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CHILDREN
A girl with jet black hair and ice blue eyes wrapped her hair in a shawl for the day. She tucked her hair behind her ears and wrapped the shawl tightly, pinning it into place.
“Are you ready, Alia?” called her mother from the living room. Alia adjusted her hijab one last time before rushing outside to meet her mother and Uncle in the living room. Her Uncle was standing while her mother sat.
“Alia? Are you ready or not?” her mother asked again more sternly in Arabic. Alia straightened her shoulders and raised her head high.
“Yes, mother.” She replied proudly. Her Uncle beamed and took her under his arm in a one armed hug. He smelled of spice and clean clothes.
“Your father is waiting.” He smiled and took her hand to lead her out. Alia detached herself from her Uncle and quickly ran to her mother, wrapping her arms around her neck.
“Shokran Gidan, Mama.” She whispered softly just for her mother to hear. She felt her mother’s hands tighten around her before she was gently pushed away. It was a thank you for finally letting Alia meet him. After all this time and all these stories, she finally was able to see her father. Where she got her skin and hair, her smile and mind.
“Don’t tell your grandmother. She’ll never forgive me.” her mother warned as she saw her and her Uncle out to the car. Through the busy streets of London, cramped in her Uncle’s tiny Volkswagen Alia peered out to try and spot the man she had only dreamed of meeting. Her Uncle gently tugged the back of her shirt to bring her back from outside the window.
“Sit down. You’ll hurt yourself, silly.” He teased grinning at her, “Your mother would come if she was able, you know that. But she can’t bring herself to see your father again. Not after so long.”
“Does she still love him?” Alia asked, rather eagerly almost forgetting her place. Her cheeks flushed from her sudden outburst. Her Uncle smile and raised her chin with his fingertips.
“A mother and father will always love each other. You are proof of that.”
The restaurant was unlike anything Alia had ever been to. It was grand, and majestic with an elegant wait staff whose clothes looked almost fake, they were so perfect. Alia felt out of place for a moment, but couldn’t focus too long on that emotion or on the beautiful set up because she was searching the heads in the restaurant. The hostess led them to the patio where a figure sat looking out at the city. He was beautiful. Long hair so black it looked blue with purple hues, skin olive toned and perfect with long fingers like hers, but topped with perfect silver rings that had rubies and sapphires. He turned to see them enter and something ignited in his eyes and Alia sprinted to him.
He caught her as she flew to him, hugging him tightly around the waist. He hoisted her up and hugged her tight. He smelled of rich lavender and eucalyptus. His shirt silk and soft like his hands, not like the heavy scratchy clothing her mother always wore. She felt his lips touch her cheek and he brushed her hijab as if wishing he could see her hair. In an instant Alia removed it and he grinned at her, fingers running through her hair.
In silence they stoof, looking each other over like long lost friends finally meeting again. The rest of the world was forgotten. She had his smile. He had her hair. They had each other’s hands.
“ ‘Ello, Alia. I’m yer da – Romulus.”
“I know.” Alia whispered breathlessly and threw her arms around him again.
“MAMAN!”
“WHAT?”
“Where are you?”
“The kitchen, Marguerite. Where else would I be?”
“Outside. The basement. Patio. Cat house, I dunno.” Marguerite replied in French as she strapped up her boots, and skipped down the rest of the steps into the kitchen. Her mother stood busy with the dishes, as freshly cut fruit and cooked breakfast sat at the table.
“Now, how am I going to fit in the cat house?” her mother snapped at her, one hand on her hip.
“Well, the cat is pretty fat.”
Marguerite squealed when her mother sprayed her with water. Her mother was far from fat; her mother was a physical therapist and a trainer. Marguerite was a fencing champion and a skilled horse rider, though her outfits never would give that thought. She liked leather, and lace, black clothes and loud music. Thick eye liner and straight hair, even though her own was dark blonde and eyes a fierce hazel. Her mother said she was her father’s bad side born to look like an angel, so Marguerite did everything she could to look like a devil.
“Did Papa call?” she asked, taking a seat at the kitchen island and starting in on her breakfast. While Marguerite was thin, she was also a big fan of food.
“Yes. He said he will meet you at the skate park, and to bring your helmet this time. He caught you without it last time.” She added as a half warning.
Marguerite swallowed her food quickly, “Daddy can skate?”
Her mother shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s capable of anything, that man. Hell, how else are you here?” she added gesturing to her daughter over her shoulder.
Marguerite scoffed and took up a whole apple, moving around the table.
“You’re right. You haven’t had a date in months. My poor mother…” she sighed hugging her mom around the waist, “No wonder you’re so bitter.”
Her mother gasped and swatted at her daughter before grabbing her head and kissing her roughly. She swatted Marguerite’s behind and sent her back to the table to finish her food.
Marguerite skipped out of her home with a full belly and an apple in her mouth, taking up her red skate board. Fresh France air wafted through her hair as she raced past people and buildings, stop signs and parked cars. She rounded a corner and an arm reached out and hoisted her up off her board and into an alley.
She braced herself to fight but her wrists were caught by elegant hands with silver rings, topped with rubies and sapphires.
“Didn’t ye motha tell ye ter wear a helmet?”
“PAPA!” Marguerite cried and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed and hugged her tightly, swaying slightly to a song only father and daughter heard. She released him and gave him a hard punch to the arm.
“You scared me!”
“Yer not wearin’ yer gear!”
A chicken clucked frantically and kicked dirt as Ruben crashed to the ground after it. Roman sat at the patio a tortilla in one hand and mouth full with one already finished.
“You missed.” Roman said with a full mouth. Ruben gave his brother the finger and pushed himself off the ground.
“Ruben! Roman! Bien!”
“VOY!” cried the boys, dropping everything – except for food – and taking off after their mother’s voice.
They scrambled to stand beside one another, switching places once or twice before finally standing still. Their mother stood, hands on her hips, a towel in one hand, and rolled her eyes at them.
“What am I going to do with you two?” she sighed, shaking her head.
“Ruben didn’t catch the chicken.” Roman taunted.
“You didn’t even help!” Ruben snapped back at him.
“Enough!” their mother snapped and both boys straightened up, “Now, get inside and get ready, both of you. I won’t have you late to the store again. Morales has already told me you two are messing around again.”
“Well, if Roman would stop flirting with everyone.” Ruben taunted.
“If Ruben would move his big ass.”
Their mother used the towel in her hand to swat at the two and send them inside. The two boys yelped and flinched running off into the house. Twin boys with their single mother in a small farm house in the corner of a small town in Mexico. Around them were more farms of varying types. Cows, horses, they had chickens, ducks, one goose and a donkey. The donkey was no use, it was old and greying with one blind eye, but their mother didn’t want to part with it. So it trimmed the grass.
Ruben and Roman were born to their only mother who was the only one of her family left in the town. Some years before their mother met their father, her family had a falling out and she had still refused to speak with them or about them. Ruben and Roman were alone with her. While their mother had a temper, she was also tender and loving in her own way. Ruben was gay, Roman was not anything. Their mother was fine so long as she got grandchild some way or another.
Of course. Adoption.
Ruben collapsed on his brother’s bed after his shower and shook his wet hair. Roman groaned and swatted at him.
“Gross, man.”
“Did he answer?”
“Yeah. He said he’ll be at Morales’s.”
“Mom doesn’t know?”
“I’m not bleeding, so no – mom does not know.”
“Good point.”
“Do your hair, stupid!”
Their father had found them in a different way. One day while being nosy the boys stumbled upon a letter in neat handwriting. It was in English, a language neither of the boys knew well, but there was a white man who taught at their school so they went to see him. The letter read:
Should anything come from our meeting. Contact me this way.
Information was printed beneath it. A number and an address. Ruben called, Roman listened. On the other end – their father. They never heard about him before, but he said that his mother did contact him and said she neither wanted him nor needed him. So he let her be and would send her money regardless of her wishes. They deserved something from him. Ruben immediately said he was gay and that Roman was nothing. To their surprise, their father laughed and said their orientation didn’t matter to him.
“Lupins,” he said, “Are neva normal, boys. No need ta even try.”
Dominque had wild red hair, and bright green eyes. She was wild and brash, fast and head strong. She loved the outback and the animals and bugs in it.
All and any homes that tried to hold her couldn’t for long, so she was sent to be with her grandmother. The woman did whatever she could to keep her tame. Brushed her hair, but it still went wild. Trimmed her nails, but they still grew long and strong within a week. Scolded her, spanked her, and threatened her with no TV, no outside, no nothing until she did what she was told.
Dominque was a dynamite, and no one could stop her.
She danced. She ran. She sang and fought. She liked to race with horses and dingoes, was friends with the natives that lived beside her grandmother’s house. Feral dogs, feral cats, feral anything. She was feral herself. Dive bombing lakes and tackling boys, fighting with anyone who fought with her.
Then one day she got a letter and her grandmother opened it with her. Elegant handwriting scrawled out her name and she grinned.
Dominque,
My name is Romulus Lupin and I am your father. I’ve received news that your mother passed away a long time ago. Forgive me that I haven’t spoken to you until now, but I did not know. Please use the information below to contact me.
She raced to the phone and grabbed the receiver, sprinted to her room and jumped on her bed, punching out the numbers and waiting impatiently for the voice on the other end.
“ ‘Allo?”
“Da!?”
“Ah – little Dommy?”
“It’s you?! Really, really you?!”
“Aye, love. And yer you. Where ye at?”
“Got a pen and paper?”
Wendy rolled and collided with his bedroom floor with a heavy thud. He groaned and rolled again, this time landing on his back. His mother kicked his foot playfully.
“Get up, lazy.”
“The bed summons me.” he groaned and reached for it with one hand. His mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, unable to hide the smile on her face.
“Get ready, little boy.”
“Yes, ma’m.”
Wendy was short for Wenceslao. A name given to him by his mother whose grandfather was named after his own father. Because his mother was an only child, the name could not be passed and while Wendy knew the entire family would’ve preferred a boy of better breeding to have the name of the family – oh, well.
He had shoulder length blue-black hair with one blue eye and one green. He had ADHD and had an Eidetic memory, while sometimes it was really more of a curse than a blessing – Wendy benefited from it. He had bronze colored skin, which did not match with the rest of his mother’s family. They sneered and cursed him, hit him and called him cruel names. But today none of that mattered. He was leaving for school and for his father’s house. It was his father he looked like and his father his family hated, but even that didn’t matter.
“Ma!” Wendy called as she slid down the banister and jumped over his sister Lucy. She fanned at him and called him a name in sign language. He signaled back at her and made a face, rushing into the kitchen and roughly hugging his mother from behind.
“Mama!”
His mother laughed and turned to hug him tightly, “What is it, little boy?”
“Love you, mom.” He smiled and gave her a kiss, then sat down to breakfast. Lucy joined them and threw pieces of napkin at Wendy playfully.
Lucy was Wendy’s half-sister from his mother’s marriage with Johnathan. Johnathan lasted only as long as his hands remained off his mother and on Wendy or the walls. The moment he raised it to his mother, Wendy broke Jonathan’s jaw and the man was kicked out. Within the same year Wendy met his father for the second time in his life. His father asked his mother to let him decided his son’s and Lucy’s schooling. Lucy was now attending a school for the Deaf and Blind, and Wendy was attending a private school in England with his cousin, Marisol.
His mother was a strawberry blond with ocean blue eyes. She was gentle and fierce, honest and hardworking. She loved with her whole heart and soul, and Wendy loved the same way.
“Your Daddy called. Said he landed an hour ago at a private location.”
Lucy signaled a wow with her hands and Wendy laughed, tossing a piece of bacon at her.
“Okay, good. Does he have Dirk or Devon?”
“Yes, he said he got Dirk and Devon to come along. Stop throwin’ food at your sister! You – leave your brother alone.” Her mother ordered with fierce gestures. Lucy apologized with a fist to her chest and a frown, then grinned at Wendy merrily. Ringlets of brown hair bouncing as she kicked her feet beneath the table.
“Cool. I haven’t seen ‘em in a long time.”
“I know they miss you too, baby.” His mother smiled.
If it weren’t for Dirk, Romulus would have had to have a stranger pick up his children and drive them to his house. However, he was happy that all of his children followed direction unlike said blonde haired Irish man. Devon was a given, plus, he amused Romulus and was good with kids.
The plane landed in the private air strip and Romulus could feel his children bristle with excitement. It wasn’t all of them, but a good number. They had plenty of time to meet each other now within the tiny airport hangar.
He led the men off the plane and around the corner into the hanger. As they rounded the corner a basketball went flying past his face and startling the other two men, it bounced off the metal wall and off into the opposite direction.
Wendy drove and smacked the ball with an open hand, sending it flying up into the sky. Domonique tackled him to the ground and grabbed him in a head lock. She was much smaller than him, only thirteen while he was sixteen, but size didn’t matter with Dynamite.
Marguerite, another sixteen year old, grabbed the ball and raced under the wings of a parked plane, her blonde hair flowing behind her as the twins – both fifteen - sprinted after her. One tried to cut her off and the other grabbed her from behind. She screamed and kicked, but Dominique tackled both brother and sister down. The ball bounced away rolling away from them all, as they rolled and tried to pin each other down with screams and squeals. Marisol, who had been hiding in the back of the trio came bounding out from between them and tackled Wendy, who still sat on the floor from his little sister’s tackle.
Dominique appeared again with a sprint and dive bombed Marisol to the side. The two rolled and Marisol kicked the other girl off her, leaping to her feet. Dominique raced back after her and both took off at a sprint across the hanger and down the landing strip. Alia, the youngest at only eleven years old, came out from her hiding place, all smiles and reached to help Wendy stand up. A bright pink hijab wrapped around her head.
“Holy shit…” Dirk gasped and Romulus glanced over his shoulder at him.
“Say hi to Dirk and Devon, kids.”
“MORNING!” chimed the group and Devon and Dirk’s jaws dropped.
“S’ma kids.” Romulus beamed proudly before he was tackled to the ground by his brood.
“Are you ready, Alia?” called her mother from the living room. Alia adjusted her hijab one last time before rushing outside to meet her mother and Uncle in the living room. Her Uncle was standing while her mother sat.
“Alia? Are you ready or not?” her mother asked again more sternly in Arabic. Alia straightened her shoulders and raised her head high.
“Yes, mother.” She replied proudly. Her Uncle beamed and took her under his arm in a one armed hug. He smelled of spice and clean clothes.
“Your father is waiting.” He smiled and took her hand to lead her out. Alia detached herself from her Uncle and quickly ran to her mother, wrapping her arms around her neck.
“Shokran Gidan, Mama.” She whispered softly just for her mother to hear. She felt her mother’s hands tighten around her before she was gently pushed away. It was a thank you for finally letting Alia meet him. After all this time and all these stories, she finally was able to see her father. Where she got her skin and hair, her smile and mind.
“Don’t tell your grandmother. She’ll never forgive me.” her mother warned as she saw her and her Uncle out to the car. Through the busy streets of London, cramped in her Uncle’s tiny Volkswagen Alia peered out to try and spot the man she had only dreamed of meeting. Her Uncle gently tugged the back of her shirt to bring her back from outside the window.
“Sit down. You’ll hurt yourself, silly.” He teased grinning at her, “Your mother would come if she was able, you know that. But she can’t bring herself to see your father again. Not after so long.”
“Does she still love him?” Alia asked, rather eagerly almost forgetting her place. Her cheeks flushed from her sudden outburst. Her Uncle smile and raised her chin with his fingertips.
“A mother and father will always love each other. You are proof of that.”
The restaurant was unlike anything Alia had ever been to. It was grand, and majestic with an elegant wait staff whose clothes looked almost fake, they were so perfect. Alia felt out of place for a moment, but couldn’t focus too long on that emotion or on the beautiful set up because she was searching the heads in the restaurant. The hostess led them to the patio where a figure sat looking out at the city. He was beautiful. Long hair so black it looked blue with purple hues, skin olive toned and perfect with long fingers like hers, but topped with perfect silver rings that had rubies and sapphires. He turned to see them enter and something ignited in his eyes and Alia sprinted to him.
He caught her as she flew to him, hugging him tightly around the waist. He hoisted her up and hugged her tight. He smelled of rich lavender and eucalyptus. His shirt silk and soft like his hands, not like the heavy scratchy clothing her mother always wore. She felt his lips touch her cheek and he brushed her hijab as if wishing he could see her hair. In an instant Alia removed it and he grinned at her, fingers running through her hair.
In silence they stoof, looking each other over like long lost friends finally meeting again. The rest of the world was forgotten. She had his smile. He had her hair. They had each other’s hands.
“ ‘Ello, Alia. I’m yer da – Romulus.”
“I know.” Alia whispered breathlessly and threw her arms around him again.
“MAMAN!”
“WHAT?”
“Where are you?”
“The kitchen, Marguerite. Where else would I be?”
“Outside. The basement. Patio. Cat house, I dunno.” Marguerite replied in French as she strapped up her boots, and skipped down the rest of the steps into the kitchen. Her mother stood busy with the dishes, as freshly cut fruit and cooked breakfast sat at the table.
“Now, how am I going to fit in the cat house?” her mother snapped at her, one hand on her hip.
“Well, the cat is pretty fat.”
Marguerite squealed when her mother sprayed her with water. Her mother was far from fat; her mother was a physical therapist and a trainer. Marguerite was a fencing champion and a skilled horse rider, though her outfits never would give that thought. She liked leather, and lace, black clothes and loud music. Thick eye liner and straight hair, even though her own was dark blonde and eyes a fierce hazel. Her mother said she was her father’s bad side born to look like an angel, so Marguerite did everything she could to look like a devil.
“Did Papa call?” she asked, taking a seat at the kitchen island and starting in on her breakfast. While Marguerite was thin, she was also a big fan of food.
“Yes. He said he will meet you at the skate park, and to bring your helmet this time. He caught you without it last time.” She added as a half warning.
Marguerite swallowed her food quickly, “Daddy can skate?”
Her mother shrugged, “I don’t know. He’s capable of anything, that man. Hell, how else are you here?” she added gesturing to her daughter over her shoulder.
Marguerite scoffed and took up a whole apple, moving around the table.
“You’re right. You haven’t had a date in months. My poor mother…” she sighed hugging her mom around the waist, “No wonder you’re so bitter.”
Her mother gasped and swatted at her daughter before grabbing her head and kissing her roughly. She swatted Marguerite’s behind and sent her back to the table to finish her food.
Marguerite skipped out of her home with a full belly and an apple in her mouth, taking up her red skate board. Fresh France air wafted through her hair as she raced past people and buildings, stop signs and parked cars. She rounded a corner and an arm reached out and hoisted her up off her board and into an alley.
She braced herself to fight but her wrists were caught by elegant hands with silver rings, topped with rubies and sapphires.
“Didn’t ye motha tell ye ter wear a helmet?”
“PAPA!” Marguerite cried and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed and hugged her tightly, swaying slightly to a song only father and daughter heard. She released him and gave him a hard punch to the arm.
“You scared me!”
“Yer not wearin’ yer gear!”
A chicken clucked frantically and kicked dirt as Ruben crashed to the ground after it. Roman sat at the patio a tortilla in one hand and mouth full with one already finished.
“You missed.” Roman said with a full mouth. Ruben gave his brother the finger and pushed himself off the ground.
“Ruben! Roman! Bien!”
“VOY!” cried the boys, dropping everything – except for food – and taking off after their mother’s voice.
They scrambled to stand beside one another, switching places once or twice before finally standing still. Their mother stood, hands on her hips, a towel in one hand, and rolled her eyes at them.
“What am I going to do with you two?” she sighed, shaking her head.
“Ruben didn’t catch the chicken.” Roman taunted.
“You didn’t even help!” Ruben snapped back at him.
“Enough!” their mother snapped and both boys straightened up, “Now, get inside and get ready, both of you. I won’t have you late to the store again. Morales has already told me you two are messing around again.”
“Well, if Roman would stop flirting with everyone.” Ruben taunted.
“If Ruben would move his big ass.”
Their mother used the towel in her hand to swat at the two and send them inside. The two boys yelped and flinched running off into the house. Twin boys with their single mother in a small farm house in the corner of a small town in Mexico. Around them were more farms of varying types. Cows, horses, they had chickens, ducks, one goose and a donkey. The donkey was no use, it was old and greying with one blind eye, but their mother didn’t want to part with it. So it trimmed the grass.
Ruben and Roman were born to their only mother who was the only one of her family left in the town. Some years before their mother met their father, her family had a falling out and she had still refused to speak with them or about them. Ruben and Roman were alone with her. While their mother had a temper, she was also tender and loving in her own way. Ruben was gay, Roman was not anything. Their mother was fine so long as she got grandchild some way or another.
Of course. Adoption.
Ruben collapsed on his brother’s bed after his shower and shook his wet hair. Roman groaned and swatted at him.
“Gross, man.”
“Did he answer?”
“Yeah. He said he’ll be at Morales’s.”
“Mom doesn’t know?”
“I’m not bleeding, so no – mom does not know.”
“Good point.”
“Do your hair, stupid!”
Their father had found them in a different way. One day while being nosy the boys stumbled upon a letter in neat handwriting. It was in English, a language neither of the boys knew well, but there was a white man who taught at their school so they went to see him. The letter read:
Should anything come from our meeting. Contact me this way.
Information was printed beneath it. A number and an address. Ruben called, Roman listened. On the other end – their father. They never heard about him before, but he said that his mother did contact him and said she neither wanted him nor needed him. So he let her be and would send her money regardless of her wishes. They deserved something from him. Ruben immediately said he was gay and that Roman was nothing. To their surprise, their father laughed and said their orientation didn’t matter to him.
“Lupins,” he said, “Are neva normal, boys. No need ta even try.”
Dominque had wild red hair, and bright green eyes. She was wild and brash, fast and head strong. She loved the outback and the animals and bugs in it.
All and any homes that tried to hold her couldn’t for long, so she was sent to be with her grandmother. The woman did whatever she could to keep her tame. Brushed her hair, but it still went wild. Trimmed her nails, but they still grew long and strong within a week. Scolded her, spanked her, and threatened her with no TV, no outside, no nothing until she did what she was told.
Dominque was a dynamite, and no one could stop her.
She danced. She ran. She sang and fought. She liked to race with horses and dingoes, was friends with the natives that lived beside her grandmother’s house. Feral dogs, feral cats, feral anything. She was feral herself. Dive bombing lakes and tackling boys, fighting with anyone who fought with her.
Then one day she got a letter and her grandmother opened it with her. Elegant handwriting scrawled out her name and she grinned.
Dominque,
My name is Romulus Lupin and I am your father. I’ve received news that your mother passed away a long time ago. Forgive me that I haven’t spoken to you until now, but I did not know. Please use the information below to contact me.
She raced to the phone and grabbed the receiver, sprinted to her room and jumped on her bed, punching out the numbers and waiting impatiently for the voice on the other end.
“ ‘Allo?”
“Da!?”
“Ah – little Dommy?”
“It’s you?! Really, really you?!”
“Aye, love. And yer you. Where ye at?”
“Got a pen and paper?”
Wendy rolled and collided with his bedroom floor with a heavy thud. He groaned and rolled again, this time landing on his back. His mother kicked his foot playfully.
“Get up, lazy.”
“The bed summons me.” he groaned and reached for it with one hand. His mother scoffed and rolled her eyes, unable to hide the smile on her face.
“Get ready, little boy.”
“Yes, ma’m.”
Wendy was short for Wenceslao. A name given to him by his mother whose grandfather was named after his own father. Because his mother was an only child, the name could not be passed and while Wendy knew the entire family would’ve preferred a boy of better breeding to have the name of the family – oh, well.
He had shoulder length blue-black hair with one blue eye and one green. He had ADHD and had an Eidetic memory, while sometimes it was really more of a curse than a blessing – Wendy benefited from it. He had bronze colored skin, which did not match with the rest of his mother’s family. They sneered and cursed him, hit him and called him cruel names. But today none of that mattered. He was leaving for school and for his father’s house. It was his father he looked like and his father his family hated, but even that didn’t matter.
“Ma!” Wendy called as she slid down the banister and jumped over his sister Lucy. She fanned at him and called him a name in sign language. He signaled back at her and made a face, rushing into the kitchen and roughly hugging his mother from behind.
“Mama!”
His mother laughed and turned to hug him tightly, “What is it, little boy?”
“Love you, mom.” He smiled and gave her a kiss, then sat down to breakfast. Lucy joined them and threw pieces of napkin at Wendy playfully.
Lucy was Wendy’s half-sister from his mother’s marriage with Johnathan. Johnathan lasted only as long as his hands remained off his mother and on Wendy or the walls. The moment he raised it to his mother, Wendy broke Jonathan’s jaw and the man was kicked out. Within the same year Wendy met his father for the second time in his life. His father asked his mother to let him decided his son’s and Lucy’s schooling. Lucy was now attending a school for the Deaf and Blind, and Wendy was attending a private school in England with his cousin, Marisol.
His mother was a strawberry blond with ocean blue eyes. She was gentle and fierce, honest and hardworking. She loved with her whole heart and soul, and Wendy loved the same way.
“Your Daddy called. Said he landed an hour ago at a private location.”
Lucy signaled a wow with her hands and Wendy laughed, tossing a piece of bacon at her.
“Okay, good. Does he have Dirk or Devon?”
“Yes, he said he got Dirk and Devon to come along. Stop throwin’ food at your sister! You – leave your brother alone.” Her mother ordered with fierce gestures. Lucy apologized with a fist to her chest and a frown, then grinned at Wendy merrily. Ringlets of brown hair bouncing as she kicked her feet beneath the table.
“Cool. I haven’t seen ‘em in a long time.”
“I know they miss you too, baby.” His mother smiled.
If it weren’t for Dirk, Romulus would have had to have a stranger pick up his children and drive them to his house. However, he was happy that all of his children followed direction unlike said blonde haired Irish man. Devon was a given, plus, he amused Romulus and was good with kids.
The plane landed in the private air strip and Romulus could feel his children bristle with excitement. It wasn’t all of them, but a good number. They had plenty of time to meet each other now within the tiny airport hangar.
He led the men off the plane and around the corner into the hanger. As they rounded the corner a basketball went flying past his face and startling the other two men, it bounced off the metal wall and off into the opposite direction.
Wendy drove and smacked the ball with an open hand, sending it flying up into the sky. Domonique tackled him to the ground and grabbed him in a head lock. She was much smaller than him, only thirteen while he was sixteen, but size didn’t matter with Dynamite.
Marguerite, another sixteen year old, grabbed the ball and raced under the wings of a parked plane, her blonde hair flowing behind her as the twins – both fifteen - sprinted after her. One tried to cut her off and the other grabbed her from behind. She screamed and kicked, but Dominique tackled both brother and sister down. The ball bounced away rolling away from them all, as they rolled and tried to pin each other down with screams and squeals. Marisol, who had been hiding in the back of the trio came bounding out from between them and tackled Wendy, who still sat on the floor from his little sister’s tackle.
Dominique appeared again with a sprint and dive bombed Marisol to the side. The two rolled and Marisol kicked the other girl off her, leaping to her feet. Dominique raced back after her and both took off at a sprint across the hanger and down the landing strip. Alia, the youngest at only eleven years old, came out from her hiding place, all smiles and reached to help Wendy stand up. A bright pink hijab wrapped around her head.
“Holy shit…” Dirk gasped and Romulus glanced over his shoulder at him.
“Say hi to Dirk and Devon, kids.”
“MORNING!” chimed the group and Devon and Dirk’s jaws dropped.
“S’ma kids.” Romulus beamed proudly before he was tackled to the ground by his brood.