The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos (8 page)

His bedroom door squeaked open, and he sat up on his elbows. Savannah prowled toward him, holding a condom between two fingers. Shedding his tee shirt, she climbed onto the bed. She crawled toward him on hands and knees, a smile playing on her full lips. Ripping the foil packet open, she slid the condom onto him, her hands moving slowly. His back arched again and he gritted his teeth. Then, climbing on top of him, she guided him inside of her.

Stars shot through his brain and he moaned as he entered her. It had been so, so long. For a moment, he was afraid he might finish early and ruin everything. Then she began thrusting against him. He met her rhythm, her hands wrapped around his neck, and he stopped thinking. As their bodies writhed in the dark, their chests pressed together heart to heart, she whispered something in Spanish again and again.

The living room became a sea of wrapping paper within several minutes of Chloe waking up. At first, Max and Savannah had to help her get started. She stared at the first gift that Max handed to her, her brown eyes watching him skeptically. Savannah reached over and tore a small corner of paper off, then put Chloe’s hand on the spot she had started.

“Go ahead, baby girl,” she told the toddler.

It didn’t take long for Chloe to figure out that everything wrapped with the bright red and green paper was a toy for her.

Max and Savannah sat on the floor, leaning against the couch. They watched as Chloe played with her new baby doll. Max glanced at Savannah out of the corner of his eye. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Sweat dampened the palms of his hands. They had barely spoken to each other all morning. When he woke up, he found the rest of his bed empty. Savannah had snuck out of his room at some point during the night and gone into her own.

Next to him, Savannah climbed to her feet. “I’m gonna make some
cremita de maiz
for breakfast, okay?”

Max looked up. Her eyes avoided his. He frowned. “What’s that?” he asked, deciding not to even try pronouncing it.

“It’s like oatmeal,” she said, turning away and heading into the kitchen.

He pulled himself to his own feet using the couch and went after her. “Want help?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen.

She shook her head, her back to him as she pulled flour and cornmeal from the cabinets. “I’m good.”

He scrubbed at the light stubble on his face. “Are
we
good?” Bright pink burned across his nose and cheeks.

She turned, blinking at him. “Of course,” she said, but she looked away quickly.

Max took a deep breath through his nostrils. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you anything for Christmas,” he said.

“You didn’t have to.” She began mixing ingredients in a large bowl. Max wondered when they had gotten so many cooking items.

“You made me something, though.” He joined her at the counter. “I feel like an ass.”

She snorted. “Don’t worry about it.”

He drummed his fingers on the counter, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong, then?”

Savannah shook her head, but she stirred faster.

“Is it because of last night? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He swallowed hard, his heart slamming in his chest.

Licking her lips, she stopped stirring. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t hurt me, Max. Chill out.” At her touch, Max’s shoulders relaxed, but only a little. Turning back to the breakfast, she finished stirring and poured the ingredients into a sauce pan. Pulling open the drawer, she retrieved a whisk.

Max whistled. “Did you move in with all of these fancy things?” He remembered the wad of money in her underwear drawer. If she had so much money, she didn’t need to work for him. He crossed his arms.

“Something like that,” she said, her back still to him. “This should be ready soon.”

Sighing, he stepped away. “I’ll go get Chloe.” He padded into the living room, his mind racing. He had no idea what he had done wrong, but she was definitely acting differently. He shook his head at himself. Sleeping with her might just have been a huge mistake. Pausing in the hall, he rubbed his temples. The night replayed in his mind, the way she had writhed and moaned underneath him, her arms around his neck the whole time. She had broken eye contact only when she kissed him, and while he ran his fingers down her arm with the skull tattoos.

He didn’t think she had been drunk the night before. It was possible that she just regretted the whole thing. Things might be awkward between them, or she might just quit altogether. Max shut his eyes, resting his forehead against the cool white wall. Leave it to him to mess up yet another good thing.

Pulling himself together, he lifted his head from the wall. He continued into the living room. He scooped Chloe up from the floor. Resolving to act like everything was normal, he carried his daughter into the kitchen and strapped her into her high chair. Savannah carried a steaming bowl of the Puerto Rican breakfast over and put it down in front of Chloe.

“
Feliz navidad
, baby girl,” she said, touching Chloe’s nose with the pad of her finger. Chloe giggled. Returning to the counter, Savannah grabbed two more bowls. She brought them both to the table and sat down.

Max sat down across from her. He lifted his spoon, sifting through the mixture. It reminded him of pudding and oatmeal.

“It’s not poison,” Savannah said, lifting a spoonful to her lips.

Max froze. “I didn’t think it was,” he stammered, the back of his neck burning. He shoved a spoonful into his mouth, his tongue searing. He swallowed quickly. “It’s great,” he said, even though he barely tasted it going down.

Savannah said nothing.

They ate breakfast in silence. Max stared at his bowl, watching as the porridge level went lower and lower. The second he finished, he jumped up and carried his bowl to the sink. Then he turned to Chloe.

His daughter wore most of her breakfast. She sucked on two fingers, humming to herself. “Chloe,” he groaned. Lifting her from the high chair, he held her out in front of him and marched her into the bathroom.

He didn’t have time to think about Savannah while he cleaned his daughter up. Despite all of the fun that Chloe had opening her gifts, she was suddenly in a cranky mood. Before she even had a toe in the water, she started screaming and thrashing. Getting her into the tub took a lot of coaxing and soothing. Face red, eyes streaming, Chloe looked up at him with an expression that could only be betrayal. While she soaked in the warm water, he scrubbed the drying porridge off her face and hands. Some of it had even slipped underneath her shirt, trailing down her chest.

After a while, her crying died down to soft sobs. By the time he started rinsing her, she had calmed down completely. When the water touched her head, though, she shrieked. Water sluiced over the edge of the tub, soaking Max as she thrashed in the tub. Gritting his teeth, he finished rinsing her off as quickly as possible, then plucked her from the tub. Wrapping her in a towel, he carried her to her bedroom, hugging her to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, but she only cried harder. As he began toweling off, she unleashed an ear splitting shriek. “What’s wrong?” he asked her over the noise.

“I’m cold,” she screamed.

Max gaped at her. Usually Chloe was fairly even tempered. He had put her to bed at a normal time the night before. Remembering her tantrum when he still lived with his parents, he hoped she wasn’t entering the Terrible Twos—or Threes. Mouth hanging open at the thought, he dried her off, then began dressing her. His mother had bought Chloe a dress for Christmas Day, but something told him that he would never get those tights on her without losing an eye or his hearing, at the very least. He dressed her in soft fleece sweats and her favorite long-sleeved tee shirt.

Sweat dampened his armpits and beaded at his hairline, but he didn’t have time for a shower. He dressed quickly in jeans and a tee shirt, grimacing at the impending comments from his family. His parents might not speak Spanish, but they were still strict Catholics and took Christmas very seriously.

Scooping Chloe from the floor in the living room, he trotted into the kitchen. Savannah stood at the sink, scrubbing the sauce pan.

“Hey,” he called softly to her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised. Steam rose from the water. Her hair was tied in a bun on the top of her head.

“So I’m gonna head over to my parents’ house,” he said.

She shrugged. “Okay.” She turned back to the sink.

“I’ll see you later?” he asked, shifting Chloe to his other hip.

“See you,” Savannah said, her words almost drowned out by the running water.

Guilt pitted in the bottom of his stomach. He knew she didn’t have any plans. He opened his mouth to ask if she wanted to come with him, then closed it. His family would have too many questions, and he didn’t even know what his status with Savannah was. He didn’t want to put her through that. Still, he felt bad that she was spending the day by herself.

Chloe released a shriek that pierced through his ears. She drew it out, holding it like a singer holding a note. Max winced. Shouting an apology to Savannah over the noise, he scrambled out of the house before Chloe broke any windows.

* * * * *

Guilt tugged at Max as he drove to his parents’ house, his shoulders drawn up to his ears. He should have just invited Savannah to come with him. It didn’t matter what his parents thought or said. Besides, he mused as he turned onto their street, they weren’t the type of people to say rude things to people they didn’t know. They might hassle him later, when Savannah wasn’t around, but to her face they would be polite and welcoming. Shame burned his cheeks. Not only had he left the girl he liked all alone on Christmas Day, but he had also assumed that his parents would behave poorly.

He sighed and pulled into the driveway, behind one of his brothers’ BMWs. For the first time in his life, he was the last one to arrive to dinner. Compared to the other cars in the driveway, his Taurus looked like it was going to fall apart if someone sneezed on it. He wished his parents had bought him a nice car, rather than forcing him to buy his own. All of his brothers had gotten cars for their high school graduation presents. He had gotten a lecture, a box of condoms, and a baby shower.

Max sighed again. It was time to let the past stay in the past. As he turned off the engine and pushed his door open, he promised himself that he would bring Savannah to the next family function. Usually, they got together for leftovers on the day after Christmas, anyway. He would stop at a gas station on the way home and get her flowers to apologize, and then he would find a way to make their weird living arrangement into a real relationship.

His stomach did flip flops as he unbuckled Chloe from her car seat. He wasn’t naive enough to think that he and Savannah would get married, have more babies, and live happily ever after, but they could definitely be happy in the meantime. As he walked to the front door, he whistled a tune from an old Megadeth album. He couldn’t remember the last time he had just put his headphones on and relaxed to music. For the first time, Max was starting to feel like he was getting his life together.

He hesitated at the front door, raising a fist. He had never knocked when he lived at home. He glanced at the doorbell. Maybe the more formal thing to do would be to ring it. Before he could debate further, Chloe reached out and pushed the button, a grin crossing her face. Eyes widening, Max pushed the front door open.

“Merry Christmas,” he called, kicking off his sneakers into the pile of shoes beside the door. Out of habit, he started to slip his feet into slippers, then remembered that he no longer had any there. His parents’ house was not his home anymore.

Biting his lip, he unzipped Chloe’s coat and pulled off her shoes. Then, lowering her to the floor, he released her into his parents’ home. She darted from the foyer toward the living room. Instrumental Christmas music piped through the speakers. Max rolled his eyes. Shuffling forward in socks dingy from walking around his apartment, he headed toward the living room. Loud laughter drowned out the music for a moment. Max cringed, hoping Chloe wasn’t causing any trouble. He hadn’t seen his parents since moving out, and part of him wanted to prove that he could do just fine on his own.

He walked into the living room with his head held high. His brothers sat around the room, holding glasses of eggnog. Even though he wasn’t far from twenty-one, he knew his mother wouldn’t let him have any. Not that it mattered. He needed to drive home without being pulled over, anyway. He gave each of his brothers a nod and a wave, but they didn’t seem to notice him. Their attention was focused on the other side of the room. Max followed their gazes, then froze when he saw who also sat in the living room.

His parents occupied the couch, his mother leaning back against the cushions. She held a glass of wine in her hand, her curly hair framing her face. Despite how much it sucked to get kicked out, Max had to admit that she looked happier. The light from the Christmas tree and the sun outside danced across her face, making her look years younger. Maybe helping out with Chloe
had
been too much for her.

Even his father looked more relaxed. The conversation in the room centered on football rather than the law firm—a first for the Batista family. Having their home all to themselves was doing wonders for his parents. Still, it wasn’t enough to excuse what they had done.

Max stared at the young woman sitting between them. She held a glass of what was probably not virgin eggnog in her hand. She wore a black sweater dress and bracelets that jingled against each other as she moved. Her blonde hair was twisted into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her blue eyes caught Max’s brown eyes as he stood in the entryway to the living room, and she smiled.

Nicole actually
smiled
at him, as if what happened between them more than two years before had been nothing.

Max gaped, his fists curling at his sides.

His mother nudged Nicole’s shoulder, laughing about something. So far, only Nicole had noticed that he was in the room. Blood pounded in his ears. His breathing slowed, catching in his throat. It felt like he couldn’t get enough air. The living room floor tilted up at him, his ears ringing.

Nicole wiggled her fingers at him in a hello, and his heart dropped into his stomach. His mother glanced into the arched doorway and her eyes widened in surprise. She smiled and climbed to her feet, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She trotted over to him, one arm wide as she leaned forward to hug him. He stepped to the side.

“What,” he asked, his heart slamming in his chest, “is she doing here?”

The conversation in the room died. His brothers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Tristan’s wife, Heather, stood and tiptoed from the room, whispering something about checking on their daughters in the other room. Isaiah’s wife, Crystal, jumped up and joined her.