The Child is Crying and I Don't Know What to Do

Five Days LaterDecember 21st; 2024Travis Kelce's Point of ViewI lean back against the couch, the glass of scotch heavy in my hand. The TV plays some mindless action movie, but I can't focus on it. All I can think about is her. Taylor. Sitting upstairs like she hasn't done anything wrong, like she's the victim here. The nerve of her.

She pretends like she doesn't remember. Like she didn't leave me there to die. To bleed all alone in the middle of the street. Years together, and one fight was all it took for her to walk away and let me fend for myself. I don't even know what hurt worse—the physical pain or the fact that she just...left.

Now she's here, acting like none of that ever happened. Acting like she's some perfect mother, like I'm the asshole. She complains about every damn thing I do, calls me shitty like she isn't the biggest hypocrite alive. It's like she's rewriting history in her head to make herself look better.

Moral felony—that's what she committed. I don't care what anyone says. You don't just leave someone like that. And here I am, keeping her in my house, giving her a safe place to stay because, for some reason, I thought I owed her that much.

But all she does is bitch about me. Maybe I should've left her out there to figure this out on her own. At least then I wouldn't be sitting here trying to drown her hypocrisy with the last of my scotch.

"Cakes," Zoë says, her little hands tugging at my sweatpants with surprising determination. She's sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at me with those big, pleading eyes. I rub the back of my neck, unsure how to handle this.

"Where's your mom?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. It's late, and I'm guessing Taylor crashed hours ago. I glance at the clock on the wall—past midnight. Of course, Zoë wakes up wanting pancakes now.

"Cakes," she repeats, her tone insistent this time. She's not backing down.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Zoë, it's pretty late. You should go back to bed."

She shakes her head so forcefully her curls bounce around her face. "Cakes," she demands again, louder this time, as if volume will sway me.

"Bed," I counter, trying to keep my voice calm.

"Cakes!" she shouts, her little fists pounding against her knees like she's about to throw the tantrum of the century.

"Dude, I don't know how to make pancakes!" I say, throwing my hands in the air. The kid's relentless, but I'm way out of my league here. Cooking? At this hour? Not happening.

"CAKES!" Zoë shrieks, her tiny face scrunching up in frustration. She starts kicking her legs against the floor, tears brimming in her eyes as her meltdown begins to unfold in full force.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I say, holding my hands out like I'm trying to calm a feral animal. "Let's not scream, alright? We can figure this out!"

But Zoë isn't having it. She wails louder, her fists thumping against the floor as if the sheer force of her tantrum will magically produce pancakes. I pace around the kitchen, racking my brain for what to do.

"Alright, let's think," I mutter to myself. "How hard can it be? It's just flour and...eggs, right?" I glance down at Zoë, who's now red-faced and sobbing. "Kid, you're gonna wake up the whole damn neighborhood!"

"CAAAAAKES!" she howls.

"Okay, that's it. I'm just getting your mom," I say, throwing my hands up in surrender. "I don't know how you work!"

Zoë stares at me, her tear-streaked face scrunching up like she's about to argue, but all that comes out is another defiant, "CAKES!"

I shake my head, muttering under my breath as I head toward Taylor's room. "How did I get roped into this? I'm not built for toddler logic."

When I reach her door, I knock lightly, not really caring if I wake her at this point. She's the one who knows how to deal with this miniature dictator.

"Taylor!" I whisper loudly. "Your kid's losing her mind over pancakes!"

No response. I push the door open and walk in, heading straight for the bed. Taylor's sprawled out under the blankets, her hair a mess, clearly dead to the world. I give her shoulder a shake.

"Your child is about to scream the roof off over pancakes," I say flatly.

She groans, burying her face deeper into the pillow. "Don't give her pancakes. She's just testing you to see if she can manipulate you into giving them to her."

"Well, I would have if I knew how to make them," I retort.

She finally lifts her head, eyes barely open, shooting me a look that's equal parts irritation and exhaustion. "Seriously? You're a grown man, Travis."

"And yet, here I am, dealing with your screaming kid at—" I check my watch. "—two in the morning."

Taylor sighs heavily, throwing the blanket off her and dragging herself out of bed. "Fine. Let's go before she wakes the neighbors, too."

I follow her downstairs, and the second Zoë sees her mom, the screaming cranks up a notch. "CAKES!" Zoë wails, her little fists pounding on the floor like it's the end of the world.

Taylor just stares at her for a long moment, then glances back at me. "See? Testing me."

"And you're just gonna let her scream like that?" I ask.

"She'll get over it," Taylor mutters, already heading for the kitchen to grab water for Zoë.

"Zo Zo, it's too late for pancakes, and you've had too many sweets this week," Taylor says firmly, walking over to Zoë with a sippy cup of water in hand. She crouches down to offer it, but Zoë swats it away and hurls the cup across the room with surprising force.

"Zoë!" Taylor snaps, her voice sharper now. "You don't do that!"

Zoë's face crumples, her little fists balling up again as she stomps her feet. "Cakes!" she screeches, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"No, cakes!" Taylor shoots back, standing tall with her hands on her hips. "It's bedtime, not pancake time."

Zoë lets out a high-pitched scream of frustration, flopping dramatically onto the floor.

I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching the showdown. "She's got some lungs on her," I remark.

Taylor glares at me over her shoulder. "Not helping." She turns back to Zoë. "You can either drink your water and calm down, or you're going straight to bed with no pancakes and no cuddles."

Zoë doesn't budge, her wailing only growing louder.

I step forward, rubbing the back of my neck. "Want me to take over? I mean, I won't make pancakes, but maybe I can distract her or something."

Taylor sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Go for it. Be my guest."

I crouch down to Zoë's level, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Hey, kiddo," I say softly. "What if we play a quick game before bed instead? No pancakes, but maybe... I don't know, hide-and-seek?"

Zoë pauses her tantrum just long enough to consider the offer, her tear-streaked face scrunching up in thought.

Taylor raises an eyebrow at me. "Hide-and-seek? Really?"

"Better than the screaming match," I reply.

"Hide-and-seek? You love hide-and-seek, Zo Zo," Taylor says, her tone softening as she kneels down beside Zoë. She gently brushes a few curls out of her tear-streaked face, trying to soothe her.

Zoë sniffles, her little body still trembling from the meltdown. "Hide-and-seek?" she repeats softly, her voice hesitant but curious.

"Mhm," Taylor nods with a small smile. "You hide, and I'll find you."

"I hide?" Zoë whispers, her wide eyes starting to sparkle through the leftover tears.

"That's right," Taylor says encouragingly, giving her a little nod. "But only if you're quiet so I can't find you too fast. Can you be quiet?"

Zoë's lips press together in a determined line, and she nods quickly. "I hide!" she declares, scrambling to her feet.

"Okay, I'll count to ten," Taylor says, covering her eyes with one hand. "Ready? One... two..."

Zoë giggles, her earlier frustration forgotten as she scurries off, her little feet padding quickly across the floor in search of the perfect hiding spot.

Her laughs echo faintly from behind the curtains, and Taylor shakes her head with a soft chuckle. "She always hides in the same spot."

"She really likes pancakes," I say, shaking my head as I lean against the counter.

"I don't know what it is, man!" Taylor replies, exasperated as she bends down to grab the sippy cup Zoë launched earlier. She wipes it off with a dishtowel and sets it back on the counter. "It's like her kryptonite or something."

"Or her obsession," I say with a smirk. "She practically wakes up chanting about them."

Taylor rolls her eyes as she tosses the towel aside. "Tell me about it. I swear, the word 'pancakes' is going to be etched on my tombstone at this rate."

"Could be worse," I joke, crossing my arms. "At least it's pancakes and not something weird like... anchovies or mustard."

Taylor snorts, glancing over at the doorway where Zoë's giggles can still be heard. "Honestly, at this point, I'd take mustard if it didn't involve me standing over a stove flipping cakes at all hours of the day."

"Noted," I reply, grinning. "Next time she screams for pancakes, I'll hand her a bottle of mustard and see how it goes."

Taylor glares at me, her lips twitching like she's trying not to laugh. "You'd better not. I already have enough messes to clean up."

"Fair point," I say, throwing up my hands in surrender. "But you have to admit, the kid's got good taste. Pancakes are a solid choice."

Taylor sighs, shaking her head but smiling softly as she looks toward the living room. "She's lucky she's cute."

"Of course she's cute. She's half me. I'm adorable," I say, flashing a smug grin as I grab a glass of water.

Taylor rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Hey, I'm just stating facts," I reply, leaning casually against the counter. "It's science, really. Superior genes and all that."

She snorts, crossing her arms as she leans against the opposite side of the counter. "Oh, please. If anything, she gets her cuteness from me. You're just... the supporting cast."

"Supporting cast?" I feign offense, clutching my chest like she's wounded me. "I am the star player here, Taylor. Let's not rewrite history."

Taylor raises an eyebrow. "Star player? More like comic relief."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Fine. You win this one. But deep down, you know I'm right."

"Sure, Travis," she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Keep telling yourself that."

Zoë's laughter echoes from the living room, breaking the playful tension. Taylor smirks. "Well, whatever combination of genes she got, at least we did something right."

I grin, nodding. "I don't know much about her, but she seems pretty awesome."

Taylor smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "She is. Don't worry. She's got the looks and a personality built for pancakes and love."

"You've done good then," I say, leaning back against the counter.

Her expression shifts slightly, thoughtful. "You seem to avoid her a lot. She's technically your daughter, you know."

I exhale, the weight of her words pressing down like a stone. "But she's not," I say quietly, shaking my head. "I know nothing about her, Taylor. I don't know her favorite animal or what games she likes to play. Hell, I don't even know how to make her pancakes. I'm her father biologically, but I'm not her dad. She's yours, not mine. I'm not going to take credit for something I have nothing to do with."

Taylor studies me for a moment, her gaze softening. "Fair enough," she says, her voice gentle. There's no judgment, just understanding.

Zoë's laughter trickles in from the other room, and Taylor glances toward the sound, her face lighting up. "But, for what it's worth, she'd probably like you if you gave her the chance...and changed your personality a little."

There's a comfortable silence between us for a moment, the kind that doesn't need filling. I catch myself smiling. It's nice, this little moment of normalcy.

"Mamma! You look?!" Zoë's tiny voice pipes up from the other room, full of anticipation.

Taylor perks up instantly, her tone playful. "I'm looking!" She turns to me, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'm gonna go 'find her,'" she says, making air quotes as she walks toward the curtains, pretending not to notice the little feet sticking out from underneath.

She crouches down dramatically, peeking around. "Hmm, where could Zo Zo be? Is she under the couch? No... behind the pillows? Nope..." Her voice is full of mock confusion.

From behind the curtains, Zoë stifles a giggle, her excitement barely contained.

Taylor gently pulls the fabric aside. "Aha! There you are!"

Zoë squeals with delight, bursting out of her hiding spot and throwing her arms around Taylor's neck. The sound of her laughter fills the room, and for a brief moment, everything feels...right.

"Time for bed now, Zo Zo," Taylor says, her voice calm but firm as she scoops up the giggling little girl.

"Noooooo. No bed!" Zoë protests, her arms flailing dramatically as if her life depends on avoiding sleep.

Taylor adjusts her grip, unfazed by the toddler theatrics. "Come on, troublemaker," she says, carrying Zoë upstairs. "It's way past your bedtime."

Zoë squirms in her arms, pouting. "Not tired! Cakes!" she declares, as if pancakes are the solution to staying awake forever.

"Nice try, but the pancake party is officially over for today," Taylor says with a small laugh. "Tomorrow's a new day full of adventures, but only if you get some sleep."

Zoë's head begins to rest against Taylor's shoulder as the protest dies down to a sleepy mumble. "Cakes..."

Taylor glances back at me as she climbs the stairs, a small, tired smile on her face. "She gets this stubbornness from you, you know."

"Sure she does," I reply, leaning back on the couch. "Good luck with bedtime."

Taylor just shakes her head and disappears down the hallway, humming softly to lull Zoë to sleep.

A few minutes later, Taylor comes back downstairs, her footsteps soft against the hardwood floor. She heads to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water from the tap. The quiet sound of the water running fills the room, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator.

As she turns back toward the living room, she looks at me curiously. "Who are you spending Christmas with this year?" she asks, her voice casual but laced with genuine curiosity. She takes a sip of her water and leans on the counter, waiting for my answer.

I shrug, slouching a little further into the couch cushions. "I don't know," I admit. "No plans yet."

She raises an eyebrow. "No friends or anything?"

"All of them want to be with their families," I say, my tone nonchalant but with an edge of something unspoken. The truth is, I hadn't even thought about making plans. Christmas has always been... complicated.

Taylor looks at me for a beat, then sets her glass down on the counter. "So what did you do last year?" she asks, tilting her head as if trying to picture it.

I smirk, leaning back with my arm draped over the back of the couch. "Watched Die Hard with a glass of Grey Goose on the rocks."

She lets out an exaggerated groan, immediately catching on to where I'm going with this. "I swear to god, if you say Die Hard is a Christmas movie..."

"It is a Christmas movie," I say, my smirk widening into a full grin. "Bruce Willis saving hostages while 'Let It Snow' plays in the background? It doesn't get more festive than that."

Taylor rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but I can see the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "No. It's an action movie that just happens to take place during Christmas. That doesn't make it a Christmas movie."

"Oh, come on," I counter, sitting up straighter now. "The entire plot revolves around a Christmas party. There's holiday cheer, family reunions—"

"Explosions and gunfights," she interrupts, crossing her arms. "So festive."

"Exactly," I say, pointing at her. "It's got everything. Action, drama, holiday spirit."

"You know," Taylor says, her voice quieter this time, "you could just spend Christmas with your dad." She raises her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip of water as if the suggestion were as casual as the drink.

The words hang in the air like an unwanted guest. I don't say anything, and the silence stretches. My jaw tightens, and I focus on the flickering light from the TV, avoiding her gaze.

She notices the shift immediately and sets her glass down with a soft clink. "That was a cheap shot," she admits, her tone tinged with regret. "I'm sorry."

I glance at her, my face unreadable, and then exhale through my nose. "Yeah, it was," I say flatly, though there's no real heat behind my words.

She crosses her arms, leaning back against the counter. "I wasn't trying to... I mean, I know it's complicated. I shouldn't have brought it up."

I nod but don't respond right away, my thoughts flickering between old memories and the hollow ache they leave behind. Finally, I shrug, trying to play it off. "It's fine. I just—let's not go there, okay?"

"Okay," she says softly, the apology clear in her voice. The tension lingers, but she doesn't push further, and I appreciate that much at least.

She picks up her glass again and takes another sip, her eyes darting toward the window as though searching for a change of subject. I pretend to focus on the TV, but the words still echo faintly in the back of my mind.

"What are your Christmas plans?" I ask, breaking the uneasy silence that's settled over the room.

Taylor glances up at me from where she's still leaning against the counter, her glass of water resting in her hand. "I'm going to be here..." she says, her tone soft but resigned.

"Right," I nod, staring at the TV for a beat before turning back to her. "I know we may not be each other's first choice..."

She cuts me off with a wry smile. "We're the only choice."

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. "Fair enough."

There's a brief pause, and an idea strikes me. "What if tomorrow we go shopping," I suggest, looking at her carefully, "and give Zoë a Christmas to remember? Just really spoil her."

Taylor blinks at me, caught off guard, but a small smile creeps onto her face. "You mean, go all out? Toys, clothes, maybe even some pancakes in her stocking?"

"Why not?" I grin. "She deserves it. Plus, if we're stuck here together, might as well make it count for something."

Taylor straightens up, her expression softening as she considers the idea. "You know what? That actually sounds nice. I think she'd love it."

"Great," I say, leaning back on the couch and feeling a rare sense of ease settle over the room. "Tomorrow, we'll make it happen."

—————Author's Note:

Them being NOT RUDE?