Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
He smiles knowingly. “I get it. I’m lucky you like me and you’re not just signing my checks.”
“Yeah, even if I still can’t figure out why,” I joke, slapping him on the back.
He winces. I realize I hit his sunburned shoulders and mutter an apology.
Aster shuffles up to the door. A rarity when she’s been trying all day to nap.
She never greets me at the door, even at home.
“Oh, hi, Troy.”
His eyes land on my wife. He greets her with the same almost goofy grin.
“Whoa. Aster, you look lovely tonight—” His eyes flick to me. “Doesn’t she, Cole? Lucky, lucky man.”
I offer her a respectful grin.
“She always does. No surprise.” I appreciate the hint. Things have been rougher than usual with Aster lately, and Troy was always more of a ladies’ man than me. Never shy about reminding a girl she’s beautiful, even if he knows full well she’s off limits.
“You know, I could use something for the headache. I’ll go make us some drinks,” Aster says matter-of-factly, giving me the first smile I’ve seen on her face all day.
“Let me give you a hand. Last time in Maui, the place I stayed had this swim-up bar with a cool twist on mai tais,” Troy says.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll keep the kiddo occupied.” I back away, letting him set his stuff down and head into the kitchen.
Aster looks at me and smiles over her shoulder as she follows him. “Thank you, Cole. I appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If it’s too hard on you, we can look for another nanny when we get back home,” I tell her.
“Sure.” She disappears into the kitchen to make drinks with Troy.
I slump down on the living room floor and play dolls with Dess, working through my range of bad, exaggerated cartoon voices and accents that make her laugh.
They’re gone longer than I expect, but Aster comes back holding a hefty silver tray of cocktails. There’s also a little mocktail with pineapple juice for Destiny in a sippy cup.
Dess grins and bounces up at the chance to be a “big girl.”
Her mom hands her the cup.
She wraps both her little hands around it—she tries, anyway—but the goblet slips out of her hand and splatters against the marble floor.
“Oh my God!” Aster screams, the pleasant look on her face gone in a red-faced flash. She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “Do you see? Now do you see why we can’t have another nanny quit on us?”
“Mama, I’m sorry!” Destiny bursts into tears.
“Aster, it was just an accident,” I say tightly. “Kids spill things all the time. Let me get it.”
I start moving toward the storage closet. I can still feel my wife glaring like it’s all my fault.
Fuck. These are the times when it’s hard to remember she’s sick, and not just being an asshole for the sake of assholery.
“Yeah, well, it’s easy for you to say when you’re not stuck at home every day with one walking accident after the next. I wish I had your company to manage,” Aster mutters.
Destiny wails louder, her little voice trembling. “P-pwease d-don’t be mad, Mommy. P-pretty pwese?”
Troy, lifesaver that he is, emerges from the kitchen with a roll of paper towels. I reach to tear off a handful and he bends down next to me, helping clean the mess.
“Hey, don’t worry about it, Cole. I’ve got this. It’s the least I can do,” he says with a wink.
We’re head-to-head, blotting up the liquid and buffing the floor.
Once it’s gone, I lift Dess in my arms, squeezing her gently so she knows it’s not her fault.
I try like hell not to feel embarrassed.
Mostly, I feel horrible about Troy walking into our shitty family dynamic. There’s a guest in my house cleaning up an accident made by my kid, all while her mom goes ballistic over nothing.
This isn’t Troy’s mess.
He shouldn’t have to clean it up.
Still, I know he’s just trying to play peacemaker, the good friend, because the women in my life are such high-maintenance. Though only one little lady does it gracefully.
Shit.
When we get back to the mainland, I’ve got to get Aster another nanny who can handle Aster’s moods—even if I have to pay through the nose to put up with the rudeness. In her condition, my wife can’t handle running after a small child all day. Deep down, I know she loves Dess just as much as I do.
I’m going to recommend a new round of counseling, too. There’s a new psychiatrist from Phoenix who supposedly works miracles with light therapy and behavioral conditioning. If I have to fly him in for Aster once a week, so be it.
All kids spill things. They shouldn’t have to worry about their parents hating them when mommy can’t control her outbursts.
I won’t give up, no matter how many messes I get to clean up.