Chapter 2 #4
I hug the kid. Leighton pops up with all three toys dangling from their mouth like rainbow spaghetti. They watch me expectantly and it takes me a moment to realize they want to know how long they took for that dive.
"Wow, Leighton, only forty-nine seconds that time! You're getting so fast," I say, making up a number on the spot.
Leighton paddles in a happy circle around me, butting their blunt bear head against my elbow. I pat their head, giving the thick fur of their ruff a scratch and then I toss the toys for them to fetch again. Leighton dives after them.
"You sure you don't want to play too, Kyrie?"
"Nuh uh." Kyrie squeezes me harder. "I miss Mapa and Daddy."
Shit. I am not ready for a weepy kid right now. "I know, darling, but they'll be home for dinner, grownups always come back."
Except the shitty ones who say they'll be there for you no matter what, only to leave you hanging at the edge of a cliff the minute you lose your footing.
But Kyrie's grownups wouldn't abandon them.
Not ever, and I'm not here to pass my baggage on to the kid sniffling against my chest. Those sniffles are starting to feel decidedly hot and moist and if I have to take Kyrie out of the pool to give them privacy while they sob, Leighton might mutiny on me.
I am so not parent material. I have no idea what I'm doing here.
Most days, I barely have a handle on my own emotions, let alone another tiny shifter with no ability to regulate their sad.
I'm not the fun outing aunt. I'm the ply them with sugar and rile them up at a family gathering then send them back to their parents at the first sign of trouble aunt.
How do parents deal with this shit all the time?
Hell, how does their preschool teacher handle a whole room full of tiny hurricanes of emotion and energy?
Hilda catches my eye from across the pool.
She mouths something that looks like 'are they alright? '
Unsure how to answer, I give her a pleading look and shrug, then I rub Kyrie's back in soothing circles.
The hatchling is still so small and delicate, holding them is barely a weight, especially in the water.
Even so, my shoulder is still throbbing from all the unaccustomed ways I've had to move it so far today.
I dread the prospect of having to carry Kyrie out of the pool right now, let alone also wrangling Leighton if they resist getting out of the water.
I might have bitten off way more than I can handle in a physical sense as well as the emotional sense.
Hilda makes her way closer to us. Okay, so maybe I have backup?
Leighton surfaces again.
"Good one! Forty-eight seconds that time."
The cub slaps at the water, clearly unimpressed with such a small gain.
They nudge the toys against my clasped hands.
I have to juggle Kyrie over to one side and I hesitate over which will hurt more, throwing or holding the kid in my bad arm?
I opt for holding Kyrie, they're light and throwing is the worst for aggravating my muscles.
I take the toys in my good hand and hold them up.
"You're getting better. Again?" I ask.
Leighton grumbles a bearish affirmative and I toss the three toys a little further apart this time. Leighton dives for them, still as energetic as when we started.
Kyrie whimpers in my arms, so much for a hug and a quick cuddle getting them back into the game.
"Hey, it's okay, I know you miss them. They miss you so much too. You know what helps me when I'm sad or worried and I have to wait to see someone who makes me feel better?" I ask.
Kyrie shakes their head slightly, then peers up at me with teary eyes. "What?"
"I get in my feathers and find a nice cozy perch where I feel safe to wait," I say.
It's true. Or it was until I stopped feeling safe in my feathers.
Still, it's definitely what Kyrie's raven shifter father does when he's upset, so it's advice I know he'd approve of me giving to his kid.
Heck, every raven shifter in our rave would tell Kyrie the same thing.
Just because it doesn't work for me anymore is no reason it won't work for them.
Our bird sides experience emotions and time differently and just being next to members of their flock, even if we aren't also in our feathers, will comfort their raven side.
Kyrie gazes up at me for a long time, so long I'm sure they can see the lack of conviction in my voice.
They trace one finger along my cheek, as solemn as when they were an infant with permanent grump-face from their chubby cheeks.
They were the most serious baby I've ever met.
"Really?" Kyrie asks.
"Really truly." I nod. "Just like how your bear side is good at swimming, your raven part knows how to share sadness that's too big for your human parts."
"Is that why you're so sad all the time, Aunty?" Kyrie asks. "Cause you don't like your feathers?"
"I'm not sad, dear, happy just looks different to different shifters. And I like my feathers just fine. What do you say? Want to try perching for a bit?" I offer my shoulder.
It's a blatant half-truth, but I don't have a better answer for them. Not one I can explain to a pre-schooler anyway. Hell, I can't explain the way the water has become the only place I feel at peace to adults, so there's no way Kyrie could understand what's wrong with me.
Kyrie gazes up at me a little longer, then they shift into feathers to scale their way back up to my good shoulder, letting their sibling monopolize the toys.
My nibling sidles right up next to my neck, snuggling under my hair and gently preening me.
I move us to an out of the way area near the edge so I can see the older kids, keep Kyrie from being splashed too much, and give Leighton room to keep diving.
Hilda resumes her exercises a few feet away, quirking a brow in a way that offers help if I need it.
"Having fun dear?" Hilda asks.
"Yep, Kyrie's a bit tired from all the excitement," I say.
As I give the excuse, I realize it's probably a huge part of why missing their parents is such a big deal today when they normally handle outings like this just fine.
Or it's that I'm usually not the only responsible adult available. Tired feels like a better reason.
"Ah. I know all about that. I'll be glad when Solstice is behind us, the kids are so excited for all the gift exchanges and keeping the vigil.
My Henry's been overdoing the holiday fun too, makes him a grump, so he stayed home with his other mom for a nap today.
School vacations are different from this side.
" Hilda sighs. We chat off and on as we watch our respective charges.
Myra and Cory's group have joined the other kids getting tossed into the water by the octopus shifter. I don't know how she's still got the energy for the game at this point, honestly.
Leighton keeps diving for a while longer and I relax into a sort of routine.
It's easier to handle the chaos around us once I stake out a little corner of the pool for our game.
When Leighton gets tired, they shift into feathers and snuggle next to Kyrie, the pair preening each other sweetly to catch their breath.
Just when I consider getting out of the pool with them, Kyrie get a second wind and launches from my shoulder and into the water, Leighton following on their tail, they shift from bird to bear and look at me expectantly until I toss the diving toys again, both cubs looking eager to play.
Leighton and Kyrie dive over and over again, clearly comfortable playing in their fur. The tension that gripped me the moment I saw my haven transformed by the chaos relaxes little by little as I watch them play and celebrate their record dives.
Everything is fine until Leighton latches onto the wrong type of octopus.
Not the sandbag toy with curly streamers for tentacles.
I realize the flailing violet tentacles dangling from Leighton's mouth is an actual tiny octopus at the same moment the octopus shifter who was tossing kids into the water like an amusement park ride barrels into Leighton out of nowhere.