Reyna blinked at her daughter, ignoring the impatient sizzle and pop of olive oil in the pan. "What was that, hummingbird?"
Sheila met her gaze head-on, furrowing brunette brows over warm, chocolate eyes. "I said, how come you and daddy aren't married?"
Why, indeed. She turned the burner off and slid into the chair opposite to the one where her daughter sat. Propping her chin on one hand, and asked, "Does it bother you that we're not married?"
She fiddled with her school textbook and slid her eyes to a random passage. "Not really."
"Uh-huh," Reyna murmured. "That's not what it looks like from here." She reached across the table and chucked Sheila under her chin with a gentle finger. "What's bothering you?"
She looked up sharply before her gaze skittered away again. "It's just that—that Jason said that you couldn't be my parents if you weren't married. He said mommies and daddies have to be married to make kids. But…" she bit her lip and looked back at Reyna, confusion swimming in her eyes and knotting her brow. "You're not married."
Reyna sat back in her seat and surveyed her little girl. Well, Jason again, was it? She wasn't sure what had sparked the feud between the two children, but ever since the first day of school, the little twerp had mercilessly picked on her little girl. If it wasn't Sheila's wings, it was Sheila's shy nature, and if it wasn't that, it was something else. Well, Sheila wouldn't have been the responsible one—her little hummingbird was sweet as pie and twice as friendly. Reyna honestly didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or go after the little brat and his family with a gem enhanced frying pan.
But now was not the time for that, though it was probably time for her to schedule an appointment with the head of the school and impress how bullying was not something she would tolerate. Making Kieth sit in on that meeting would probably help her cause— it was time he put that intimidating frame and that massive strength that came with it to use for something other than beating up the odd troublemaker at his restaurant (or fucking her silly). Besides, intimidating school administrators would be fun.
But for now, she had a confused Sheila to contend with. "And what did you say to Jason?" Reyna asked.
Sheila pouted. "I called him a liar," she muttered in a small voice. "You're my mom. And dad is my dad." But she still looked unconvinced, intensely concentrating on twirling her pencil between her small, sticky fingers.
Oh, her little girl was so precious. "And that, hummingbird, is that. You got it right—I'm your mom and your dad is your dad. Nothing can ever make that untrue."
Sheila peered at her. "Then…do you love daddy?"
"Of course I do. And stop chewing on your fingernails, hun."
"Sorry. And you love me," Sheila said with the serene bliss of a well-loved child, tilting her head to the side, chewing her bottom lip.
Reyna grinned at her mischievously. "What makes you so sure?"
Sheila rolled her big brown eyes at her. "Come on, mom. We've been over this a million times. You love me more than anything else in the world. You tell me that every morning, every night, and—"
Reyna laughed, and Sheila giggled with her. When they had quieted, she said, "You know your dad feels the same way, right?"
She nodded, looking pensive again. "He tells me even more than you do. So…why aren't you and dad married?"
Dammit. Why indeed, she thought again wryly. "C'mere, hun," she said, opening her arms to her girl. Sheila flashed her a smile, and hopped off her chair, around the table and into Reyna's lap.
"You remember our deal, right?" she asked, twisting around and settling herself in Reyna's lap. "You can't tell anyone about this. Then Jason will just call me a baby again, and then I'm really gonna hit him." Reyna was perfectly proud of the fact that her little hummingbird was developing a bit of a temper like her mother.
Still, she glowered at the mention of that brat, Jason. Sure, Sheila was a bouncing ball of energy these days that couldn't hold still for the life of her, but she wasn't malicious. She was the sweetest little thing that ever breathed, and she couldn't see why that brat Jason couldn't see that.
She kissed Sheila behind her ear, breathing deeply. Her baby smelled like powder, laundry detergent and sunshine. Sheila erupted into giggles. "Moooom, that tickles."
"I don't see why you don't just punch the kid out," she muttered, and knew she was probably being a very bad mother in suggesting it and encouraging her daughter toward violence. Still, one could say a million and one things with a well-aimed punch that would take hours to express with words, and the sooner her girl learned that lesson, the better.
"That's what I said!" she exclaimed,(so proud!) "But daddy said that, uh, said that I had to—to solve my problems with words and not hitting people. I have to be—uh, what was it?—dip—dip—la-"
"Diplomatic?"
"That's it! Diplomatic. He said that means you solve problems with words. He said I should ask Jason to stop." She wrinkled her button nose in distaste while fidgeting with Reyna's earring. "He said if I'm gonna hafta be good with words. Not just fighting." She pouted. "That doesn't sound like much fun." Reyna could almost glow with pride in her little girl for not being afraid to fight anymore. She was obviously a good influence on the girl.
"Still," she continued, "how come you and dad aren't married?"
Reyna blew a raspberry into Sheila's shoulder, holding her tight as she shrieked and wiggled. Stubborn little thing.
"Mooooom! Don't do that! You're not answering my question!" She twisted around to face her mother, and pinned her with a glare, looking for all the world like her father ready to mercilessly lay the beat-down on some poor fuck-up's ass—or conquer a small mountain of food orders, you really couldn't tell these days. She smothered a giggle.
"Why's this bothering you so much, hun?" she asked, trying to evade explaining the entanglements and quirks of her relationship with Keith to her child, mostly because she couldn't even explain them to herself with any sort of coherency. There really wasn't a reason she hadn't married the fool yet—she certainly loved him enough, and loved the little monster they had raised together even more. She loved the feel of his hands, and loved knowing the location and the story behind every scar and callous on his body. She loved sharing his burdens, loved basking in his trust, loved sleeping with his comforting weight by her side.
But most of all, she loved how he still asked her to marry him. He'd ask her unexpectedly—sneaking up behind her and surprising her with a nibble on her earlobe or an open-mouthed kiss to the junction of her neck and shoulder, or when they had just finished making love, basking in the afterglow and knowing that they would have to pull some clothes on and unlock the door soon so Sheila could climb in with them if she wanted to, or completely unexpected times, like those rare nights when she'd be curled up against him on the couch and Sheila would be asleep on his belly and they'd be finishing up an old movie and it'd be obscenely late—
Every time, it was the same, breathed against her skin, his breath a ghosting sigh: "Will you marry me?"
And every time, she would smile wickedly, and say, "Not yet. Not quite yet."
And he would just chuckle, bury his face in her hair, or her neck, or her breasts—any part he could reach, really—and say, "I'm not giving up, you know. One of these days, you're going to have to say yes."
And she would cackle, "Or you'll what?"
He would respond creatively after that. Her favorite was "Or I'll withhold the sex" which just made her laugh at his sheepish expression because, quite honestly, he wouldn't even have held out a day, or "I'll stop cooking for you," in response to which she launched into a charged tirade about her economic independence and how she still had it, no matter how in love she was, and there was nothing he could do about it, so she could buy her own damn food. Mostly out of outrage that he would dare even joke that he might deprive her the sweet ambrosia that was his cooking.
But how to say this so her girl would understand?
She started slowly. "You know Sheila, not all families are made the same way. We're all a little different—kind of like the different foods daddy makes for us. Chicken is different from sandwiches which is different from soup. But you know what every family has in common?"
She shook her cute brunette head. "…They all taste yummy?"
Reyna smiled and tweaked Sheila's nose. "That everyone in a family loves everyone else." Well, perhaps that was oversimplifying a bit, but she didn't think that her daughter was quite ready to grasp the concept of unhealthy family dynamics yet. "Like the Kenzy's—they're not like our family, are they? But all of them still love each other. And it's the same thing here—I love you and your daddy loves you, and we all love each other; that's what makes us family."
Her daughter considered her words carefully. "Still…"
She sighed. "Anything else, hun?"
Sheila wiggled in her lap, twisted around, and settled again. "But Jason said—he said that the reason you didn't marry daddy was that you were—"
She looked genuinely upset now, with bright eyes and trembling mouth. Reyna closed her arms around her, pillowed her head on her shoulder, and asked, "What else did the twerp say?"
"That…that you really didn't want to stay. With daddy. With me." She finished with voice little more than a whisper, curling her little fingers into the hollow of Reyna's collarbone. Reyna really, really wanted to smack the fear of god (or an irate raven-headed devil, either was good, really) into that little brat Jason.
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. "Sweetie, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Look at me, hummingbird, this is important. There we go. I won't ever leave you, or your daddy. Ever. I love you both too much to do that. It—it would probably break me on the inside if I ever did." Her voice cracked as she ran her hands through Sheila's soft brown hair.
Sheila remained still for a moment, and nodded. "Okay." Then, louder, "Okay." She laid a loud and wet kiss on Reyna's cheek and asked if she could have ice cream for dinner.
~~~~~
Later that night, after Kieth had put Sheila to bed by reading her favorite story to her for the billionth time (because, according to Sheila, Mommy didn't do the voices right and rushed through the best bits, and nobody but Daddy did it all right) and settled in to bed, she asked him to marry her.
"W-what?" he stuttered, eyes wide.
She giggled and kissed the corner of his mouth. He smelled like toothpaste. "Don't make me repeat myself. Also, I think we should schedule an appointment with the school principal—this bullying business has gotten out of—"
Kieht let out a breath and buried his face in her chest. "Yes," he said, muffled, "yes..."
She grinned, eyes falling half-way shut as he pulled at the buttons of her pajamas and left a smattering of open-mouthed kisses on whatever skin he exposed.
As though she had expected any other answer. This wouldn't change anything, not really. The love her family shared didn't need to be validated on paper.
But, she supposed, as Kieth did something with his tongue that made her head fall back and eyes close, it would be nice to make it official.
~Fin~
