Kisses and Warfare

When I look up, they’re all watching me.

“I’m going to take it slow. Mitchell has to prove he wants to be in her life.” I look around at their shocked faces and wait for them to speak.

“No way! We can fight him on this,” my mother says. “You’re her mother. You’ve been raising her, not that bastard. The courts will see…” Her arms cross over her chest in a defiant motion, but there’s also glistening in her eyes.

“But if I can save the money and the hassle and added stress of a court case, I should. Also, she should know her father if he turns out to be legitimate.” I touch Annabelle’s hair, it’s the same color as mine.

“Are you sure, Kat?” Rochelle asks.

“I don’t know, honestly. But if we do go to court, he has the money for a damn good lawyer, and why fight him right now when he’s agreed to do things my way until I am comfortable.” I shrug my shoulders and take a deep breath.

“I can’t take this,” my mother says, grabbing her bag and walking out the door. My father walks over, kisses my cheek, and tells me, “I’m proud of the woman you are. It takes a strong one to let that man back in after everything he’s done, or should I say not done. Give your mom some time,” he says while touching my shoulder. “You two are so much alike, it’s scary.” Dad shakes his head as he follows Mom outside. He always follows her. She picked a great man when she married my father. I hope one day to have the same kind of relationship they share. Maybe one day.

Looking up to Rochelle, she’s smiling. Marcus takes a seat as Rochelle walks over and sits down with Annabelle at my feet.

“He’s right, you know. You’re both hotheads and lose your temper quickly.” Rochelle smirks. “That’s why you butt heads so much.”

“Shut up,” I say while shaking my head.

“Do you need us to watch Annabelle tonight? I know you use a sitter, so you don’t have to use Mom all the time,” she says, surprising me.

“How did you know that?”

She kisses Annabelle’s doll before handing it back to her. Annabelle holds it up again, so she kisses it again at Annabelle’s request. “I came around one night, and you weren’t here.” She shrugs. “You could have asked. You know I will help.”

“I like having a sitter. But don’t get me wrong, I also love all your help. But you guys have a life as well. And honestly, I hate asking all the time.”

“Marcus has even started to warm to Annabelle.” Rochelle giggles as Annabelle stands and walks to where he’s seated. She holds her doll out for him to kiss too. He looks at it as if it’s got a third head.

“Kiss,” she says to him.

We watch and wait.

I look down to see Rochelle smiling so fucking big her cheeks must be hurting. I bet this is why she loves having Annabelle. Anything to make her fiancé uncomfortable.

“Kiss,” she says again to him.

He looks up and scrunches his eyebrows. “I don’t want to kiss it. Take it away,” Marcus says to her.

Annabelle’s bottom lip puckers, and she stays where she is holding her doll out to him. “Kiss,” she tries again. She knows only a few words and is learning more and more every day. It’s the cutest thing ever to hear her talking.

“No,” Marcus says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Annabelle touches his leg and pulls on his lap, trying to climb on him as he sits back. “Kiss,” she says, depositing the doll to the floor. Her mission now is to climb onto Marcus.

Rochelle sits there happily, her smile not leaving her face as she watches the exchange.

Oh shit! I forgot to ask if she’s pregnant and if she’s told him yet. But trying to gain her attention now won’t be good.

“No,” he says again as she manages to get up and onto his lap. She sits down, and her little hands touch his face. She kisses him on the cheek, and he looks at Rochelle.

“Pretty,” he says.

When I look at Rochelle, I see she’s crying. She stands and walks up the stairs fast, until she’s in the bathroom.

Marcus looks to me, picks Annabelle up, holds her out as if she’s sick and doesn’t want to touch her, then passes her to me before he goes off after Rochelle. I follow them up the stairs but keep my distance to make sure Rochelle’s all right.

“Open the door.”

“No,” she says.

“Pretty… open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Do I need to break it?” he asks.

“No,” I say, at the same time Rochelle does.

“Marcus,” Rochelle says through the door.

“Yes,” he replies, his hands are braced on either side of the jamb, watching the door, waiting for it to open.