Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
That we have all these different ways to make that feeling possible for Bella as much as the two of us.
Maybe they’re unconventional methods and maybe they’re not ideal when you’ve got a three-year-old asleep upstairs and maybe dating my daughter’s nanny isn’t the brightest play I’ve ever made, but I can honestly say it damn sure isn’t the dumbest.
On or off the ice.
Chapter 16
Joey
Even the cutest kids do the ugliest things.
Just like even the sweetest boyfriends occasionally do the dumbest shit.
Example?
Not offering to wash a single fucking dish after your girlfriend spent all afternoon with your father and daughter learning to make your grandmother’s authentic pelmeni as a loving welcome home surprise.
Not. One.
Needless to say, the consequence to his thoughtlessness was a woman too tired to engage in any child is asleep activities that didn’t involve watching a sappy Christmas movie – looking at you Single All the Way – and pounding back bricks of freshly made peppermint bark.
We’re almost two weeks into dating and have had more spats than orgasms together.
I don’t love that math.
And neither does my licorice land.
Especially now that the awful, undersexed memories of my ex, Marc, have begun to trickle back into my mind like nightmares of the non before Christmas kind.
I need a good banging if for no other reason than to forget about the bad ones I’ve had for most of my life.
Sucking in a deep, calming breath is followed by folding my hands politely in my wide leg jean covered lap. “Annabella Alexeyev, our hands are for things like holding-”
“No!”
“Hugging-”
“No!”
“Eating-”
“No!”
“And other kind choices.”
“No!”
“And when we choose to use our hurt hands instead, we have to deal with what that means.”
“No!”
Keeping my tone even isn’t easy, although necessary. “That was not a question. That is what’s happening.”
“No!”
“Pochemu?” Igor’s voice unexpectedly interjects. “Why all the yelling?”
“Daddddyyyyy!!!!” Squeaks his daughter who then prepares to take off until my arm extends to stop the movement.
“No.”
“No?” the man that’s my boss as much as my boyfriend croaks in confusion. “What do you mean no?”
“I want my daddy!” Bella huffs in my face and attempts to flee in the opposite direction causing me to stretch my other arm out to prevent continued movement. “I want him now!”
“No.”
Her entire face scrunches together to fight the teary-eyed trembles.
“Nanny Joey…” his displeasure in being kept from her is painstakingly evident, “why can’t my daughter come and hug me?”
“Because right now,” my arms follow her tiny frame to keep her trapped in place without actually touching her, “Annabella-”
“Full name?” A small hiss hits my ears. “That can’t be good.”
“Is being held accountable for her actions.”
The feeling of Igor’s knuckles brushing against my back when he curls his hands around the edge of the cloth couch threatens to make me melt. “As she should be. Accountability matters. When Daddy messes up on the ice, he has to go the box.” His large frame folds forward slightly over my shoulder. “And if Annabella messed up, then maybe she needs time in the box too.”
“I don’t wanna go to the box!”
“And your friends did not want your hurt hands.”
“You hurt your friends?!”
“I don’t…” her tiny shoulders pull to her ears, “know.”
“Are you using your truth words?” I immediately counter.
This time she simply shakes her head.
“What. Happened. Annabella?” Igor asks, voice desperate to rise in volume.
When she doesn’t immediately answer, he sucks in a breath as if he’s about to begin again prompting me to lift up a finger to stop him.
Nonverbally insist he wait.
Give her a second to process.
Finally, her tiny body caves, butt plopping down onto the edge of the coffee table. “I not use my words at school. I use my hurt hands.”
“Pochemu?” her dad instantly inquires. “Pochemu, printsessa?”
She lets out a defeated huff. “They not use they listening ears.”
He prepares to ask more questions pushing me to repeat the previous action of wordlessly hushing him.
Allowing her to say what she needs to say at her own pace.
More often than not…in general…people want answers and explanations on their own time, which can create all sorts of problems from defensiveness to lies of omission to pretending not to remember for the sake of feeling like they don’t have space to truly have a voice.
Children already suffer so often from this.
One of things I pride myself on is teaching them as well as their parents how to stifle less so they can comfortably say more.
“I wanna play ball too,” Bella begins, sadness streaking through her voice, “and they not let me play ball too and I ask play ball too and they not give me ball.” Additional unhappiness pumps through her gaze. “I like ball with Kara too.”
Ah.
Her friend was playing with someone else, and she was jealous.
Not that crazy of a concept.
Happens at any age.
And while I wish I could say adults handle it better… I’ve scrolled through enough social media in my existence to know that we don’t.