Page 96 of Townshipped
“Gwanger! Gwanger,” Ty shouts as they walk away down the hallway to look for the dog.
I hear the distinctive clip of Granger’s toenails across the wood floors. The sound of Em and Ty’s muffled voices, followed by the opening and shutting of the front door leaves me alone with my work.
I stare at my computer trying to make sense of the issue one of my clients is having with their cloud storage. Thoughts of Em and how seamlessly the kids, especially Ty, have allowed her to be a part of their lives keep distracting me.
The night she went to the reservoir was harder than I anticipated. I don’t have any right to keep her here, but her leaving to go out with girlfriends was challenging. It was the first time I was alone with my niece and nephew since they moved in. As often as I’ve had Ashley and Sawyer here, it’s not the same as trying to set up a healthy routine with Ty and Paisley.
I knew they might have some questions about where Em went and when she’d be back. What I didn’t count on was the complete mutiny and upheaval that ensued, stretching bedtime into a fiasco lasting well over an hour and a half.
Storytime was filled with comments likeEm doesn’t read it that way, andDo the voices like Em does. After I read the book for the third time through, Paisley and Ty bounced from room to room, refusing to settle.
When I finally got them each into their own bed, Paisley called to me for water. Then Ty needed help straightening his bedding which had mysteriously managed to fall off him onto the floor. Next, Paisley called out,I’m cold. That was followed by Ty screaming,I’m hot.
I adjusted each of their blankets, kissed their foreheads, and naively started downstairs when Ty’s small voice carried through the semi-dark hallway with a plea of,I’m scared. I turned around to comfort him. He nearly broke me when he asked,Can you sing me a song like Em and hold me too?
They’ve only been here four days and they’re already growing accustomed to her.
I’ve allowed her to slip into a role that should be mine—caring for Ty during the daytime hours while I catch up on work. I don’t know any other way right now. I have to keep up on my workload.
A few hours later, Paisley’s home from school. Em provides a snack, their chatter drifting into my office despite the closed door. Around four thirty, sounds of dinner prep fill the house. My guilt mounts. I’m allowing Em to bear too much. I should be doing more. Ty and Paisley aren’t her responsibility. They are mine.
At five thirty I stand and stretch, my body stiff from sitting too long, eyes tugging from staring at the screen too many hours. When I open my office door, a loud popping sound makes me jump and then homemade construction paper confetti falls all over me. I look up at the three laughing faces staring at me from the kitchen and I join in, laughing like I’m taking my first gulp of fresh air after being nearly suffocated.
Em is bending over with laughter, pointing at me. “Your face! Oh my gosh! Guys, we got him good.”
“Dat was so funny!” Ty laughs. “Dat bayoon went pow and den you had all the tonfetti all ober.”
“You three,” I say through my laughter, pointing at each of them and wagging my brows. “I might have to pay you back.”
Paisley’s eyes go wide and her face becomes serious. Em notices at the same time I do.
“He’s going to do something silly to us too,” Em says in an almost conspiratorial tone.
“You’re not mad, are you, Uncle Aiden?” Em asks me, obviously on behalf of Paisley.
“Not at all. I needed a little confetti in my life today.”
Paisley’s mouth lifts hesitantly.
“We probably ought to plan our prank to get him back if he’s planning something to do to us,” Em stage whispers to Ty and Paisley, her face animated to convey an extra measure of comfort and assurance.
Paisley nods and Ty tries his best to whisper. “We can do da soap thing.”
“He’ll never see it coming,” Em says, giggling, her eyes meeting mine across the room.
“What smells so good?” I ask.
Em turns toward the storage closet to pull out a broom. I beat her to it, and our arms brush as we reach for it. Her head turns toward me and our gazes lock. The invisible current coursing between is strong enough to warrant a high-voltage warning. Em’s cheeks flush and I grip the broom handle to keep myself from reaching out to brush my fingertips across her face.
I’m probably sending her more mixed messages than the fairy godmothers in Sleeping Beauty. I can’t seem to help the way my better judgment flies out the window whenever she’s near. I know I need to protect Ty and Paisley from becoming too attached to her, but at some more primal level, I just want Em. I want her here with us for good.
And I long for her in every way a man wants a woman—more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
I clear my throat and busy myself sweeping up scattered bits of colored paper and broken pieces of balloon.
“We’re having meatloaf,” Em says. “And salad and au gratin potatoes from the box. Nothing fancy. Your mom gave me her recipe.”
“Mom gave you her recipe?”
