Damon
Two tiny hands gripping my cheeks is what wakes me. Shooting up from my reclined position on the couch, I spot Arella sitting on my lap. She widens her blue eyes, wobbling to the side from my sudden movement.
With quick reflexes, I grab her around the waist before she can topple over onto the floor. The baby looks shocked momentarily before wiggling her way up my body until her face is right in front of mine.
She rubs her nose against my own, putting her hand on my cheek. I swear my stone cold heart shatters in that very moment. After all the sins I've committed I certainly don't deserve sweetness from the tiny toddler in front of me.
Yet, she loves me, a big scary bastard, without fear.
"How did you get up on the couch, little lady? Where's Mama?" I question, tilting my head lightly into her tiny hand that's still firmly pressed against my cheek.
Arella points towards the kitchen area. It's then that I finally smell the telltale signs of dinner. After the boys' wrestling match earlier, we all came down for some lunch.
We decided to sit around and watch some television. It was a much needed break from the stressors of trying to find Dimitri. I guess I must've fallen asleep during the cartoons that Arella made us watch.
"How about we go get cleaned up before dinner?" I offer, reaching up to tickle the baby's belly.
She giggles, wrapping her arms around my neck as I stand, walking to one of the downstairs bathrooms. Setting Arella on the porcelain sink, I turn on the water and put a squirt of soap on her hands.
Cupping my hands in hers, I show her how to wash her hands. It'll be a while until she can do it herself. That doesn't mean that I can't start the lessons now.
"Wash wash wash our hands. With them till' they're clean-" I sing to the tune of row row row your boat.
Arella squeals and giggles, her little nub moving up and down with enjoyment. Shutting off the water once the song is finished, I grab the hand towel and dry our hands.
"You smell that," I question, making Arella flare her nostrils as she breathes deeply, "That's the smell of yummy dinner. It smells like Mama's homemade spaghetti. She makes the best pasta you'll ever have. I think it's because she's Italian."
As I talk, I carry Arella into the dining room. Andrea and Gianni are helping Freya in the kitchen, while Davide and Alessandro sit side by side at the table. My youngest son is browsing his tablet, Davide wholly focused on his phone.
Snapping my fingers, I order the boys to get into the kitchen and help their Mama. I've raised my sons better than to sit on their asses while the woman who gave birth to them slaves away making their dinner.
Alessandro shuts off his tablet and stands, catching sight of Arella in my arms. Davide heads straight into the kitchen.
"What's up, son?" I inquire.
It seems he's struggling with something. His foot starts to tap on the floor before he snaps out of whatever thoughts are going through his head, seeming to come to a decision.
He cautiously steps up to me, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a pair of gloves. Snapping them onto his hands, he slowly extends his arms out to Arella.
What. The. Fuck.
Never has Alessandro ever wanted to hold a baby. He's too scared of the germs they carry. Hell, one sneezed too close to him in public once and he freaked the hell out, running to the car to go home so he could shower.
Not in a million years did I see this coming. I'm not even sure he knows how to hold a baby. Yeah, Arella isn't technically a baby, but she's held like one all the same. She's just so tiny.
Arella eyes Alessandro up and down. He's the only brother that hasn't held her. Although cautious of him, she slowly leans out of my arms, extending hers out to him.
My fears about him not knowing how to hold her are banished when he cups her underneath her armpits, pulling her into his chest. Fear shines brightly in his eyes.
I don't know whether it's fear of dropping her, her germs, or a mixture of both. Nevertheless, he holds her with one arm underneath her bum and the other behind her back.
The baby holds herself stiffly for a few seconds, clearly not sure of him. That is until he hesitantly starts rocking his body. Arella melts into him right then and there, putting her head on his chest while wrapping her one leg around his abdomen.
Watching the scene unfold in front of me has a range of emotions going through my body. Love, awe, proudness, happiness, and lastly jealously.
Alessandro won't let any of us touch him. I can't remember the last time I had a hug from my own son. I'm irrationally jealous of him bonding with his own little sister.
Realizing this, I take a couple deep breaths to settle myself. It's a good thing that he's bonding with her. I shouldn't be jealous that he's being brave enough to hold Arella.
He's conquering a fear of his. Maybe once he realizes that holding Arella won't instantly make him sick, he'll come around to hugging his mother and I.
It's wishful thinking at best, but I'm hopeful all the same. For now, I'll settle on capturing this moment for him. I want Alessandro to remember how brave he was in this moment.
Pulling my phone out of my back pocket, I snap a few photos of the pair. Arella's eyes are closed and Alessandro's are relaxed. He's slowly starting to grow more comfortable. So much so that he's rested his cheek against the top of her head as his body continues to sway.
A large crash, followed by the sound of glass shattering is what interrupts the silent moment. Looking towards the kitchen, I see Freya standing there, dishes broken at her feet.
Her jaw is dropped, green eyes wide open in astonishment. The boys' faces all match their mothers as they stare at my two youngest children.
Arella's eyes fly open upon hearing the plates break, her bottom lip wobbling. The sound must've frightened her. My guess is correct when she proceeds to cry. A tiny little sound that always breaks my heart when I hear it.
Alessandro lifts his head off of hers, panic making his body stiff once again. He doesn't know how to handle a crying baby. Speed walking towards me, he hands over Arella who proceeds to stick her head in my neck.
Nodding to himself, he rushes upstairs. I know he's going to shower. It'll be a long one too. Knowing my son, he'll scrub his skin until it's a deep red color. I'm not going to stop him, either. This is progress with him. Good progress.
If that's what he needs to do to cope with holding his sister, then so be it.
"Did I seriously just see what I thought I just saw?" Andrea whispers to himself in disbelief.
"He was holding her." Gianni states in shock.
"He was actually touching another human being." Davide voices his surprise.
Freya continues to stand there, dishes broken at her feet, her hands still held out in front of her like when she was holding the plates.
Finally, after what feels like eternity, she snaps out of it. Her hand comes up to cup her mouth. I know exactly how she's feeling right now. She's going through the same emotions that I was.
"Come clean this mess up, Gianni." She finally states, pointing to the mess of broken plates on the floor.
He nods, walking out of the room to grab the broom. While he cleans the mess, Freya and the boys plate the pasta. She walks around the kitchen like nothing has happened, but I can tell she's still thinking about based off of the rigidness in her shoulders and back.
"You ready to eat, little lady?" I whisper to Arella.
A tiny nod against my shoulder is the only answer I get. Walking towards our glass dining room table, I slip her into her highchair. Arella wears one of her favorite bee dresses, so I choose to take that off so it doesn't get ruined with spaghetti sauce.
"You're all nakey." I joke, tickling her cheek.
Arella looks down at her body, pointing to her diaper, then looking back up at me like I'm an idiot. This girl is a lot smarter than people give her credit for.
"Yes, you still have your diaper on." I nod with a deep chuckle.
Gianni and Davide brings plates out to the table while I have a one sided conversation with the small tot in front of me.
"Wait? We're going without shirts for dinner tonight. Hell yeah!" Davide exclaims, going to lift his shirt over his head after taking one look at Arella.
Slapping him on the back of the head, I demand, "Not you. Nobody wants to see your hairy ass chest and your pepperoni nipples, boy."
"I do not have pepperoni nipples! They're flat little disks that are the perfect shade of brown." He grumbles, pulling his shirt back down.
"I didn't need to know about the color of your nipples." Andrea groans as he places the last plate on the table.
Freya comes to join the party, carrying Arella's pink suction cup plate. It sticks to the lid of her highchair so she can't toss it off. We learned that one the hard way after she tossed a bowl of oatmeal on the floor after getting upset.
"You're going to try Mama's spaghetti today, mi amor," Freya states after wrapping a pink bib around Arella's neck, "Can you say Mama?"
That's her new goal, trying to get the baby to say Mama. She's even introduced baby sign language to Arella. It hasn't taken hold so far. Freya's still hopeful.
Arella watches the way Freya's lips move as she forms the word mama. She repeats the movement with her own mouth without actually saying anything. I wonder if it's her autism preventing her from speaking, or a mental block from the abuse she endured before coming to live with us.
She was always forced to keep quiet. It was so bad that sometimes she cries quietly. It always breaks my heart when I hear her quiet little cry.
"That's good, baby girl! Good try." Freya praises, sitting down in her chair next to the highchair.
I take mine on Arella's opposite side, eyeing the plate in front of me as my mouth waters. Thick creamy red sauce sits over homemade pasta, fresh parmesan cheese on top.
My stomach grumbles loudly. Picking up my fork, I twirl it through the pasta, placing the delectable morsel in my mouth.
I have a feeling this is the closest I'll ever get to real heaven. There's no way my tainted soul will ever get close to those pearly gates. When my time comes for the devil to claim me, all I'll ask of him is to turn away my family.
They deserve to live eternity with their God. If he should ever be so merciful, that is.
"Goodness, angel! You're making a mess." Turning my head to see the cause of Freya's exclamation that forced me out of my reverie, I see Arella.
She's covered in pasta sauce as she messily shoves a fistful of noodles in her mouth. It's only been about five minutes since we started eating, yet baby girl is nearly covered in the sauce.
It sticks to her brown hair, eyelashes, skin and eyebrows. Smothered all over her cheeks and bare chest. Hell, it's somehow even on her leg and nub.
Munching down on the noodles, she grabs another fist full, ignoring the toddler fork that's right beside her plate.
"Is this your new favorite?" Andrea questions through a small chuckle.
Arella ignores him, choosing to slurp down her noodles instead. Freya cut hers into smaller pieces, something I'm grateful for considering how she's shoveling it in without fear of choking.
"Bath is on you tonight." Freya states as she points her fork at me.
Damn it. I just know I'm going to be covered in pasta sauce by the end of bath time.
Completely worth it. I got to see Arella fall in love with my wife's pasta. Even if I'll end up wearing more than I'll eat.