Chapter 24

They say men rule the world. It’s a lie. I know for a fact that women rule. They’re sneaky, letting men rule only carefully selected aspects of life to keep us in ignorance. I know because three females conspired against me. Three females, despite my protestations, decided Sia and I should move into Alia’s house and live as a family despite Alia not wanting to get married.

I objected, more than half-heartedly. I didn’t doubt my stamina, but honestly – keeping three females satisfied? It might have worked if there was distance between them, schedules conflicting, gaps between amorous liaisons. And living in the same home promised all sorts of complications. Who would share the bed? How would it be decided without arguments and jealousies damaging relationships?

I protested and threw up every logical argument, detailed every possible negative, and pointed out the tenuous position of being outnumbered three to one, all to no avail.

Alia, Sia, and Jasmin calmly informed me I was being stubborn, a typical male, unable to see the logic of their reasonable proposal. Then the three, calm as you like, informed me they were going to live together and I could join them if I so pleased. Blackmailing witches!

We moved in, Sia delighted to be sharing a bedroom with Jasmin even though there were two extra bedrooms. I kept my house and rented it out; fully furnished except for an old oak kitchen table Alia had taken a shine to. She declined my offer to give her the rest of our furniture, claiming it wouldn’t fit the décor. Right.

However, well hidden from them, I was delighted. I had three people I adored, and one on the way. I had a future of teen girls to provide endless amusement and bewilderment, and a beautiful, elegant lady in my life.

The sound of a baby crying filtered out to me. It was the hunger cry. I smiled and stretched out on the couch, watching a documentary on a year in Antarctica. Alia was out at a late meeting with a client.

Sipping a glass of twelve-year-old Glenmorangie, ice tinkling in the cut-crystal glass, I enjoyed the smooth peaty flavor, the coolness in my mouth, and blossom of heat in my stomach as I swallowed. My mind drifted, meandering back over the last thirteen years. Life had worked out well, just not quite how I’d envisioned.

The three females in my life seemed to communicate psychically. I’d find one or another of the girls coming to bed with me every so often, Alia absent. There were no fights, no discussions, no schedules; it was as if they’d colluded on how to manage me to their satisfaction. I didn’t complain. Managing three females would have been like trying to coral ants by thought alone - impossible from the get go - and probably would have driven me to drink, at least to drink more, that is. I was a wise man. “I have no opinion,” was my standard position when presented with any of their decisions.

Twelve years ago, Alia had delivered a belated Christmas gift; a curly dark brown-haired girl with café au lait skin and warm hazel eyes; a perfect blend of her parents. Cailyn Soraya Sanderson-Hicks had stolen my heart from first sight. Two teenage girls were so excited, enchanted with a real life doll; something to play with.

The birth of Cailyn stirred a debate; Jasmin and Sia insisting Alia and I get married so Cailyn wouldn’t have a different surname than the rest of us. So, the wedding was held on a warm spring day, with two beautiful fifteen-year-olds acting as maids of honor. The Sanderson-Hicks family became official.

At sixteen, Jasmin had had her first date, insisting Sia find one too, so they could double date. Sia, curiously, never dated the same guy twice. At that point, I didn’t understand why. Then again, I never truly understood my daughter.

Jasmin breezed into university. She had an intimidating intellect and had her choice of universities. Sia put in enough effort to be accepted, no more, and even that reluctantly. She only applied herself when she understood how important it was to me. They attended the University of St. Paul. Jasmin graduated with honors, completed her Masters, and was now in her first year of her PhD in Applied Mathematics. Sia couldn’t get home soon enough and I finally understood why she was so uninterested in boyfriends - never developing an attachment.

I had underestimated her, yet again. She’d reminded me of something she’d said at fourteen years old; “I’m only lending you to Alia. You’re mine, first and forever, whether you like it or not.” I hadn’t realized how utterly serious she’d been.

Sia pulled me out of my reverie by walking into the living room. Warmth flooded me. She carried Max cradled in her arms, our three-month-old son.

Smiling at me, her mystical mismatched eyes shining, she said, “He’s a hungry boy,” Max busy suckling at her breast. She sat in the armchair, glanced at me and added, “Don’t drink too much, Dad. It’s not good for you.”

“It’s my first,” I claimed, even though it was my second. Friday night deserved to be celebrated. “Happy Friday!”

Sia ignored me.

At twenty-six, Sia hadn’t changed much. She was still a slight girl, now with a narrow waist. She never lost her zaniness, a constant source of entertainment. She reminded me of Soraya, her mother, especially when she’d been pregnant and said with admiring delight, “Look, Dad, real tits! I have a cleavage! Guess what we can try now!”