Page 33 of The Baby-whisperer and the Brute
For a moment, Sully’s expression went blank. Then his eyebrows shot up practically to his hairline. “You mean like nuns?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you gothere?” He seemed truly baffled.
“To join them.”
“What’s nuns?” asked Skyla, who’d stopped eating and tuned into our conversation.
Her father answered. “Nuns are ladies who don’t get married and spend their lives praying and going to church and stuff.”
I would have laughed at the over-simplified explanation if I hadn’t been on the verge of cardiac arrest. Discussing this topic with Sully hadnotbeen on the breakfast menu this morning.
Now Skyla turned her inquisitive gaze on me. “Don’t you want to get married and have babies?”
Yes.My brain practically shouted the word, shocking me to my core. Aloud I said, “I’m not sure. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“I think you should have babies,” Claire said. “You would be a nice mommy.”
A large hand reached into my chest and squished my heart. Blinking back tears, I reached over and stroked the little girl’s hair. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s a very kind thing to say.”
Sully looked like a 100-watt lightbulb had switched on in his brain. “So that’s why your mom kicked you out. And why you won’t buy any nice clothes for yourself.”
Casting a meaningful glance toward the girls, I used a measured tone to answer him. “I don’t really feel like talking about this anymore. What are your plans for the day?”
Sully didn’t answer. He just stared at me, his jaw shifting slowly from side to side as if he were using all his concentration to work out a challenging puzzle.
“Daddy,” Claire interrupted the silence, climbing onto her father’s lap. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” She put her tiny hands on either side of his jaw and turned his face to hers.
“Yes, Claire-bear?” he said, wrapped thoroughly around his youngest daughter’s little finger.
“Can you play with us today?”
“Oh, baby, I’d love to. But you know Daddy has to train. And Angelina is here to play with you.”
“But you traineveryday,” the child whined. “You can come and do stuffwithAngelina and Skyla and me—all of us. Just for one day? Pleeeeeeeease?”
Sullivan’s expression went through a succession of emotions from longing to regret to ultimately defeat.
I knew he was worried about not being ready for his upcoming fight. He’d been training long hours seven days a week since I’d moved in and started working for his family. But it was clear his youngest daughter’s plea for his company would win the internal battle.
Finally, he said, “Okay. Just for one day. What do you girls want to do?”
Both Skyla and Claire answered at once.
“Get ice cream!”
“Swim!”
I laughed, relieved at the change in topic and tickled to see them so excited at the prospect of spending a whole day with their father instead of only seeing him at breakfast and dinner and for a few minutes at bedtime.
“That sounds good, but don’t forget you two have your Maker Club at the Children’s Museum at eleven,” I reminded the girls. “Today it’s balloon-powered rockets.”
“Oh yeah!” Skyla said.
“Yay! Rockets,” said Claire. “Can we still get ice cream?”
“And swim?” asked Skyla.
