Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dex
O ur days have settled into somewhat of a routine of sorts since I’ve been home, and we’re now married.
Today, the home inspector is coming by to go through the house and let us know what needs to be reworked for the betterment of our home, but I’m at the pediatrician with Arya, who woke up complaining of a sore throat.
Since she was also running a low-grade fever, after discussing it with Abuela and Nonna, I made the appointment.
In fact, I passed a truck coming down the driveway as I was leaving.
I hate that Arya feels so crummy; she’s usually so boisterous and precocious that seeing her leaned back in the booster seat she still uses because she’s not quite at the height or weight needed to legally ride without one hurts my heart.
“We’ll get you all fixed up,” I promise looking at her in the rearview mirror.
“I know,” she whispers. “I just want to cuddle with my kitties and sleep, Dex.”
Yeah, she’s sick, because she’s the only one of the three that we don’t have to pry out of bed every morning.
She jumps up, raring and ready to go, while the two preteens grumble and fuss.
Jolie’s good for them, though, because she doesn’t get angry or sharp with them.
No, she uses logic, especially since Anni and Thad tend to try and push the envelope as far as how late they can stay up.
Now, they have their own alarm clocks and she’s told them that they are responsible for getting themselves up.
She’s teaching them time management and it’s something they’ve been lacking since they are used to the grands and our parents doing it for them.
We’ll knock on their doors with a one-time warning and call out to them to get it in gear, but it’ll be up to them to get moving themselves and ready for the day.
Yesterday, they both ended up being tardy for school because they weren’t up and ready when Jolie had to leave to get there since she got called on to substitute for a teacher who phoned in sick.
Seeing their faces after I signed them in, and they got the slips of paper to hand to their teachers showed them that we were serious.
Today, they were up, dressed, and eating breakfast by the time I walked into the kitchen with Arya on my hip.
Jolie says that natural consequences are a good way for kids to learn acceptable behaviors.
However, we did push their bedtimes back thirty minutes as well, because they were both cranky as hell yesterday.
I briefly wonder if we did too much this weekend and wore them out, then decide that they’re growing kids and need more sleep.
“Alright, Arya, we’re here,” I say as I pull my truck into a spot then park. “Need me to help you?” I ask.
“Yes, please,” she whispers, gripping her throat as though it pains her to say those two words.
Hopping out after pocketing my fob, I make my way to the backseat and unbuckle her then help her down. She looks so pitiful that I pick her up and after making sure the truck is locked, stride toward the door where a mother is waiting with her child to hold the door for me.
“I just love it when a father is involved with his child’s care,” she gushes, causing me to roll my eyes.
“He’s my brother,” Arya angrily says. She whimpers because of the way her throat feels but still manages to glare at the woman. “My daddy’s dead.”
I swipe away the tears that have started falling down her little face. While I haven’t forgotten that they’re all grieving still, I’m sure being sick has her feeling some kind of sullen way since Mom and Dad aren’t here to take care of her.
“Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry,” the woman says, stumbling over her words, a light blush now covering her face.
I wave her off as I walk to the receptionist desk and sign Arya in on the check-in sheet. “I have new insurance for the kids,” I tell the receptionist, whose name tag reads Nancy. “Do you want it now or when we check out?”
“Now, if it’s possible,” Nancy says. “That way we can update their files and call to find out what the copay will be.”
Without letting go of Arya, I manage to slip my wallet from my back pocket, then pull out the insurance card.
I haven’t gotten the new ones in the mail yet with all of their names on it, but the person at the insurance company I spoke to said that all the pertinent information was the same as far as the member identification number and group insurance number goes.
As I hand it to Nancy, I say, “The new cards are enroute to me, but the person I talked to said the member and group information were the same and the kids have been added to their database.”
“Makes sense,” she murmurs. “We’ll give this back to you at check out.”
“Thanks,” I reply. Looking around, I see that the rooms are split to ‘Well’ and ‘Sick’, so I head to the sick side of the waiting area and settle Arya in a chair before sitting next to her. “They’ll get you all fixed up, peanut.”
“I know, I just don’t like being sick,” she grumbles while looking up at me, her eyes heavy lidded from her fever.
With our heritage, all four of us have lightly tanned skin.
During the summer, we all darken significantly and with the days we’ve spent outside, Arya’s face is sporting some freckles across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks.
It dawns on me that the reason the woman said what she did is because outside of the fact that I’m a man and Arya’s a little girl, she’s a carbon copy of me.
It’s like looking in the mirror with the exception of the freckles.
Even though we called ahead of time for an appointment, we still end up waiting about thirty minutes before we’re called back by a charge nurse.
I suspect it’s because they had to verify the insurance coverage, but I dutifully scoop Arya up in my arms and follow the nurse to a cheerful room painted in a kid’s theme with a mural after she’s been weighed, of course.
After she takes Arya’s temperature and blood pressure she says, “Based on the fact her chief complaint is a sore throat and fever, I’m going to run a strep test on her so it’s ready for when the doctor comes in.”
“We thought it might be that,” I admit. “While I’ve not been around until recently, my grandmothers told me that Arya tends to frequently get strep throat.”
“I see that in her charts. I’ll be right back with the swab,” the nurse promises.
She leaves and I see Arya wrinkling her nose. “I take it you don’t like it when they swab your throat?” I ask.
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “It feels weird and makes me gag.”
I chuckle because she’s not wrong at all.
When I was her age, I used to get the same way, usually after a day spent outside where I ran around playing.
Seems she might take after me in more than looks, but I hope not, because the only thing that helped was having my tonsils and adenoids taken out.
If that happens, I’ll be here, of course, however, I don’t know what that’ll do for my contracts.
The company is so used to just calling me and me telling them that I’ll head out, but things have changed.
It’s not just me any longer. I have three kids, two aging grandmothers, and a wife to consider when it comes to just taking off for work.
Not that I don’t think Abuela, Nonna, and Jolie can handle things here, but ultimately, it’s my responsibility as the man of the house and their protector.
Maybe I need to take a step back and let the younger guys take on more of the jobs.
The problem with that is, I’m recognized nationwide as being one of the best in my field.
I make a note to talk to Jolie about this since it will impact her as well.
The nurse comes back in and swabs the back of Arya’s throat, making her gag a little bit.
“Here, sweetie, I’m going to give you one of these,” the nurse says, handing Arya an emesis bag.
“I know that sometimes, swabbing your throat can make you feel sick to your stomach.” Arya nods while clutching the bag.
I honestly hope she doesn’t vomit because I can handle a lot of shit, but puke isn’t one of them.
If she throws up, I’ll be joining right along in commiseration.
Spying the trash can, I move it closer to me, which has Arya’s brows rising.
“If you toss your cookies, I’ll be joining you,” I admit, grateful when she giggles.
“Well, looks like popsicles and soft foods for a few days, huh?” I ask as we pull away from the pharmacy with Arya’s medicine on the passenger seat. In addition to strep throat, she’s got the beginning of a summer cold, so they sent in something for that as well.
“Mmhm,” Arya mumbles around a popsicle that the pharmacy gave her. Apparently, they have them right by the window and when the clerk heard me saying that I’d run out and get some after I got her back home, she handed us one ‘for the road’.
“We’ll get you back to normal,” I advise. “I’m pretty sure that Abuela and Nonna are making some of their magical chicken soup.”
“It’s so good though,” she softly replies.
“I agree. I wonder if we need anything else. Surely we don’t, I think Jolie and I bought out the stores this past weekend.”
She giggles while nodding. “I like that we have a refrigerator just for drinks and popsicles.”
“Don’t forget the ice cream,” I tease.
Jolie prefers making waffle bowls full of ice cream, chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and whipped cream. They’re totally decadent but knowing how she grew up after she went into the system, I had promised myself that she would have anything her heart desires from here on out.
“I like her, Dex,” Arya says.
“So do I, munchkin, so do I,” I reply.
And that could be a problem for future me because it goes against what I promised her when she agreed to our arranged marriage.
“How about we get you settled on the couch?” Jolie asks once Arya’s taken her medicine and eaten a small bowl of the chicken soup that Abuela fixed.
The whole house smells amazing right now, since in addition to the soup that’s simmering on the back of the stove, they’re canning fruit today. Nonna’s sauce has been canned as well because of Arya’s throat.
“Okay,” Arya murmurs, lifting drowsy eyes to Jolie. “I’m kind of sleepy right now.”
That probably has something to do with the painkiller the doctor prescribed since Arya told him that her throat felt like it had razor blades in it whenever she swallowed.
“Then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll run up and get your fuzzy blanket. I’m sure Mutt and Jeff will be happy to snuggle with you,” Jolie states. “Dex, will you carry her into the family room and get her comfortable, please?”
“Absolutely. Go ahead and bring her some comfy lounge clothes too. No reason for her to be in jeans and a T-shirt.”
“Good idea,” she says, nodding in agreement. “Abuela, Nonna, as soon as I have her settled and have talked to Dex about what Albert found today, I’ll come in and give y’all a hand.”
“Mija, just take care of Arya,” Abuela says. “We’ve got this,” she asserts, waving her hand between herself and Nonna.
“No, y’all are putting all of this up for all of us, so I’m going to help wherever I can,” she retorts.
Scooping Arya up, I grab the ginger ale and another popsicle then head into the family room. I barely have her on the couch when Jolie returns, her arms full of pillows, clothes, and the fuzzy throw. “Let’s get you changed, sweetie,” she coos to Arya.
“I’ll be on the back porch,” I tell her, wanting to give them the privacy they deserve while Arya gets changed.
“That’s fine, I’ll grab us a drink and my list and meet you out there,” she replies, already focusing on my little sister.
As I settle into one of the porch chairs, I murmur, “Looks like things might be changing for the better for all of us.”
Because even though it’s been a scant few weeks since Jolie became part of our family, I can’t imagine a future without her in it in some capacity.
By my side.
In my bed.
Raising our own babies.
Yeah, I’m fucked.