22. Maria
Chapter twenty-two
Maria
“Wake up, Mommy. Daddy Christopher is making me pancakes.”
I open my eyes, and Chris is leaning against the doorframe. He won’t buy me off with his boyish act and treats for my daughter. I know who he is now.
I sweep Zinnia into my arms for a big hug, grateful yesterday ended with her alive and well.
Chris gives me the hairy eyeball. At least, that’s what my mother’s mother, Nana, called it. Then he waves a mug in the air.
A luscious scent wafts my way. And I realize the same delicious smell of sweet pea blossoms rises from my daughter’s neck.
My face heats, and I push her away, hoping she doesn’t feel rejected. “Let’s go get breakfast.”
“Yippee!” She skips out of the room.
I dodged that one.
Chris brings the mug to me. “I spoke with Zinnia last night. Apologized. Then had her sleep in my room.”
He leaves the reason hanging in the air as I gulp down the dark wine. I’m still not trusted around my daughter. But maybe he has a good reason for his distrust, and I blush again.
He doesn’t even smirk. “Come join us when you’re ready. We have a surprise.”
I gulp down the mug, then head to the master bedroom and rush through a shower and dress in shorts and a t-shirt. I join them in the kitchen and hand off the mug.
Chris leans in to kiss me, and I give him my cheek.
Zinnia giggles. “Mommy’s still mad at you.”
“Zinnia Mae Rodriguez,” I say, using my you’re in trouble now voice. “You’re not supposed to speak for other people.”
“Even if it’s true?” She stuffs a wedge of pancakes into her mouth. “You used to do the same thing to my papas.”
I’m amazed she remembers that. “And you’re not supposed to speak with your mouth full.”
She shrugs, waving her fork in the air, and I have to refrain from laughing at how comical she looks, mimicking the adults.
Chris clears his throat. “Want to see the surprises?”
I open the refrigerator and drop another donor bag into the pan of hot water. I’m still hungry.
“Let me do that for you.” He scoots around me, adds more hot water from the tap, and swishes the bag around. Then he fishes it out, opens the spout, and pours. “I’ll clean the bag later. I really want to show you this.”
I accept the tall mug and follow him to the computer desk.
He sits down and opens a window, and I see something I didn’t think existed anymore in this world—a classroom of children.
But they’re not in neat little rows of desks like in the picture books.
The room is controlled chaos. Children at easels, slapping brightly colored paint onto white paper.
Others are building tall towers of blocks.
Clay being sculpted by little fingers. A corner of the room filled with books and comfy pillow chairs where little ones practice their reading.
A woman appears on the screen. Her black hair is tied in a long braid, and her skin is a slightly darker shade of brown than mine.
“Hi. The children call me Ms. Kalina.” She turns the camera toward a man, who waves.
“And this is Mr. Arjun.” Her accent is one I’ve never heard before, and quite melodic.
“We spoke with Chris, and if you agree, we’ll start her in preschool rather than kindergarten.
According to Chris, she already reads, but she’s never been around other children.
She needs exposure to socialize properly. Does that sound all right?”
I stare at her, feeling like I’m talking to a fairy godmother I read about as a child. “Yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”
“Great. Once a week we’ll transport her here to play in person.”
I frown. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Don’t worry about the cost. The community school district is covering it.”
“That’s not the issue. I don’t want her taken away from me.”
The woman pats the air, a calming gesture. “She won’t be. We understand the situation. We’ll return her to you each day.”
I bite my lip, considering the offer. Playmates would be good for Zinnia. I had them as a child, before the others died. But I don’t know if these people can be trusted. “Let me think about it.”
“Of course. We can’t start her in person for two weeks in any case.
She just had her vaccines and won’t have immunity until the antibodies develop.
Our dome is almost disease-free, but we have some people who are immunocompromised and can’t receive vaccines.
So we don’t take the risk, for their sakes. ”
“I see.” I really don’t, but I can always ask Chris later.
Zinnia tugs on my pant leg. “Mommy, I want to meet the other children.”
I hadn’t realized she’d left the table, so I pick her up, allowing her to see the screen. “Maybe later, baby girl.”
Chris rises and places a pyramid-shaped device on the floor, then taps a key.
The two-dimensional vid on the computer screen transfers and becomes a three-dimensional image. Ms. Kalina appears to be standing in the middle of our living room.
Smiling, Chris takes Zinnia from my arms. “Come meet your teachers, kiddo.”
He places her on the ground, and I stand back as Zinnia shyly says, “Hi,” to her teachers and then is introduced to her classmates.
Chris takes my hand. “Let’s give her time alone to meet them.” Together, we enter the bedroom, and he closes the door behind us. “We received a box of projects for the week. We’ll give her tonight’s project before we leave to scavenge. If it’s okay with you.”
My head spins—I’m on overload. I never thought Zinnia would have this opportunity. “How?”
“I spoke with Tig last night, and she came up with the idea. The school is on the other side of the planet, so their daytime aligns with our nighttime.”
“Oh. Ms. Kalina’s accent sounds different—”
“They’re in India. I’ll show you on a map later.”
I ease onto the bed, sitting there and rubbing my temples.
Chris kneels before me. “I’m sorry about what I said. I apologized to Zinnia last night, and now I’m apologizing to you.”
I glance away. I’m not ready to accept his apology, but something else occurs to me. “Are you okay? The snakebite?”
“Yes, with Tig’s help. Ingesting another vampire’s blood can speed up healing.”
“Yeah, you told me already.”
He averts his gaze, staring at the floor. “I know you’re still mad.”
“Christopher—”
“Yup, definitely still mad.” He takes my hand and kisses it.
Pleasant chills slither down my back. I ignore them.
“I understand why you’re mad, but will you hear me out?”
I frown, but nod. Active listening was drilled into my head by my parents.
“Last night, Tig helped me understand something. I yelled because I was afraid. I was afraid of Zinnia being hurt, of losing her. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if the snake killed her.”
“Neither could I.”
He squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how to do any of this and I never thought I would. I’m still figuring that out. But I don’t want you and Zinnia to leave. I want you to stay. So, I want to try to figure this out together.”
I look away while I think about his words. Given the choice now, do I want to figure this out with Chris? I thought I did, but the last two nights have been so hard. Are we just too different?
With my first husbands, I had no choice in partners or in the arrangement, but we built our relationship to work for us all.
My grandparents each had different opinions on our triad.
They knew my choice of husbands was limited after some of the other children died, the ones belonging to a fourth couple who bunkered with us, so my family put a good face on it.
Did their best to nurture my triad, especially Grammy, despite her opinion on the morality of our arrangement.
They all comforted me when I lost pregnancy after pregnancy to miscarriage, too.
No, I didn’t have options, but I saw through example how good relationships worked.
They’re founded on communication, respect, and empathy.
Jed, Lehm, and I did our best to follow our elders’ examples.
It was hard, at times, and easy at others, but we were all committed to peaceful group survival. All on the same page.
But this, with Chris?
I have no blueprint for this. No guidance for living with the man who saved my life, made me feel more physically than I ever have, but who has always seen family as a despised option, not a fundamental need.
Can we figure it out? We come from such different starting points. I raise my gaze to look at him again.
His big blue eyes are filled with hope. “I think I’m catching feelings for you.
Feelings that have nothing to do with the maker-child bond.
I know it might be enhancing our hunger in some areas, but Maria…
I like you. I haven’t felt like that in a long time, maybe ever.
” He shuts his eyes. “Please tell me I haven’t already screwed it up. ”
The anger I’ve held on to dissolves. I take a deep breath, loosening the tension.
Then I slide my hand over his cheek and catch a falling tear. “I’ve felt it too.”
“Then you forgive me?”
I sigh. “I forgave you before, and here we are.”
He raises his hand. “I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles if it’ll make you feel better.”
“That’s not necessary. But don’t do it again. Walk away if you have to. I can understand yelling in an emergency—only in an emergency—but no more harsh words. Okay?”
He rises and pulls me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me. “I’ll do better.”
The hug is just what I need, and I relax against him, basking in the comfort.
“Should we check on Zinnia?”
He kisses my temple and steps back. His smile is like the sun. “Yeah, let’s go.”