BEAU
The holidays rushedby in a haze of food, presents, and more people than I’d been around in my life. And more importantly, more people than Clara had ever been around in her short life.
I feared I’d have cracks in my teeth from the way I’d clenched my jaw, watching her at various family gatherings, in the middle of fuckingTimes Square.
Her doctor was not annoyed with me, though she should’ve been. I’d called her, emailed her, demanding more blood tests than Clara needed to ensure that her trip to one of the most populated cities in the country was safe.
She’d humored me, assured me that though it was earlier than was conventionally expected for Clara to be out, if we took some precautions, she’d be fine.
It was hard for me, very fucking hard, to let it happen. To let go of the fear that Clara was one sniffle away from a coffin.
Fuck, that call I got from Elliot, telling me Clara had an elevated temperature, took a year off my life. Filled me with guilt and regret at leaving her. For exposing her to too much of the world too soon. Even though she never got sick, even thoughher doctor reassured me that it was good for her to be building immunity, I couldn’t relax.
Realistically, I knew Clara would eventually get a cold or a flu or a stomach virus. All kids did. I’d have to deal. I’d have to grit my teeth and trust that she’d recover. That she was strong enough. That I wouldn’t have to bury my whole fucking world.
It was logical to hope, but my heart wouldn’t let me embrace it. The heart that was damaged, scarred, and belonged to two women.
My daughter and her nanny.
Not that the latter would ever know. Could ever know.
Her divorce was proceeding well, based on what Marty could tell me without violating attorney-client privilege. I wouldn’t ask Hannah. Couldn’t.
The holiday season had helped distract me from her—if such a thing were possible. At the very least, I was kept busy. The restaurant had needed me for longer hours. And when I wasn’t working, I had spent time with Clara, attending holiday events, baking cookies, and preparing for our trip to New York.
Hannah was there, my awareness of her making it hard to concentrate on decorating fucking gingerbread men.
I had been treating her with more care, knowing what she was going through. Not that I should’ve had to know what she was going through to treat her with care.
I dreamed about her. Thought about her as I pumped my cock after reading the spicy scenes in the books she was also reading. The smell of her seemed to seep onto my clothes. As did the image of her flushed cheeks when our eyes caught. Her smile. The way she’d let out a soft moan of delight while eating the pasta I’d made from scratch.
She had become less timid with me. Lingered when we were alone, met my eyes, asked questions. Complimented me on my cooking.
“You should do a cookbook or something,” she’d told me the other night.
I focused on the dishes, not the way her soft, husky voice caressed my fucking cock.
“Market is too saturated,” I grunted. “Too much work. Too much time away from Clara.”
I didn’t add that I’d already been approached. Or that I’d been in the process of signing contracts when Clara was diagnosed.
“Well, I’m here,” she murmured. “For Clara.”
My hands froze, hovering over the pot I’d been washing. It was a simple statement, but it opened the door to a fantasy. Of Hannah. Being there. For Clara. For me. Always.
I cleared my throat, aggressively scrubbing the pot.
“Not for much longer.” My response was louder and harsher than necessary.
Hannah stayed silent.
It had been a few months since we’d mentioned her leaving while Clara was around. But I needed to say it out loud to bring me back to reality.
Christmas without her had been hard enough. Clara was healthy, elated by the presents she’d gotten, including the ones left by Hannah. She was still riding on the high of being in New York with Hannah, the Natural History Museum, and Cole’s company.
But the excitement of that trip, coupled with our quiet, empty house, had been jarring for me. Luckily, Clara was too enamored with the magic of Christmas to be too upset.
On Christmas morning, she FaceTimed Hannah as soon as she woke up, keeping her on the phone as she opened all her presents.
