I had never thought much about having my own children, and by the time I had taken over care of Bailey at twenty-three, I never really had much time to think about having any of my own after that, my hands too full with her as a single parent. And with her big personality, it hadn’t grown any easier in the past months.
Now, though, I could only think about walking into a house filled with this type of laughter forever.
“What are you two doing?” I finally asked.
“Tattoos!” Bailey yelled, turning back to Kye, who didn’t seem to mind staying put on the floor.
“Bailey saw some of my tattoos and decided I needed more. Then I showed her the black and white ones and asked for some color. She’s just helping me out. Really saving me time and money, too. Who would have thought I could have just had my tattoos done on your living room floor by a very talented four-year-old?”
“Look,” she yelled, waving me over and holding up Kyes’ hands. She had colored in the letters of my name on his fingers, each one either green, yellow, or red. “I colored them like the flowers.”
“Wow, how creative.” I said.
“What about you, Daze? Need some tattoos?”
“Not today. Right now, I just need some food.”
“In the fridge,” he said, his smiling face watching me.
“You cooked?”
“Not a chance,” he said. “We ordered pizza and luckily, me and Bailey here like it the same way, so I ordered one for us and a different one for you.”
My brows furrowed. “And you remember what type of pizza I like?”
“Cheese and olives is not exactly a hard order to remember. Go on, go get your food. We’re not quite done yet, anyway.”
He laid his head back, closing his eyes and letting Bailey keep working. She seemed pleased to keep going, switching out markers and focusing. It was hard to get her to stay quiet, so that alone was surprising, but that Kye seemed fine with it was equally surprising.
I warmed up my pizza and brought it back to the living room, finally sitting down after working all day on my feet. I didn’t mind my job, but mainly only kept it for the paycheck. I needed something to sustain my life with Bailey, and not many jobs made enough to support a single person with a kid and a house while offering flexible hours.
When I sat back, Kye looked over, his eyes bright. “How was work?”
“Long, busy, exhausting.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Like it? No. Need it? Yes,” I said with a laugh as I took another bite.
“Just good money?”
“Yeah, enough to get us by fine, and it helps me be able to work when she’s at school or sleeping.”
“I can’t believe what you have done for her. You should be proud, Daze. Really fucking proud.”
“Language, Kye.”
“I think I should be let off the hook this time, considering she’s asleep and drooling on me.”
He was right. I thought she was still coloring, but the marker was in her limp hand, her head down, and she was asleep on his stomach.
I groaned, about to get up, when he held up a hand.
“I got it, just eat.” He grabbed for the marker, sliding the cap back on and carefully lifting her as he got up. She shifted, wrapping around him as he carried her towards the rooms.
He appeared again but grabbed a washcloth from the kitchen.
“Marker all over her face and arms,” he said, disappearing again.
Mark had tried to help me, coming over to cook and play with Bailey, but each time it had been a little awkward. Like he wasn’t quite comfortable in my little house, and his discomfort only made Bailey and me uncomfortable.
Plus, Bailey was too much for him. No matter how kind he was, I could see it in his eyes that all her energy and tricks really wore him down. Now, he politely avoided it when he could. I think in his mind, she would grow out of it soon and we could have more time together.
Kye, though, seemed right at home.
He walked out and went around the couch, grabbing his shirt from the ground before giving me a look of her artwork.
“Honestly, this one she freehanded is pretty great. I think it’s a narwal? Maybe a horse? Either way, it’s growing on me.”
I looked at it, but I was quickly distracted, looking over every tattoo and hard plane of his body. Six years of growing up had been very, very kind to him. Every muscle was more pronounced, each new tattoo a part of him that I wanted to know.
“Please, stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I finally met his eye, and I wished I hadn’t.
“Like you like what you see.”
“I was just admiring the artwork.”
