It oozes over the side, melting into a puddle.
She adds a thin sparkler candle to Marco's dessert, striking a match to light it.
We sing him happy birthday, much to his horror and delight.
???
Tummies full and dishes done, the three of us cosy up on the couch.
“Beth, if you're trying to get us to move in with you, it's working,” he sighs.
I’m so on board with this.
“Yeah, you're gonna have to adopt us both, I'm sorry.”
“Well, as my honourary sons, I look forward to having you visit more often. Now that you're able to,” she grins. “And there's plenty of food left to take with you tomorrow. I'll freeze it overnight so it stays cold while you drive.”
He takes her by the hand.
His eyes convey all that can’t be expressed in words.
“Wait right here,” he says, sprinting back to the bedroom.
We hear a jangle of keys, as Marco dashes out to the truck in bare feet.
Soon he returns with a paper bundle in one hand.
It’s the parcel his mum gave him.
Photos of when he was little, before Beth and I ever knew him.
One by one, we pass the prints between us.
And there he is.
Baby Mark.
Little Mark.
And eventually, teen Mark.
Beth recognises the fifteen year old boy from the last image.
She traces across the glossy paper with her pinky finger.
He has those same eyes, but with a tinge of sadness.
The smile we know so well, but without the confidence.
Awkward haircut, but that wasn't his fault.
Nor were the bruises and cuts, obviously.
Neither of us dare mention them.
It’s a punch to the gut to see him like that.
So small and innocent.
