little more zest than required, cursing when one of the curried sausages slides off the side of his plate and sits proudly on the surface. The damn thing burns my fingertips as I hiff it back on the dish, an oily, sauce patch left where it landed.
“Damn it.”
Sera slaps her hands on the tray of her highchair. “Ma.”
“Yeah, I know.” I use the side of my hand to wipe the table clean and promptly lick the sauce off my flesh. “Yours is coming.”
She tugs at her cotton bib, yanking a corner into her mouth. “Ma. Ma.”
“Somebody’s hungry.” As usual, Zeus returns to the room as though nothing is amiss.
What is it with men and their ability to shelve the emotions raised in arguments as though they didn’t matter, to begin with?
“Smells good, dove.” He takes his seat at the head of our small table, sans shirt and with his still-wet hair pulled into a messy man-bun.
I hate his ability to look good; however he’s dressed—or not dressed as the case may be. As for me, I have sauce stains on the right thigh of my sweatpants, and my shirt still bears the slightly darker patch from where I cleaned off Sera’s milk spill a couple of hours ago.
“There’s a little extra that you can have for lunch tomorrow since I made enough in case Dad wanted to stay.”
“Yeah, okay.” His face morphs into something stern and unreadable.
I retrieve Sera’s already cooled and slightly overcooked sausage for her to chew.
“What did he say to you outside?” I’m in no mood to drag this damn dance on all night. My feet ache, my head pounds, and all I can think about is how comfortable my bed will be tonight. I want to cut to the chase.
“Not much.” Zeus takes a huge mouthful.
I seat myself adjacent to him, beside Sera’s chair. “Took you both a while to say not much.”
He glares out at me from under his brow; fork poised halfway between the plate and his mouth.
“What?” I stab at a cube of sweet potato. “If he’s giving you grief, don’t you think I should know?”
“If I thought you needed to know, I’d say.”
The potato crumbles in three quick strokes of my jaw. I swallow it down and stab at a slice of sausage. My fork makes scratches against the ceramic of the plate, drawing Sera’s curious eye.
“Do you have something you’d like to share?” Zeus taunts.
I set the fork down on the side of my plate and fold my arms. “I just think that after being embarrassed at the supermarket today and having to wait almost an hour before Dad showed up to bail me out, I kind of deserve some insight into why you think he’s the villain.”
“Who said I think he’s the villain?” Zeus carries on his meal, unperturbed.
Me, on the other hand. My appetite has stalled until I can unwind this knot of frustration from my gut. “Dad had the decency to pay for the food you’re eating tonight without expecting anything in return, and yet you treat him as though he’s done something bad.”
“He does want something in return,” Zeus snaps between mouthfuls.
“What?” I shout. “Tell me.”
Sera stops sucking on her sausage long enough to gauge if she should cry in solidarity with my distress or not. Thankfully, her beef is much more fascinating.
The sigh Zeus pushes from his nose takes a full three seconds for him to discharge. Three long seconds where the frustration between us is palpable. “Your dad wants to bail us out and give you the money you need to get Sera in daycare so you can go back to work.”
“And this is a bad thing, how?” I lean forward, narrowly missing slamming my elbow in dinner.
“Because I don’t want him acting like my father,” Zeus bellows.
Apparently, his rage is Sera’s limit. She spits out the small mouthful of sausage she had and immediately morphs into a snot-bubbling monster.
“Just great.” I try to calm her down, tickling behind her ear and playing with her hand, but she’s not having any of it. “I don’t want her earliest memory
of us to be arguments, Zeus. I’m not sure about you, but I’m not keen on paying for therapy to sort it out.”
“Who says she’d need therapy for that?” he bites.
I cringe inside, realising the mistake I made. He’s a child of an abusive home. And he never got therapy for it. Without meaning to, I’ve insinuated that there’s something wrong with him because of that.
The only thing that pisses me off about the man I can’t escape my love for is his damn stubborn pride.
“Why does Dad loaning us money have to be him acting like your father?” I ask carefully. “Maybe it’s a friend helping you out when you need it.”
“Yeah, well maybe I’m sick of being everyone’s charity case,” he mutters.
Our debate is left on ice while he takes an intense interest in the rest of his meal. It’s not until I’ve also eaten, and he’s rinsed and stacked everything in the dishwasher, that we pick up where we left off.
“Did you tell Dad what you need to get your business started?” I ask, lifting Sera’s legs while I change her nappy where she lies on the living room floor.
He swivels to lie across our sofa, feet propped up on the arm at one end. “He thinks it’s impossible to do my contracting first.” The resignation in his eyes urges me to crawl over and kiss his troubles away.
I wrestle a wriggling child into her nightwear instead.
“Your old man made a valid point when he said we’d be better getting you earning first so that its income to convince the bank to loan me what I need for plant leases.”
An issue that I’d thought of myself but never had the guts to say to Zeus directly.
“Do you disagree?” Fastening the final snap, I let Sera go so she can crawl to Zeus.
He drops his hand over the side, urging her across the carpet—such a simple gesture, yet one that melts my heart. His love for her is so automatic.
More than I can say for some parents out there—namely, my mother.
“He’s right,” Zeus cedes. “I just need time to come around to it, is all.”
“What’s there to come around to?” I rise to my feet, dirty washing in hand, and take it to the laundry while he answers.
“The realisation that fulfilling your dream means the death of mine.”
“Christ,” I mutter under my breath, shoving the food-stained cotton down in the hamper. And he thinks I’m dramatic. “I don’t think that’s true,” I call back. “Maybe for now, but not permanently.”
He’s watching me intently when I re-enter the room.
“Oh, come on,” I argue. “You honestly believe that if we dedicate the next, say, twelve months to my career, that you’ll never get the chance to kickstart your own?”
“I’m not getting any younger.” He extends his arms over his head, then hooking both hands on the underside of the sofa’s arm.
I’m weak. The only reason why now, in the middle of a disagreement, I’d be eyeing his muscular arms like an unwrapped candy bar. “You’re hardly a senior citizen, either.”
Zeus swivels his head at the husky tone of my words. One cocked eyebrow is all I get in response.
Wind back the clock a few hours, and perhaps I would have had enough stamina to climb him like a damn tree. But at this end of the day, all I want is a hot shower to ease my muscles.
Not to mention the fact he left me high and dry at the supermarket by maxing out our credit card without telling me hardly deems a reward. And these days, that’s kind of all sex feels like—a reward. Congratulations. You made it through another day without fucking up. Here’s an orgasm.
“I’m putting Sera to bed and then myself,” I announce. “Suit yourself what you do.”
He reaches down to the floor to scoop Sera into his arms, then passes our girl over the back of the sofa to me. I nestle my face against her head, inhaling the unequalled smell of innocence while I side-eye Zeus.
He stares up at the ceiling, already a million miles away in his head as I leave the room.
I’m not naïve. I do know that the days for us will return, and eventually, we’ll get a lot more alone time with a lot less stress. But thinking about how old Sera will be before she’s independent enough to give us that room to breathe leaves me on the verge of tears.
Every week is a struggle at the moment, every month, a prolonged nightmare. Wrapping my head around this situation lasting years is a concept I don’t even want to entertain.
Switching the light in Sera’s room off, I head toward where the nightlight kicks in behind her cot. She refuses to stay down after I set her on the low mattress, pulling herself awkwardly to her knees and then to wobbly feet against the rails. It won’t be long, and she’ll be in a controlled freefall between the furniture, toppling her little weight as she rushes from point to point.
I guess I should relish the days that she’s somewhat less of a problem when I can at least know that if I put her down, she won’t get far in a short space of time.
“Time to go to sleep, baby.” I gently set her on her back again, placing a firm hand on her chest to give her a hint she should stay down.
Her chubby hands grip my wrist, and she manages to wriggle from underneath my splayed fingers. Adequately filling her belly has been a double-edged sword. She’s a lot happier between feeds, but she seems to have also found an extra supply of energy.
This damn child won’t be sleeping any time soon.
“Story time?”
Her hand slips between the rails, and she gestures to the small bookcase. “Buh.”
Her go-to word for anything that isn’t “Ma” or “Duh.”
“What shall we have tonight?” I make a show of deciding what book to pick.
There’s only three. And they were all gifted. Yet another area that leaves me with a pang of guilt. I should be stocking her room with opportunity to learn in every corner, filling every shelf. Instead, I can recite Where the Wild Things Are without having to look at the pages.
Sera drops to her arse as I settle on the floor beside her cot and open the cover to the first page.
I read the damn thing through a solid three times before her eyes droop and she relents, shifting to her back without any prompting from me. As I sit beside her, deathly still while I wait for her to nod off, it occurs to me that I haven’t heard a thing from Zeus.
Usually, the muted tones of the television would drift through the door, or on the odd occasion, he comes to stand and watch as I get Sera to settle.
Not tonight.
Silence wraps around me, as welcome as the dark while I back slowly from the room, low to the floor. Sera shifts. I freeze. But she settles, allowing me the chance to escape and retreat to my bed as well.
Although, after the tension choking the air tonight, I wonder if sleeping on her floor would have been such a bad idea?
FOURTEEN
Zeus
Belle’s hushed words are a lullaby while I lie in our bed, waiting for her to finish. She puts heart into each telling of the book, no matter how many times she’s read it.
I was sure Heaven gifted me an angel when she was born, and I realised why she was put on this earth the day she came back into my life as a woman.
My dove saved my sorry soul from a future of self-loathing and pity. Her stubborn arse wouldn’t take no for an answer, pushing back until I relented and allowed her to show me my worth.
My potential.
A few short years ago and I would have jeopardised my parole and returned to the pen if it meant I got to keep her by my side.
Now.
Now I lie in our shared bed, wondering where the hell that angry dog went—wondering how a few setbacks could turn me into a whimpering whelp content to roll over and watch the world pass him by.
Where the hell did my fire go? Twenty-five years ago, I had the guts as a skinny teenager to stand up to our old man when I felt it was my duty to set things right. I stood before him as a pubescent kid, my knuckles popping as my nails dug into my palms.
&nb
sp; I didn’t doubt myself. Never once second-guessed if I was doing the right thing. I saw my sister cry one time too many and I stepped up to set his crooked fucking record straight.
But somehow, I’ll stand idly by and listen to my woman weep when she thinks I can’t hear her as though it’s some rite of passage for new parents.
There’s no point talking to anyone about it. They’ll all steer Belle toward the doc with a pat on the back citing post-natal depression. But it’s not. Parenting doesn’t make her cry.
I do.
Her feet make a soft swish on the carpet as she enters the room, cloaked in darkness, the moon hidden behind the rain clouds that are supposed to stick around for a few days yet. I roll to my side, facing the door, and wait for her to slip her clothes off and join me.
The en suite door closes with a gentle click. Fuck’s sake.
Against my best efforts, I nod off a few times before Belle’s weight finally makes the far side of the bed dip. I have no idea what time it is, only that I’ve done too many early mornings in a row to be able to stay up half the night if she clams up on me.
Her legs slide down beside mine, careful not to touch. The sheet barely moves. She positions herself with the utmost care so as not to disturb me, seemingly unaware I’m wide fucking awake.
“She go down okay in the end?” I murmur.
Belle jolts. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was, and I wasn’t.” I reach out, sliding my fingers across her body until I get the hold I want.
She doesn’t protest, allowing me to drag her closer, wriggling myself her way as well. My arm fits around her perfectly; my leg bent to snare hers beneath it. I angle my head toward her, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, “Call your dad tomorrow, okay?”
I don’t wait for her answer, nuzzling my face into the crook of her neck and closing my eyes. She lies as still as a rock, chest barely rising with each breath.
It’s coming; I can feel it.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” My baby tries so hard, but there’s no hiding her frustration.
Twenty-odd seconds of silence and that was the most nonconfrontational thing she could think of asking.
