"Aria, eat your vegetables," I say. My eight-year-old, blonde, beautiful daughter flutters her eyelashes and pouts her lower lip in an attempt to win me over. I have been through this a lot not to give in.
"Come on, sweetheart. Daddy wants you to eat your vegetables so you can grow bigger." When my Mom says that, she eagerly takes her spoon and scoops the peas out of the plates, happily munching on them.
I rub my fingers over my rough shin in thought. I mentally scheduled a barbing appointment and scribbled down my signature on the papers Aria's homeschooled teacher recommended—something about swimming classes as an extra-curricular activity.
"Dad," she calls in her tiny voice. I look up, disheveled; I haven't had enough sleep for a couple of years.
"Listen to your daughter," Mom nudges my shoulder, and I look up at Aria's slightly chubby face.
Quizzically, she fiddles with her fingers atop the table. "Dad, will you stay home and play with me?"
"I can't, my love." She stabs at the peas in disappointment at my response. She sniffs, and my heart tugs. I have got to go over some documents back at the office, and handle leftovers from lazy employees.
"I'm sure what your dad means is that he will look into it," trust Mom to jump in. She runs her fingers through her silvery hair and positions her hands on her hips, her usual posture when she wants to tell me off.
"I can't. I have to look through some paperwork. I have to do the leftovers and some management stuff… I…" I utter in between stutters. I flip through the documents on the dining table just to prove a point.
"But it's Saturday," she utters. Her eyes squint, and a waterfall of tears flows down her cheeks, dribbling on the napkin on her neck. Her nose flares, and her hands wipe her eyes repeatedly.
"My love, I…" I am now down in shame. I cannot fathom how we got here. We used to be so close when Lucy was alive; we used to—
"Do you see how your actions affect her?" Mom slides into the chair to my right. She plops her face on her palm, her elbow shielding me from Aria.
"What—" I have run out of excuses. Mom's eyebrows are lifted, and she smacks her lips together.
"Don't you…" When Aria whimpers, she lowers her voice. Mom had made it her mission to make sure that my daughter is never exposed to the harsh world. "Dare," she continues.
She turns to Aria and smiles so softly. "Dear, why don't you go upstairs and play? I will join you in a minute."
Aria happily skips to the door, wiping her face against her dress.
I don't have time to dwell on retrieving my daughter because Mom is at it again, a big scowl adorning her perfectly aged face.
"You know, Ethan has been teaching me how to use the laptop now, and—"
I roll my eyes at her. My brother is living the best of his bachelor life. He is out there putting his technical skill to the world while I mope.
"Are you even listening to me?" She snaps her fingers in my face.
"Yes, ma'am." My accent slips.
"That's how you sound when you are being sarcastic. You are indeed your father's son." Her gaze drifts a bit, but like the strong woman she is, Mom regains her composure and takes a load of bread off the basket.
"Where was I?" Her attention span is terrible; it almost got me giggling, but I know she hates it when I try to be unserious.
"Ethan." I was getting tired of putting my legs on the floor, so I crossed them.
"Yeah, God bless him." Mom doesn't hide the fact that he is her favorite. Her cheeks widen, her eyes are bright, and her teeth are on display, crooked.
"I can manage Aria on my own. I don't think you should stay cooped up in here with me," I tell her for the umpteenth time. She has taken it upon herself to always be present. She says that with Lucy's death, Aria needs a woman in her life.
"Do you know anything about raising a daughter?" She stands abruptly, hitting her fists against the table and closing her eyes. She does that when she is angry.
"I do." Was that the right answer?
"You don't, Cian. You might know how to raise a billion-dollar company and make men drop to their knees, but the last thing you are good at is spending time with your damn daughter." She talks so fast I struggle to catch up.
"I—" I start. Like every other mundane morning, Mom makes it her duty to remind me of the failed dad that I am.
"I'm not yet done," she interferes. "I have talked to Ethan about it, and he is helping me with something. It's time I take things into my own hands."
"What do you mean?" My brother is a stupid womanizer. All he does is spend his days inside some random chick he picks up at clubs. The last thing he knows is living life, and he is not about to tell me what to do. Goddamn it, the bastard.
"I'm getting you a wife." She inhales sharply as if she has been holding it for a while.
"Mom, why are you doing this?" I stand, the chair falling to the ground with a bang.
My hands are in the air. My emotions are all over the place. I don't know what to think or do, and it's like that night when they found Lucy's body all over again.
"I need to do this, sweetheart." She takes my right hand in hers and brings me closer. She wraps her other hand around my neck and gently pats my hair.
She lays my head against her chest, as she used to when I was young and I got bullied. She is shorter than I am, and I bend.
"Everything is going to be okay," she croaks out, her fingers in my hair, and her arms encircled around me.
I don't know what she means, but one thing I'm sure of: it's going to be hell.