the sitter | lewandowski

twelve

12 ; discreetly corrupt

//

"Oh, Nova! You've grown so much!" Saoirse gasped as she ran up to Robert's daughter, who would be a year old in just a few days.

Robert leant against the doorframe and snickered a little, watching Saoirse twirl Nova around with a child-like excitement  before settling down and tightly holding onto her. Over the months, Saoirse could see how much Nova's facial features had strengthened; her eyes were big and an icy blue, her hair thick and curly—and in this light, her skin was darker than Robert's; olive colored. Light brown, if you will.

Saoirse gazed up at Robert and looked back at Nova. Though it didn't matter, it felt like a total revelation for her to realize it—Nova was of mixed race. "She's so beautiful, Robert. I bet you're already worried about what'll happen when she grows to be my age."

Robert widened his eyes. "Well, I am now."

After all, he realized, what would he do if his daughter ended up doing something like what Saoirse was by involving herself with him? Certainly, he wouldn't be okay with it. But he pushed those thoughts out of his head, and instead the two went and read Nova a bedtime story before tucking her in and kissing her goodnight.

On the way back downstairs, the two passed Robert's bedroom—the door was closed—reminding Saoirse of the fact that it was probably locked, too.

Curiously, she grabbed his hand, stopping him. He turned to face her, eyebrows knitted in confusion—but the frown on his face eased up when he saw the look on hers. "Is this your bedroom?" She inquired, her eyes shiny.

Robert glanced at the door and nodded. "Yeah, it is."

Saoirse didn't exactly know what to say. Let me in? Can we go in? Robert must've known what she wanted based off of the look in her eyes, for he placed his hand on her waist and spoke. "I want you to prioritize, Saoirse."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Robert guided her towards the staircase, "Know what to put first and then what comes after. For instance, have you even finished your homework?"

"I don't want to do my homework," Saoirse whined, pressing her face to his chest. "I want to do you."

"Maybe you can," Robert hoisted her up. "If you do your homework first."

"Only if you help me. I'm not the smartest, unfortunately." Saoirse sighed and hopped down the steps.

"You should never say that about yourself." Robert noted, watching her fall onto the couch and pull out a heavy looking notebook.

"Who are you, my father?"

Robert smirked. "Only if you want me to be."

"Oh," Saoirse rose her eyebrows in surprise. "I do want you to be."

Robert chuckled a little and motioned to Saoirse's notebook. "Alright, Saoirse, let's see it."

Saoirse sighed and opened her language arts notebook. Her favorite subject was math, her least favorite language arts. This was because, as As Cady in Mean Girls once said, math was the same no matter where you went—language and grammar, not so much. "I hate this class, because I'm poor in German and learning is hard enough for me. How can I learn advanced German grammar when I can't even speak the language?"