Page 11 of The Prez

If I’d known Elena had a baby, I would have told Jace to drive his mom van. Now we have to get a car seat.

I swallow past an unexpected lump in my throat. “How old is he?”

“Almost six months,” Sharon says. I keep the wince to myself. So little time with his mother. So little time with a normal life with someone that will love him.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “What’s his name?”

Sharon steps closer, smiling as she pushes the lock of black hair from his face. The baby follows her finger, then reaches up and grabs it, holding on tight. Sharon coos at him, saying some nonsense in baby talk. It annoys me, so I huff and give her a hard look.

She purses her lips and steps back with an expression that she wishes she could take him home with her instead of handing him over to me. “Rafael. His name is Rafael.”

CHAPTER 4

OMARI

Two weeks later…

The sound of high-pitched laughter wakes me up from my fitful slumber, but I don’t mind. My twin niece and nephew are the best part of living with my sister. She hasn’t stressed me or made me feel like shit about not having a place to live. But her hovering is annoying as hell. She’s the worst, making sure I have food, asking me if I need anything if she leaves the house and asking if I want to talk.

Okay, it’s not annoying and she’s not the worst. She means well and I know it. I’m lucky to have such a kind-hearted sister, someone that’s had my back through thick and thin. Namely stepping in when I was a teenager and my mom tried to basically starve me so I’d lose weight. Hazel threatened our mother, saying she’d file child abuse charges to gain custody of me if she didn’t cut the shit—my sister is close to ten years older than I am. She cares about me and I know it. I just want to sulk because it seems like I don’t have control of my life anymore.

My sister’s voice joins in with the laughter, trying to shush my niece and nephew when they step into the living room.

“This is their house,” I say in a sleep-soaked voice. “They can make all kinds of noises. Right munchkins?”

“Uncle Mari!” they both shout and I make a ‘oomph’ sound when they barrel into me. My eyes are still closed, so I didn’t see them coming at me.

“Dang, you two are heavy,” I mumble, sitting up with them in my arms.

My nephew smiles. “Nuh uh. We’re the perfect size.”

I laugh, still amazed that my six-year-old nephew says sentences like ‘we’re the perfect size’. He and his sister are sharp as a tack and I’m proud that I helped raise them.

My brother-in-law, Curtis, died in an oil rig accident the day after he returned to work from paternity leave. The twins were barely three months old and my sister had to take care of them on her own while grieving the loss of her husband. My brother-in-law’s family lived out of state and weren’t in a financial position to uproot themselves to move closer. I had no problem stepping up, moving in with Hazel for a year to help her out and look after the twins when she went to work. After she was more stable and put the twins in daycare, I still came over a few times a week to hang out and look after them. They’re the best kids I’ve ever met. They barely cried when they were infants and are kind and compassionate children.

Hazel gives me a dry look as she walks into the kitchen. “Yeah, Mari, they’re the perfect size.” She winks at me then focuses on the kids. “Let your uncle breathe. And brush his teeth. I know his morning breath is killing you two.”

My sister and I could be twins, except she’s around a size five. We have the same light brown skin, the same deep brown doe eyes, the same plump mouth and we’re about thesame height. We’re also much the same in demeanor. We’re mostly chill, not wanting to rock the boat, but we will if we have to. Just like me, Hazel would rather deescalate any fight or argument, but she’s not a pushover. Besides Kit, she’s my best friend. Well, Kitwasmy best friend.

I throw a small stuffed animal at my sister, but she catches it like an MLB player. I roll my eyes and set the twins down, going to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and relieve myself. Once I’m done and feeling human, I step into the kitchen with my sister. We move around the kitchen seamlessly as we cook breakfast.

After a few minutes of silence, Hazel asks carefully, “You hear anything back from the jobs you applied for?”

“Yeah,” I say as I flip pancakes. “One said they would return my call when they’ve looked over my application. Another said I wasn’t qualified enough. The other said I was too qualified.” I don’t believe that last one for a second. I only have a high school education and worked as a receptionist and office manager at the same location since I graduated. I’m not sure how that over qualifes me for the cash office in a grocery store, but who am I to argue?

She sighs, patting my back gently. “You’ll find something,” she reassures.

I turn to look at her, watching her slice apples for the twins. I’m not sure why I’m afraid to tell her about the job I heard back from yesterday, but nerves are swimming in my belly. Hazel is my big sister; I don’t want her to be disappointed or think I’m naive or something.

She meets my eyes, then they drop to my hands that I’m wringing in front of me. “What is it, Omari?” she asks, putting the knife down and giving me her undivided attention.

“I saw a posting on social media about a live-in nanny position last week. I applied.”

“Live-in?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. “You applied to live in a stranger’s house to watch their kids?”

“Just one. A baby, six months old. You know I love babies. And it seemed legit. There was an application and a background check and everything.” I was shocked when I was sent the email with an actual application and asking for consent to do a background check. If someone goes through all that trouble, it can’t be a scam, right?

Hazel raises an eyebrow. “Show me this email.”

---