Last Baby Sitter (Patreon)

“He’s finally here? I will be right down” my wife shouted from upstairs. I gave Marc a pained look. He’s been our go-to baby sitter for almost two years now, always treated as shit by my wife. I don’t understand it, but I suspect she is somehow jealous of anyone else watching our Sam. Afraid she’ll miss something important. The first burp, the first word, the first step, the graduation. To be honest I’m even surprised he did agree to show up when I called him, the way my wife shouted at him the last time. He had brought a friend and watched a movie together. I didn’t care. They were in the house and nearby if our son needed anything. Sure, he could have asked for permission, and I would have given it without second thought. Perhaps he didn’t know, his friend called him, and he made a quick judgement that it would be OK. I never got to hear his side of the story before my wife kicked him out with no pay. I would have to make it up to him this time.

He looks back in a kind of I-understand-what-you-have-to-deal-with kind of look, and before I get to say anything about it he blurts out “What do you think Sam will grow up to be?”

“I think…” man I didn’t expect that question. Perhaps he is just trying to stay away from the elephant not yet in the room, picking a topic on random. “I hope he gets a safe and calm childhood. Active with some sort of sport of his chosing. No doing too bad in school, of course. Making his own way and be happy with it, I guess.”

“You think she’ll let him?” Damn, this kid snuck up with that shiv. Of course she won’t. “I’m sure she will.”

Date night was predictable. I had looked forward to getting away from the house, to talk about other things than who’s turn it is to buy diapers. We’ve loved Tia’s Tacos from before Sam was born, their chicken mole is fantastic, so it had all the potential to be a great night out. She didn’t seem to enjoy herself very much however, so it felt more like a perfunctory chore.

The lights where on in all the house when we arrived back, and we could hear music already out on the front porch. Was this payback for last time? I could see my wife readying herself, transforming into attack mode.

On the couch in the living room sat a half naked teenager playing whatever console was plugged into the TV. The table was a mess of Doritos dust and empty soda cans. It wasn’t Marc playing, and we don’t have a console.

- Sup guys. Everything went dope? No! Ew! Scratch that. No details.

His eyes didn’t leave the screen for even a moment. My wife dropped her purse on the floor and exhaled almost a whisper.

- Sam?
- Yeah, mum? Oh, before I forget, there is a message from some Marc. He left a note telling you to never call him again. Kind of weird.