16. Maria
Chapter sixteen
Maria
Tig vanishes in the blink of an eye. My mouth opens, but I’m so stunned, no sound comes out. Zinnia drops Wolfie and runs to hide behind me. The cat lands on all fours and struts from the room.
Chris kneels next to Zinnia. “It’s okay, kiddo.”
“Is she a good witch? Like in The Wizard of Oz?”
“Tig isn’t a witch. She’s the same as me and your—”
I pinch his shoulder and he stops, glancing up at me. I give a quick shake of my head, and he nods. At some point, I’ll have to tell Zinnia what I’ve become. But I’m not ready yet.
“Anyway, Tig’s the same as me.” Chris taps his own chest. “A nightcrawler. Like Tig said, we call ourselves vampires. And we have access to a lot of technology you’ll learn about.
That one allows Tig to travel so fast it looks like she disappeared, but it uses a lot of power, so only a few people have access to it. ”
“Do you?”
He looks wistful. “No, I’m not so lucky.”
Yeah, because if he did, he wouldn’t be stuck with a child of either kind.
I finally find my voice. “Zinnia, go use the bathroom and wash your hands.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
As soon as the door closes, I pounce. “How dare you try to send my daughter away.”
Chris steps back. “I was only thinking of what was best for her.”
“Liar. You didn’t deny what Tig said about you hating children.”
“That was just Tig teasing me. I told you last night what my father taught me—”
“That children are a…burden?” I lower my voice to a whisper on the last word. I’d never want Zinnia to hear such a thing, even by accident.
“Yes.”
“But you said we weren’t. You said you’d made your choice.”
“I made a choice to spare you for your daughter.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh, thought it was short term. I’m not good at long-term relationships.”
Anger races through my chest as my heart pumps too fast. He makes the big, heroic sacrifice, but he wants to run away from the day-to-day. “Look, you have a chance right now to be better than your father.”
He scowls, then paces away from me. “Why am I held to a higher standard than that bastard?” He didn’t scream it, but the venom in his voice made his feelings clear. “My father abandoned me and shirked his responsibilities. Why can’t I?”
“You should want to be held to a higher standard!”
“My mother held herself to a higher standard, and it didn’t help her any!”
I take a deep breath, and my anger dissolves into sympathy as I put together a few pieces. His father abandoned him. His maker abandoned him. His mother did her best but wasn’t there for him.
No matter how hard life was, my extended family never made me feel like a burden—they loved me and wanted me to survive. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
Tears rim his eyes. “Leave it alone. I’m here. You’re here. Zinnia isn’t going anywhere.”
The cat lets out a loud mee-oow then and head-bumps Chris’s leg. He picks up the animal just as the bathroom door opens.
“Mommy, why are you and Daddy Christopher fighting?”
“I’m going to go make her pancakes.” Chris darts out carrying the cat, who lets loose another mee-oow, and he closes the bedroom door behind him.
“Baby girl, come here.” I open my arms to her. “Sometimes grownups disagree. You’re too young to remember, but sometimes your papas and I disagreed. It doesn’t mean anything bad will happen.”
“But Daddy Christopher wants me to leave.”
Darn it. Did she hear everything?
“He’s concerned about your safety.”
And consumed by his own fears of fatherhood and abandonment, but I can’t tell her that. She’s too young to understand.
“So I don’t have to go?”
“You’ll never go anywhere without me, baby.”
Taking Zinnia’s hand, I guide her to the kitchen. Containers crowd the kitchen island, and a frying pan is heating on the stove.
He consults a book. “It’s been a while since I’ve made pancakes from scratch, but it looks like I have all the ingredients.”
Zinnia takes the virtual screen to the table and becomes engrossed in a cartoon about a talking rabbit.
I grab a bag of donor blood from the refrigerator and start the warming process.
The first three pouches barely curbed my hunger.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Chris plop white blobs into a skillet.
Once my drink is warm, I pour it into a glass and lean against the counter.
As I sip, I watch him flip the blobs over.
Soon, he’s serving Zinnia a fluffy stack of what must be pancakes.
“The creamy stuff is butter from cow’s milk, and the sweet syrup is honey, made by bees.” He offers her a knife and fork.
Walking around the table, I reach for the utensils. “I usually cut her food for her.”
“I got it.” He cuts the pancakes into bite-sized pieces.
Zinnia accepts the fork and stuffs some in her mouth, then smiles.
Is this his way of apologizing? I’m a bit irritated that I have to rely on him to take care of my baby. But in time, I’ll learn to cook using the ingredients he has available. “Do you like that, baby girl?”
She nods and rapidly scarfs them down.
He moves back to the kitchen sink and washes the mixing bowl, then glances over his shoulder at Zinnia. “You want more pancakes?”
She shakes her head. “I’m full, thank you.”
After he washes and puts away the last plate, he turns to me. “Uh, I need to run over to the Tucson dome. I promised them iron ingots in exchange for more bags of…uh…dark wine. But I thought we’d fix up a room for Zinnia first.”
He shows us a room connected to the hallway on the opposite wall from the door exiting the decon clean room. “This is my recording studio.”
Zinnia runs ahead of us and starts playing with buttons on a large, slanted device.
“Easy there, kiddo.” He scoops her up into his arms. “That’s a soundboard, not a toy. But I can dig up some toys if you’ll play in the living area while your mommy and I work.”
She claps. “Yay!”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He sets her down. “Now head to the couch and watch cartoons. I’ll bring out toys in a bit, okay?”
Zinnia races out of the room, all happy energy.
I glance around. The recording studio is filled to the brim with equipment—strange things I don’t recognize. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“She can’t keep sleeping on the couch.”
“I don’t want you to make any more sacrifices you’ll resent.”
Chris takes my hand and focuses on me. The expression in his eyes begs for forgiveness. “I’m sorry about what I said. I like Zinnia. I do. And I want to do this for her.”
His mouth opens, like he wants to say more. Like he wants to justify his attempt to send Zinnia away. But he shuts his trap—wisely.
I wait one more second to see if he has more to say. Liking my daughter isn’t the same as promising he’ll never try to separate us again. “The best place for Zinnia is with me.”
“I know. I know that now. I’m sorry.”
When he doesn’t continue to fight me on that, I nod. I know fear can cause a lot of poor decisions, but I can tell he’s trying. “Okay. You’re forgiven.”
He sighs, the tension visibly leaving his body with his exhale, and steps close to me. “Are we okay now?”
“Um, I guess.” Because I’m not sure. Not entirely. He’s trying; I can see that. But I’m afraid he’s gonna say something to break my baby girl’s heart. “We need to talk more. But not right now.”
“Sure.” He tugs my hand to a closed door and opens it. “And see? She’ll have her own bathroom. She won’t need to come through our room when we sleep during the day.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. And I’m sure she will, too.”
He side-eyes me. “Will you be okay if I leave the two of you alone while I get her toys?”
I growl deep in my throat, a sound I’ve never made before becoming vampire. “Yes.”
I know he means well, but my emotional control is still volatile.
He whooshes away. According to the clock on the wall, he returns in ten minutes, then dumps an armful of stuff on the floor.
“These are building blocks. You stack them to make anything you can imagine. I couldn’t find crayons—most melted in the heat before I could scavenge them—but I have felt-tipped pens and paper to draw on.
And a coloring book.” He opens to a page with a circus theme, with outlines of a tent and a lion.
Back at the compound we had a pictorial history of circuses, including black-and-white photos. I’ve shared it with Zinnia, as I was fascinated by the animal performers at her age.
He drops a stack of books next to her. “These are picture books. You read these. You don’t draw on them. Got it?”
She grabs a purple pen and eagerly starts filling in the outlines of a performing lion.
I give her a kiss on the cheek. Chris and I work until midnight to carry his guitars, keyboards, and sound equipment to a storage area he calls the warehouse. Along the way, he tells me their names and explains what each does. But he places a few guitars in our bedroom rather than storing them.
On the walls are…plaques? Souvenirs? Decorations? Whatever they are, they’re mighty fancy.
He stands there staring at them, as if he’s screwing up the courage to take them down from the wall.
“What are those?”
“Uh, awards for my songwriting and singing. Those are for making it into the top ten popular songs for the month.” They feature disks in various colors—silver, gold, and platinum. “The trophies over here on the shelf were for being the best rock band of the year.”
“They’re kinda impressive.”
“Yeah, sometimes I miss those days.” He sighs and removes one award from the wall, wrapping it in padding and packing it in a case. “Come on, let’s get going.”
I mirror what he does, removing, wrapping, and packing them away. Then it’s back to the warehouse we go.
Clear, oversized plastic bins of pre-Collapse objects fill the warehouse’s massive first floor. I don’t know the names of the objects or their uses. Still, it’s pretty impressive.