Maisey is giggling like a damn fool as I lean and shake my head, dislodging the snow from my face.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I didn’t realize you were here.” Celeste’s face is stretched under awkward regret.
“Tisha!” Hank perks up. “See, told you she’d find us.”
Celeste’s expression flattens before she schools it into a smile.
Geez, that must be tough. And for the first time since this hot-headed, ridiculous woman came into my life, I feel for her.
And the way Hank looks at her makes me wonder if she resembles whoever Tisha is.
I’m sure that’s it. A good resemblance. Easy enough to mistake someone, especially in Hank’s condition... I stand and pluck up the chair, planning on returning it.
“Please, can we stay just a little longer, Daddy?” Maisey runs for me, hanging from the chair in my hand. My cue to return it to the snowy ground from whence it came.
“It’s late, kiddo. Maybe another time.”
“Oh shoot, it is, too. Da—Hank, you need your dinner and meds.” Celeste closes in on her father, helping him up from the chair.
“Sorry for keeping her,” she adds as she brushes her father down with a hand while his gaze wanders the backyard. She slips the book from his hand and closes it, tucking it under her arm.
“It’s fine. I’m glad you guys had fun.” The words are half defeat, half compassion. And fully feeling out of place coming from my lips. But the sentiment is genuine. I know exactly how exhausting being someone’s full-time caretaker is. Being a single parent is not too different to what she’s undertaking here. But at least Maisey is of sound mind and body. More than I can say for Hank.
Celeste has her hands full. And I daresay her heart, too.
“Well, we better be getting inside. Routine is everything.” She forces a smile and leads her father back inside.
A heavy weight hangs on my free hand. “Daddy, can I come back tomorrow, after school? Pleeeeaaasseeee.”
“I don’t know, honey, I think Celeste has enough on her plate with Hank.”
“Isn’t he her daddy?” Her bright eyes reflect confusion.
“Yeah, he is. But Celeste takes care of him now.”
“Oh, why? Aren’t Daddies supposed to take care of their little girls, instead?”
“They are. But sometimes they need help, too.”
“Oh,” she huffs and starts for the side of the house, dragging me behind. “When will you need me?”
I chuckle. Walked right into that one.
“Maybe one day. Nothing to worry about now.”
By the time we make it home and inside, I see Celeste cleaning up in the kitchen. Most of their lights are now out, the upper windows darkened. We eat a small meal of leftovers and Maisey helps me clean up. I run her a bath before tucking her into bed.
When I finally retire to my own room, I notice a window brightened on our side of the Black’s house. Tugging my shirt off, I stare at it, wondering who’s roo?—
Celeste walks past in what looks like winter flannel pajamas, twisting her hair with her hands and piling it on top of her head. She secures it with a clip before dropping onto the bed and pointing a remote at what I assume is the television mounted on the wall opposite the big bed.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t be peering through the windows at her.
She taps the remote over and over before tossing it on the bed and picking up a book from her bedside.
I pad to my bathroom and shower before brushing my teeth and pulling on a T-shirt and boxers. Never seen the point of pajamas, really.
