Page 33 of Triplets for the Dark Elf
I rush around the house, grabbing the last few things I need as I shout instructions at him. “They eat at seven!” I search for my hat. “And bath after!”
“No bath!” Indie argues as I rush toward them.
“Yes bath.” I kiss them each on the head and look at Miothro. “Bed by 8.”
“Annalise, I know. I’ve been here for it the last few weeks.” I nod, my eyes scanning the room as I try to think of anything else I need to tell him. He reaches out, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “I got this. Go.”
“Okay.” I nod, rushing toward the door. “I love you all! I’ll see you when you get home!”
They’re already absorbed in Miothro to notice me leaving, and I am relieved. I am glad they have their dad, but it’s also nice to have help. And I am especially glad they enjoy being with them.
My kids are rightfully hesitant when it comes to new people in their lives, but they love having Miothro. And if I’m being honest, I am, too.
But I know we can’t keep going like we are. It’s not fair to any of them. When I get home, I’ll need to talk to him about his role in their lives. They deserve mornings with their dad and more than stolen moments.
And at some point they need to know just who he is to them. I am petrified at the prospect, but it’s what’s right. I know it is. I just need to find the courage to face it.
Maybe with Miothro at my side I’ll be able to.
18
MIOTHRO
“Mimi!” Maeve screams at the top of her lungs, holding two halves of a broken toy.
“It’s okay.” I try to keep my voice soothing as I twist Indie upside down in an attempt to wrangle my hair out of his grasp. “Maevey,” I soothe as I reach toward her, but Indie is cackling in my ear as I feel strands rip free of my scalp.
I swipe for something else, anything within my grasp, and when my hand closes around a book discarded on the floor, I thrust it up in front of Indie. Instantly, he lets go, ripping the book from my hands and I set him down as he flips through the page.
Maeve is still screaming, and I scoop her up in my arms, moving us to the couch so that I can’t be ambushed by my son again. I take the two halves of her toys, and, with a little transformative magic trick I learned as a teen, I fuse it back together.
She screams in glee – I think – and snatches the toy out of my hands. Scrambling out of my lap, she goes back to her place on the floor.
I sigh as I tip my head back, sucking in a deep breath. It took all of thirty seconds for this house to descend into madness.
With Annalise, the kids are so well-behaved. No, they don’t always listen, and yes, they are rambunctious. But they don’t rip my hair out – literally – and bounce off the walls. She has a handle on them I never respected before.
They were so sweet when I first arrived, wanting to talk to me and play games. I thought I had really gotten to know my kids.
But the second that door shut behind their mother, they whirled on me. It was like staring down the eyes of a beast that could sense its prey. They knew I was weak, and they pounced.
No wonder Annalise was so worried about me. She knew what little demons our children are, and she hid it from me.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and I roll my head to the side to see Hazel standing there. She regards me for a moment, and then twists her mouth to the side. “Smoke.”
“Smo…” My eyes go to the little kitchenette where there is indeed smoke coming from the grain I forgot I was steaming. “Shit, shit, shit!”
I rush to rip it from the heat, airing out the pot that I will have to scrub later. At least the meat and veggies survived. That should be enough dinner for the triplets, especially after I let them fill up on cookies – parenting mistake one.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Maeve and Indie chorus behind me, and I shake my head. My hands grip the counter as I bow my shoulders forward and try to find the strength to make it through this evening.
Hazel walks up to me with that assessing gaze. “Bad word.”
“Yes,” I force out through my teeth. “Thank you, Hazel.”
“Don’t!” I shout over their screaming as I turn around, and they both freeze, wide eyed and open mouthed. I think it’s a ploy to make me feel guilty, but it works. I take a few steps closer, and in a much gentler voice, I remind them. “That’s a bad word.”
“Mimi say,” Maeve counters.