Page 41 of Hell In A Handbasket
“It was a date, Daddy! Me and Fifi went on a date.”
“A girl date.” Fifi snatches the phone and brings it up until we’re met with Mia’s opposite. Messy ponytail, a slouchy shirt, and though we’re accustomed to seeing Fifi with her professional face on, she looks at us now with nothing more than clear skin and tired eyes. “Not aFifidate,” she explains. “Like, I didn’t drag her along because I had another thing I had to go to.”
“I would hope not.” Fletch slides his tongue along his lips, grinning when Fifi’s eyes drop to the movement. “So, you had a girls’ night out and did it up fancy?”
“We had a banquet for the mayor, actually. It was an event I’d previously committed to, and though I called Justin to let him know I could no longer make it, considering this trip you had to go on, he assured me the event was child-friendly. I wasn’t obligated to go, and my job was not in jeopardy if I didn’t. But if we wanted an evening of delicious food and completely appropriate entertainment, he would send the car.” She stops and frowns, nervously nibbling on her bottom lip. “That’s okay, right? I wasn’t working and ignoring her or anything. I took her because I genuinely thought she would like it.”
“I liked it, Daddy!” Mia jumps, the top of her head appearing in the bottom left corner of the screen. “Fifi told me I could choose. Stay home and watch a movie and eat snacks, or get dressed up and go out.” She jumps again. “It was my choice, Daddy.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. So gentle, so calming. “I trust you to take care of her. Which means if you decided on dinner and cigars afterwards, then that’s what you picked.”
“No cigars.” She rolls her eyes. “Just vodka.” Flashing a smile, she passes the phone back to Mia. “Your dad is working today, Moo. So he might have to hang up soon. Why don’t you take the phone to the couch and talk while I make breakfast?”
“Okay.” She fumbles the device, spinning it once, twice, three times until she’s right side up and cutting half her face off. But she gives us the perfect view of her honeycomb eyes. “Did you do any work yet, Daddy? Did you arrest anybody?”
He snorts. “Probably gonna have to arrest Aunty Minka before the weekend is over, Moo. She’s been extra cranky and mean to everybody.”
“That’s not true.” I steal the phone and stalk toward the closest camp chair, away from the others. Sitting, I place my water in the cup holder, then I lean forward and rest my elbows on my legs, and because she calms me, I study the little girl I had no clue would become such an integral part of my life.
Jesus, I never considered a life where I might someday have kids. But I can’t imagine an existence where I’m not an aunty to this one.
“You know Aunty Minka, don’t you, Moo? I’m fair and focused and always doing things for a good reason. So if I’m extra cranky or mean, it’s because somebody deserved to have their butt beat.”
“Hey, Mayet?”
I look up just in time tonotget hit in the face by a flying Snickers bar. Soph continues walking, waving as she goes. “Eat a Snickers. They usually make me happy.”
I grab the bar and prepare to toss it at her back, pissed that after everything, she’d still have the audacity to go into my cubby without my permission.
But this bar is not melted. It’s cold and hard, and dammit, it’s not the same one.
“Aunty Minka?” Mia taps the screen. “Hello, Aunty Minka? Did the phone get freezed?”
“No.” I shake my head, frowning and furrowing my brows. Then I bring my eyes down again. “I’m not frozen. Did you have a fun time at the dinner thing? Did you kick that scoundrel mayor like I told you to?”
“Minka Mayet!” Fifi growls. “Can you not?”
“I was gonna,” Mia whisper-giggles. “I even pulled my dress up a tiny bit, so it didn’t tangle on my knees. But Fifi wagged her finger and said I wasn’t allowed.”
“Boo Fifi.” I show her a thumbs down. “What a party pooper! You have every right to express your feelings however you please, Miss Mia. And the fact that your feelings are negative when he’s in the room is no one’s fault but his own. He’s a scoundrel. Don’t letanyoneever tell you expressing emotion is wrong.”
“Jesus.” Archer crouches beside my chair and takes the phone. “Pot, meet kettle.” But then he smiles, rearranging his expression for the little girl. “Hey there, Moo Moo. You look cute as hell today.”
“Thank you. I got to sleep in Daddy’s bed last nightwifFifi. It was the best.”
I look over my shoulder and smirk. “She slept in your bed last night, Fletch. So sad you couldn’t be there, too.”
He drops his hands into his pockets and tilts his head back to look up at the sky.
Frustration 101.
Fletch didnotget laid last night.
“We’re going to the office today, Uncle Arch. Fifi said she’s gotta talk to that scoundrel for a second. Then we’re gonna go to the markets and buy all sorts of yummy fruits and vegetables. I’m five now, so Fifi said I could have my own money and pick some stuff myself.”
Five. And going to the markets.
I swing back around, residual panic lancing through my blood and zapping the tips of my fingers. But Archer slides his free hand to the back of my neck. Without speaking the words that hurt me, he knows. And already, he comforts.
