Page 92 of Time for Change

I wonder what he’s doing at the hospital? I know diddly about electricity, other than you don’t want to put a blow dryer near the bathtub.

Shivering, I burrow deeper into the blanket. Then an idea hits me.

I get up, wondering if I’m overstepping by going upstairs, but ultimately, deciding a warmer layer would help right now. I creep toward the steps and slowly take them up, praying I don’t find a squeaky board that’ll wake the entire house.

When I reach the top, I tiptoe to Jack’s bedroom and carefully close the door. This way, I won’t wake them with noise or light. I glance around his space, wishing I could climb beneath his warm comforter. But that’s the last place his kids need to find me if one of them happens to wake up. So, I move past the inviting bed and go to the closet where I’ve seen stacks of warm sweatshirts on a shelf.

The moment I step inside, I’m assaulted by his scent. It’s a mixture of his detergent, along with deodorant and a hint of cologne. I go to the stack of sweatshirts and pull one with their business logo off the top of the pile. Shoving my nose into the material, I inhale deeply and sigh.

So good.

I pull my thin sweater over my head and carefully remove my bra. With my week-old piercing, I only wear a bra to work or in an instance like tonight. I didn’t want to show up to meet Jack’s kids with my nipples pressed against my sweater.

Placing both bra and sweater on the floor, I slip his sweatshirt on and revel in the warmth it provides. My arms wrap around my midsection before I bring the sleeve to my nose and inhale, and I’m certain if someone were to walk around the corner, they’d think I’d lost my mind. Sniffing and rubbing a sweatshirt all over myself like a lunatic.

Smiling, I quietly return downstairs. I’ve never been in a house with kids before, so I’m not sure how easily they’d wake up or not, but I don’t want to be the cause of it happening. Just as I go to sit down on the couch, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye in the kitchen. A bubble of joy pops in my chest and I move swiftly toward the adjacent room. If Jack is home already, that means we can get a little more snuggling—and hopefully a whole lot of kissing—in before I need to head home.

But as I enter the kitchen, it’s not Jack I see standing there.

It’s Gianna.

And she looks…upset.

“Gianna, is everything all right?” I ask, slowly approaching. The last thing I’d want to do is scare her.

“Why are you here?” Her eyes are narrow as she studies me.

“Your dad had a work emergency he had to go take care of. Since I was here, I volunteered to stay with you guys,” I tell her. I don’t know why, but my heart is pounding in my chest. I really want this little girl to like me, but I haven’t been able to squash the feeling she doesn’t.

“Where’s Nana?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest the way her father does when he’s being authoritative.

“Umm, your dad didn’t want to get her up and here so late, especially since he wasn’t sure what time he’d be home.”

She brushes her curls over her shoulder and opens the fridge. I watch as she scans the contents before pulling something out. I’m shocked when I realize it’s not what I expected. She pops the top on the can of Mountain Dew and takes a loud sip.

“Umm, Gianna, I’m not so sure your dad would approve,” I say nervously.

She shrugs and takes another slurp.

Okay, I need to get this under control. I’m certain Jack wouldn’t allow her to have Mountain Dew at almost eleven o'clock at night. Hell, I’m not sure he’d let them have it any other time of the day either. I’m a little surprised to see it in his fridge, honestly, but he did tell me he’ll have one occasionally when he’s low on sleep and needing an afternoon caffeine jolt.

“Listen, Gianna,” I start, straightening my spine and placing my hands on my hips. She’s smiling at me, but it’s not a friendly smile. It’s sassy and challenging and makes my stomach drop to my feet. “No more.”

Suddenly, she grows angry. Her pretty blue eyes blaze with defiance as she yells, “You’re not my mother!”

I’m so taken back by her outburst, I just stand there, mouth agape.

“You can’t tell me what to do! You don’t live here!”

“I-I know that,” I counter, gently.

“You’re just sleeping with my dad! You’re not my mom and never will be! I hate you! Go away! We don’t want you here!”

And then she storms off, Mountain Dew can practically thrown onto the kitchen table and splattering everywhere. I hearher stomping up the stairs, and it’s immediately followed by the sound of her crying.

I stand completely still, shocked by what just happened. Tears burn my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. I don’t know how long I stand here, listening, but eventually, I know I need to clean up the mess on the table. My legs are numb as I retrieve a clean washcloth and wet it with warm water. I use paper towels to wipe up the puddles, and then wipe the remnants away with the warm cloth.

When it’s cleaned up, I dump the rest of the soda can down the drain and throw it into the recycling bin. Swiping at the tears that seem to continually leak from my eyes, I return to the living room and sit on the couch. I reach for the blanket, curling up into a ball, and cry.

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