Page 110 of Cut Me Down

“What’s up, munchkins!?” He yells back as he picks two up and the other two hang on him. One on his arm and the other grabbing onto his leg.

“Kids get off Damien! I told you he’s not going to feel well today!”

“I'm fine, Lauren! It’s not often I see them! Let’s go kids!” He runs through the house and leads them into the living room as a light red-haired woman walks up to me.

“Hey, I'm Lauren.” She shakes my hand. “Sorry, we are all so chaotic. Come in the living room.” I should have stayed in the car. How the hell am I supposed to handle fifty versions of him?

She leads me further into the house to see the large open space. There’s a living area and a den area that are filled with people, the dining area is filled, and there’s at least five people in the kitchen.

“How many of you are there?” I say chuckling, nervous as hell.

“So, we have our Nana, she’s eighty.” I look to where she’s pointing as an old lady, clearly roller-set, grey blue hair, gently waves to me, and I wave back. “Then we have our parents, seven siblings in that bunch, and there’s twenty-five of us cousins. Then half of us have kids of our own.” Danielle says.

“Oh my God.” I hope my voice is not as shaky as I think it is. I'm going to kick his ass for leaving me inside without him.

“Yeah there’s a lot of us.” Zander says as I turn to someone touching my shoulder.

“You must be Ashia. I'm Leanne, Damien’s mom, and this is his dad, John.” Oh my God, just breathe… She points to a tall, hardened man. About as tall as Damien, maybe slightly shorter. Toned, but not huge. Bald, and standing with his hands behind his back like he's standing at attention. I know Damien said he was military, but my God. He’s not void of emotion, but very stern.

Whereas she is smaller and has a very warm presence. Shoulder length, straight blonde hair, the same piercing, ever-changing blue eyes as Damien. Only slightly taller than me. How the hell did she give birth to him? She reaches her arms out, telling me she expects a hug.

“O-oh my God, hi.” I hug her back even though I'm dying inside. Her embrace is warm, kind of like his, and it’s not quite as awkward as I was expecting. How much did he tell her about me?

“Would you like a drink? Damien said you like Malibu. You and Sarah will get along.” Well, obviously he told her enough to tell her I drink sometimes.

“Hey girl!” The girl, who I assume is Sarah, waves to me from the kitchen. I gently wave back.

“Um, yes please. I’d love one. Hello, Mr. Hartley.” I look him in the eyes as I say that.

“It’s nice to meet you.” He says somewhat coldly and his face remains stoic and stern.

“Perfect! Right this way.” Mrs. Hartley gestures in the direction, and I follow her to the sea of white they have as a kitchen. All white counters, counter tops, and appliances that match well with the beige wooden floors. Completing the bright scene with the laughter of Damien’s family.

As she makes me a drink I watch Damien, who’s moved out onto the back deck. He’s playing with what looks to be about ten kids, and I don’t know what the hell he’s doing, but it’s so cute. He has his arms stretched out, wrists dangling, rocking side to side on his feet like Frankenstein, but he has his eyes closed and his tongue hanging out like a zombie. The kids are running around and screaming, but smiling and laughing at the same time. He’ll be a good dad one day…

What am I saying? I shouldn't be thinking that way now. Especially after what he said earlier, and now as I watch him, I can’t get the thought of our possible kids out of my head. He should not be so paternal. Or look so hot being around so many kids.

“He’s great with the kids isn’t he?” I snap out of my trance and to my left to see his mom holding a glass to me.

“Yeah, he is.” I take it from her and she looks back at him with me. Practically in awe over him. Her lip pokes out slightly and she eyes him with such love and tenderness it makes me weak.

“They just love him. He’s always been good with other kids. So protective, even over Emma. It didn’t matter that she was eleven minutes older than him.” My heart sinks all the way to my feet.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I say, almost in a panic.

“He didn’t tell you they were twins?” She raises her eyebrows in genuine confusion, and I shake my head in disbelief.

“No, ma’am.” Today’s his birthday? I knew I should’ve asked during twenty questions. Why wouldn’t he tell me? I don’t have anything for him, and I didn’t get the chance to make him breakfast or do any of the things girlfriends are supposed to do for their boyfriends birthday.

“Well, I'm sure he’ll tell you tomorrow, dear. Don’t take offense.” She swats her hand, like I shouldn’t think anything of it. “He always wanted Emma to have the spotlight on their day. He even made a fuss about getting him gifts when they were ten. If he got money, he gave it to her. If she wanted a toy, he gave it to her. She always got the first piece of cake, and when we sing happy birthday, her name has to come first. He’s always been such a sweet thing. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. They both played soccer until they were twelve, but once he realized that their schedules over lapped that year, he quit. Said he didn’t want to miss a single game of hers.” Hearing about him this way brings a warmth to my chest, even though I’m not surprised to hear any of it. He is very thoughtful, and caring. He never seems to think of himself.

I walk over and start to look at all of the pictures on the walls and shelves, and they look like any normal family. There’s a whole shelf of just kids’ pictures, and in the very middle I recognize the small boy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, next to a little blonde girl with those same eyes. Both making funny faces to the camera. Damien’s eyes are crossed, cheeks puffed out, and he’s holding two fingers behind her head, while she has her lip curled up on one side and her tongue hanging out. They look so sweet.

“That was taken a week before she passed. Right before one of her games.” His mom walks up to me and says in a sad tone. “They were so close.” I don’t remember seeing a picture of her in his house. Well, any pictures for that matter. I'll have to ask him about that. Family is obviously very important to him. Why doesn't he have anything about them back home?

We turn to the sound of children screaming, and Damien running in with a little girl tossed over his shoulder.

“Damien Alexander! You know no rough housing inside!” His mom says with a stern tone. I giggle at the thought of his small, petite, mother fussing at my tall, dark, and toned man. Damien looks up at us and smiles as he gently puts the girl down.

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