Page 20 of Hold You Close
Ruby hops out of bed, takes my hand, and leads me down to where all the movies are.
“Ruby, you have to tell me,” I try again. “I need you to talk instead of show me.”
Her lip starts to tremble and tears form.
Fuck.
“No, no, no, don’t cry. It’s okay.” I pat her shoulders. “Ruby, you don’t have to talk, just show Uncle Ian what you want.”
I see it coming like a tidal wave. I can’t stop it. I can’t do anything to prepare for it because there isn’t time.
The tears fall down her cheeks and a sobbing sound escapes this tiny person.
Holy fucking hell, she has a set of pipes.
The sound is a mix of a siren and some kind of animal in excruciating pain. I look to Morgan who stands there, shell-shocked. “Morgan! What do I do?” I yell to her.
“I don’t know!” she replies.
Helpful.
I get down on my knees in front of my weeping little niece. “Ruby, baby, don’t cry. I’m right here.” I try to gather her in my arms, thinking I’ve seen parents do this—they offer comfort by embracing them.
Another wail comes out as soon as I touch her, piercing the room. I wince and go for another tactic.
“Okay.” I move away from her. “No touching, got it. If you want to cry, that’s fine. I get it. Crying is helpful, right?”
Ruby’s tears slice through me. I don’t know what to do. I look up to the sky, wondering what my sister was thinking. I’m completely fucking lost here.
I get to my feet, but as soon as I move away, she screams out again, and my black heart breaks. “I don’t know what to do here, sweetheart,” I admit to her. “Do you want me to hug you or go away? Do you want a cookie? Ice cream? Maybe a doll? We can go to the store!”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to give her things.” Morgan shakes her head at me.
“Do you have a better idea?”
She rolls her eyes, and Ruby goes on and on.
Morgan looks down at her nails and then back up to me. “I know someone who could help.”
Five
London
Ugh! I hate that man.
I hate him.
I hate that I want to hate him more than I already do.
I grab the bottle of pinot and pour another glass. Stupid asshole. Calling me lonely. Telling me I’m condescending and judgmental. Ha! I’m only those things because I see the truth about him and he doesn’t like it.
God forbid I not be one of his little groupies who tell him what he wants to hear. I know what he is—a user.
I wander over to the sliding door leading to my deck. “And good luck keeping those kids from me!” I yell at his house, lifting my middle finger in the air, hoping he can see through the glass. “Prick!”
We’ll see what happens the first time he needs help. I’ll sit here in all my judgy-ness and tell him to figure it out his damn self.
I hope his balls fall off.
