Page 16 of Employing Patience

Mariana cringes and grabs her bag. “The keys are by the door if you end up going out somewhere. I’ll be back later.”

“Até logo.”

She leaves, and my grin immediately takes over my face. As much as coming here has been my escape, hanging out with these two is never a hardship, and my heart aches over the day they’re too old to want to spend time with me.

“Where are the little monsters?” I shout, stomping down the hall. There’s a flurry of movement from the TV room, and when I walk inside, Gus’s giggles immediately give him away—along with the foot sticking out from under the couch.

Alice is more tricky. I pace from one side of the living room to the other, Gus’s giggles getting louder every time I approach, and when he sounds like he’s on the verge of wetting himself, I drop suddenly, chest to the rug and face-to-face with the silly kid.

He screams and scrambles to crawl out the other side, and I latch onto his misplaced foot and drag him out toward me. He writhes and squirms as I tickle him before throwing him over my shoulders like a lamb.

“Ti-ti-tio Artur!” he gasps through his laughter.

“Now, where’s Alice?”

“Th-there!”

Ah, five-year-olds. No concept of loyalty. I kick open the trunk by the window, and Alice glares out at me.

“No fair! He gave me away!”

I cock an eyebrow at her. “Would you rather hide or be baking?”

To her credit, she makes a valiant effort to hold on to her annoyance. “Why can’t Gus ever play right?”

“He does play right because there’s no wrong way to play.”

“There is in Monopoly.”

“We’re not playing Monopoly.” I can already tell she’s in an argumentative mood today, and while I know she drives Mariana up the wall when she gets like this, I recognize it for what it is. Her negotiation and reasoning skills are in overdrive as her mind starts opening up to the world outside of, well, her. Parenting books and child psychology videos for the win.

The promise of sugary pastry has her backing down faster than she normally would, and when she climbs out of the trunk, I set Gus back on his feet.

“So, what first?”

“We have costumes!” Alice says. “Mom picked them up.”

“Oh, yeah? Who are we being today?”

Alice and Gus share matching evil looks before tearing off down the hall, immediately united through mischief. Mariana and I were exactly the same.

They come back with an Olaf onesie.

Merda.

Alice and Gus dress up as Anna and Elsa while I pull on the white polyester suit, praying nothing today catches on fire. Then we get to baking. Pastéis de nata are easy enough to make, but everything takes twice as long with a five- and eight-year-old who are determined to do everything themselves.

“So …” Alice starts, getting that same mouth pinch as Mariana and Mom. “Why don’t you have any kids, Tio?”

Unlike when my sister or other adults ask, I don’t mind the question.

“Because kids are hard work. And unless you’re ready to rebuild your entire life around someone else, I don’t think you should have them.”

“What do you mean?”

Okay, in a way for them to understand … “If I have kids, I have to stop coming around. I can’t cook pastéis de nata with you anymore; I’ll have to do it with them.”

Gus wrinkles up his nose. “Tha-that doesn’t sound fun.”

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