Climbing The Walls - Hart & Cole Book 1

~ Chapter 2 ~

Nicole

30th September 2003

I wasn't four minutes late this morning; I was twenty minutes late because apart from the nine-minute diversion on the highway later on, I left home late because I sat in my baby-blue Benz for seven minutes, listening to Nikita talk to Kris in the kitchen. The two-car garage is right next to the kitchen, but the wall structure of the house allowed me to catch only bits and pieces of their conversation.

I didn't mean to listen in, but I'm about to stick the key in the ignition when Kiki's words, "Daddy did you kiss Khai this morning?" stop me cold.

And I look guilty across at Khailam, who's next to me buckled up tightly in his car seat, in his purple Barney t-shirt and the tiny cute little blue jean jumper that gives him hell to undo when he's got to use the toilet. We use those pull-up training pants. He's on his way to getting toilet-trained. Eventually.

Kris is talking softly, so I'm mostly hearing Kiki's high piping voice.

"You and Mommy fought last night." Accusingly.

"...little misunderstanding."

I love him for that response, because sometimes I wonder if Kiki is anti-Mommy because Daddy's telling her that our fights are Mommy's fault - which they almost always are. But he's telling Kiki that a Nicole's-fault-fight was a 'little misunderstanding', so then there must be some other reason that Kiki is anti-Mommy.

"I don't like it when you fight."

His voice is a little louder; he's putting on his teacher-voice, the cool, calm, this-is-the-way-life-goes voice. "I don't like it either. But every married couple fights from time to time, sweetie. It blows over quickly. I love Mommy and she loves me."

Of course we do. Don't we? Sixty times a day I wonder why he puts up with my shit, and I never have an answer but it never matters. We do. We always have; we always will. Somehow.

"Well, don't fight anymore. It upsets Khai too. He cried whole night."

I look across at Khailam again, and my heart is suddenly thudding horribly, pulsing at my neck and in my stomach.

"Yes he did, I heard him... and I went to his room, climbed up in his crib and played with him till he was quiet."

We were too busy yelling to hear anything in Khai's room, but since Nikki doesn't usually lie, now I'm positive he was crying... and it's my fault. Sometime he has these big silent tears that roll down his cheeks, while he makes these gasping little sobs and clenches his fists. I prefer when he's bawling because then I know he wants attention. When he's not making much noise, he doesn't want attention; he's just upset. And two-year-olds should never be just upset.

"...about climbing into Khai's crib. You might fall."

"...won't climb into his crib again, if you and Mommy stop fighting. We have a deal?"

It's a long while before I hear anything again; then finally Kris says, almost inaudibly: "... talk it over with Mommy and get back to you on that, okay Kiki?"

He's so good with the kids, with Nikita especially, that sometimes when I see them having a conversation, I am so goddamned envious and I want to grab our little genius child and strangle her and scream: "Talk to me, talk to me."

And of course she talks to me, but she has never told me 'You and Daddy were fighting last night' or that it bothered her. She's a Daddy's girl, although she has my eyes and my nose and my smile and my wild hair of curls and my complexion, and you can see the same chaotic blend of races in her little cherubic face as you can see in mine. She looks like a miniature replica of me. She's a Daddy's girl, and sometimes I'm afraid that Khai is gonna like Daddy more too, when he gets older. Right now he's usually a little bit better with Mommy. He's best with Nikita, his big sister who in reality isn't much bigger than he is.