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“She's good. Stressed, but she’s holding it together.”
“That’s good. Anything I can do to help, you know I’m here. I know we don't talk much—and that’s as much my fault as yours—but you’re my brother and I'll do anything for you.”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”
I hang up and then go in search of something for dinner. I'm too lazy to cook, and the only thing in the freezer is a serving of pot roast leftover from dinner with Ellie and Grant from a few weeks before. I assume it’s still okay, and after peeling off the foil, I throw it in the microwave.
It's just after eight when I arrive at Kiara’s. I walk up to the door carrying a bottle of wine in one hand and a cheesecake in the other. I catch sight of myself in the window next to her front door and wish I’d taken the time to shave. Reaching forward, I knock gently on the door while trying not to break the wine.
Kiara opens the door a few seconds later and my heart begins to pound. She looks amazing, in dark leggings and a shirt that clings to her in all the right places—though she could wear anything and look amazing. Her long hair is disheveled and hangs gently down her back. She quickly swoops it out the way and gives me a shy smile.
“Hey,” she says. “Come in.”
I hand her the bottle of wine and the cheesecake, smiling awkwardly. Suddenly I feel like an idiot. Like a teenage boy on his first date with his crush.
We stay up half the night drinking and talking, and even though she points out several times how early we have to get up, I’m in no rush to leave. It doesn’t even occur to me that she might want me to go. She looks like she’s enjoying my company, anyway.
The clock nears two a.m. when Tilly’s screams fill the air. I jump. What the hell? My first thought is there’s an intruder and I’m ready to go bounding down the hallway and go all ninja on some pervert, but Kiara is calm as she gets to her feet. She gives me a sad smile, as if she knows this situation all too well.
“Nightmares,” she explains. “Give me a moment.”
I watch her disappear down the hallway. Sitting forward, I pour myself another drink, aware that I’m at the point where I’ll be needing to call a cab to get home. I second guess my decision and instead walk into the kitchen in search of something non-alcoholic. Turning up to work, drunk would probably be a career killer.
I find everything I need to make some coffee. I’m still quietly clankering around the kitchen when she walks back in about fifteen minutes later.
“Is she okay?” I ask, my voice full of concern.
“She will be. She’s back asleep now.” She smiles, even though her eyes show sadness. “It breaks my heart seeing her so distressed.”
“Is that normal for her? I mean, does she have them often?” I ask, cursing my choice of words.
“Less than she used to but more often than I’d like. She doesn’t really remember them when she wakes up which is one good thing, but…” she shrugs helplessly. “They started when she was four. That’s why the doctor suggested I stop taking her to see Aiden. After every visit they were more often and more intense.”
“Wow, I don’t blame you. You’re her mom. You have to do what’s best for her.” I push her coffee across the countertop to her. She takes it, a grateful smile on her face and leads me back into the living room.
“How am I supposed to keep this whole Heather thing from her? Do I be honest and just explain it to her best I can?” She sighs, and sinks down onto the sofa. I sit next to her.
She gives me a smile, her fingers stroking the back of my neck. Gently, she pulls me toward her, her soft lips touching mine.
“No labels, remember?” she whispers, her deep blue eyes penetrating mine. “We are what we are.”
Chapter Eighteen
Kiara
It’s six a.m. Thursday morning, and I’m clutching the edge of the toilet bowl, where I’ve been for the last two hours. I have no idea why I’m so nervous. How much trouble can a classroom of third, forth and fifth-graders be?
Gingerly, I pull myself to my feet. I have to pull myself together or my first day is going to be a disaster. Wrapping my robe around me, I walk out into the kitchen and put the kettle on. As much as I’d love a coffee, I think I’m better off sticking to tea, at least until I get to work.
Somewhere between me drinking my tea and cooking Tilly’s breakfast, she wanders out in her dressing gown, looking as awake as I feel. I hide a smile. If she’s like this now, God knows what’s in store for me when she’s a teenager.
“Toast with banana and honey?” I ask her, setting her plate in front of her. I know she won’t say no. She smiles and digs in, polishing off both slices quickly.
“Are you scared, Mommy?” Her words surprise me. Sometimes I forget that even though she’s only five, she picks up on so many of the things around her.
“Me? No.” I pause for a moment. “Well, maybe a little,” I say, holding my finger to my thumb to indicate a small amount. “I’ll be okay once I get there.”
“If anyone picks on you, just tell a teacher,” she says seriously. I can’t help it; I laugh. She’s just too damn adorable for her own good.
