Page 32 of Hold You Close
“Ruby, sweetie, it’s okay.” I kneel down, careful to avoid the shards. “I don’t care about the broken glass. We can clean it up.”
She cries harder, tears streaming down her face. I pick her up and set her on the counter, then look around the kitchen. Do I own a broom? If so, where would it be?
“Uncle Ian, your hair is funny.” Morgan is grinning at me.
I run a hand through it. “Thanks.”
“What are you looking for?”
“A broom.” I go over to the pantry and look inside. No luck.
“I’ll find it.” She hops off the stool and comes hurrying around the counter.
“Wait, Morgan, don’t step on the—”
“Ouch!” Morgan picks up one foot and looks at the bottom of it. A piece of glass has sliced her arch, and she begins to cry as blood trickles from the wound.
Oh, Jesus. Okay, make a plan. Blood first, then clean up the glass. I know where the Band-Aids are, right? I open the drawer I thought they were in, but don’t see them. Dammit!
“Okay, Morgan, just stay right there,” I tell her, opening every drawer in the kitchen. “Don’t move, I don’t want you to step on any more glass.” Fuck me, why didn’t I keep Band-Aids somewhere more handy? Meanwhile, Ruby is still howling away on the counter.
In the middle of all this, the doorbell rings.
What the hell? At six o’clock in the morning? What sane person is up at this hour? Sidestepping the glass, I hurry to the door and look through the peephole.
Of course. London. I look down at my naked chest, pajama pants, and bare feet. I know my hair is a mess. In the kitchen, I’ve got two crying girls, one broken glass, one bloody foot, and a breakfast of pizza and Coke. I am not exactly winning the morning.
Oh, well. I open the door.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I say as I look at her. She’s completely ready for a day of work. The sun blinds me from behind her and the sound of the kids still screaming from the kitchen stops her from saying anything.
“What the hell?” London asks as she pushes her way through the front door and rushes into the kitchen.
Well, there goes any shred of hope that I don’t look like a total fucking loser. I couldn’t even last one night.
“Come on in.” I close the door behind her.
“Ian!”
At least I’m consistent at disappointing her. I walk to the kitchen where she has Ruby in her arms and is looking at Morgan’s foot.
“I swear, this isn’t what it looks like,” I try.
She shoots me a glaring look and I shrug. “Can you please get the first aid kit?” London’s lips barely move as she asks through gritted teeth.
I don’t say anything about her looking like a wooden dummy—she might throw one of the shards at my head, and she was all-state in softball.
The kit is not in the obvious places like the kitchen or master bath. Where the fuck is it? I head into the guest bathroom and find it in the first drawer.
Score!
“Found it!” I yell like the hero I am and hustle down the stairs. “I found it!”
London rolls her eyes. “Good job. I got the glass out, you need to clean it and put a Band-Aid on.”
I walk over to Morgan and restrain myself from flicking her in the nose. “I told you not to move.”
Her arm moves across her nose and she sniffs. “You looked pissed that you couldn’t find the broom. I was helping.”
