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He didn’t sit on the floor for tea with the dolls or watch the damn princess and dragon movie, and I don’t even expect him to, but at least he didn’t seem to want to run off with every approach of my daughter anymore.I feared that yesterday’s events might cause him to push her away to make it clear that I am just what I am, an employee, but apparently I gave him less credit than I should have.
And that, by the way, is the whole fucking problem.Marcos is so hard to read.When I think I know everything about him, the bastard reveals to me a new facet a little more or a little less hateful, and I want to throw him out the window for it.
If he was just the Asshole Marcos I’ve worked for the last eight months, I never would have allowed last night to get to the point where it did, but he’s not, and it just fucks with my mind, because I’m starting to think he’s got a lot more interesting parts than he’s reproachable.And if I’m honest with myself, I’ll be forced to admit that even the reproachable ones don’t push me that far away.
How could they? There was a time in my life when I was a female and adolescent version of Marcos with regard to his jerk character, and I have no doubt that if my life had gone that way today, I would have been an adult female version.
“No! What’s in there?” Isabella asks excitedly when Marcos lets silence settle between them.
“A dog! A big one!” responds dramatically, and I strange even more his way of dealing with Isabella this morning, but that’s only until I realize what he’s doing.Acting.The son of a bitch is a fucking artist and he’s acting with my daughter who has no idea what’s going on.
Like a lightning, the familiar feeling hits me.I’m a bad mother. A terrible mother. What kind of mother would expose her daughter to such a situation?Just a bad one, a really bad one, and that’s what I am.My eyes burn, but I control myself.Crying won’t change anything.Concentrate to be exactly what is expected and receive what made me say yes in the first place will.
“And does he bite?” Isabella asks with wide eyes.
“It’s a she, it’s Maya. And she doesn’t. She’s a baby, just like you!” Isabella laughs sweetly, as if she thinks Marcos has just said a great deal of nonsense, and he raises his eyebrows.
“I’m not a baby, you silly! I’m three!” she makes the sign with her little hand “almost four, like this!” She lifts one of the fingers that had lowered, showing the hand almost complete, indicating the age that will complete in a little more than two months. “I’m almost four, right mommy?” She throws her head back, asking me.
“Yes, my love! Almost there!”
“See?I’m not a baby…” she repeats, shaking her head from side to side.
“And what are you then?” Marcos asks still without looking at me.
“A child, huh! I’m a child!” He laughs at Isabella’s answer, and she looks at him as if he’s making no sense at all, until suddenly an angry expression takes over her face and she cross her arms.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asks, and I give up following the interaction of the two.Today is Carmen’s day off, so I go into the kitchen and start moving around, preparing Bella’s porridge.With my back to both of them, I try to ignore them.But it’s clearly impossible.
“No, Isabella... I’m laughing with you.”
“And what’s the difference?” I don’t need to look at my daughter to know she’s frowning in suspicion.
“The difference is that when I laugh with you, you can laugh with me.If I were laughing at you, you couldn’t...”
“And why not?” Mixing the flour and milk in a dish to put in the microwave, I hold the laugh wanting to know how Asshole Marcos will get out of this.
“Because you’d be laughing at yourself.”
“But Mommy said we can laugh at ourselves...”
“Umm…” My neck warms, and I know Marcos’ gaze is on my back.I don’t turn around or pay any attention to what might be a SOS call from him. It’s not my problem!
“Well, your mother is right. We can laugh at ourselves.”
“So, what’s the difference?” she reinforces the question, and Marcos is silent.
“None...” he replies, giving up thinking and, this time, I can’t help myself. I laugh lowly, because that was a bad choice.
“So you were laughing at me!” Isabella accuses him immediately, and Marcos moans, lost.
“Antonella...” He calls me, asking for help, and I turn around after setting the microwave.I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms.He takes a deep breath and rubs one hand on the back of his head, torn between asking and continuing to play the self-sufficient jerk, except that he’s not self-sufficient, or wouldn’t need me to explain to a child that he wasn’t laughing at her.
“Your mother will explain it to you, Isabella.” He finds a third way out, and I shake my head, denying it.Coward.I hope that my scandalous eyes, according to him, will scream out the word while I fix them on his.I approach my daughter and take her in my arms, taking her to the counter.I leave a kiss on her cheek, place her sitting on one of the stools and lightly caress her forehead, undoing the wrinkle that formed there.
“Marcos wasn’t laughing at you, my love, he was laughing with you, he was glad you were too smart and knowing you’re no longer a baby, but a child.” Isabella forms a smallOin her small mouth, the microwave beeps, and I leave her just long enough to put her breakfast in front of her.
Regardless, since she had to become very fast, she starts eating alone with her plate and Minnie’s spoon.Marcos watches everything closely, seeming unhappy to find out that this was all that was enough to satisfy her.
