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“Pancakes,” Orlando suddenly says, looking toward the bedroom door, which is closed. “Pancakes and bacon.”
Orlando has always been able to smell better than me. It’s part of his shifter heritage, I suppose. It doesn’t bother me at all. If anything, it’s an incredible asset. I love that my kid can scent the world around him in this way. It really is such a wonderful skill.
If he’s smelling pancakes, though, then there’s no doubt in my mind that Cage came back.
More than that, it’s time for him to meet Orlando.
I look at my little boy. I never planned to keep his dad from him, but I also never knew where Cage had gone. Orlando never really asked me where his daddy was, or who his daddy was. He always had his mom and his grannies, and that was enough for him.
Now it’s time.
I take a deep breath and I look at Orlando.
“Your daddy is here,” I tell him.
“Daddy?” Orlando looks up, surprised.
“Yep.”
I think a blunt approach is best for stuff like this. When you’re totally straightforward, nobody has a chance to be shocked or surprised. When you just tell people what’s up, they don’t have a chance to be bothered or upset by what you said. In Orlando’s case, me being honest lets him know that he can always trust me to be totally straight with him.
“Daddy,” he says, holding up a train. “Choo choo.”
Okay, so he super doesn’t care. Cool. He’s small enough that he doesn’t really understand what a “mom” or “dad” means. Not really. To him, “Mom” is my name. He’s also got a “Granny” and he had a “Grandma.” He’s got a “Papa.” He’s got all of these wonderful people in his life, and now he’s got someone he can call “Dad,” but to him, it’s just another name.
At least, I think that’s better than having him be older and thinking that this is a huge deal. It’s better for things to be like this than for him to think that there’s something wrong with him for growing up without a dad.
I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. Suddenly, I realize that I’ve definitely got morning breath and my hair must look like a total mess. I’m a nasty sleeper, and I drooled all over myself in the night. It’s probably on my face. Gross.
It’s not that I think Cage and I will get back together.
Of course, we won’t.
That’s not in the cards for people like us, but I do think that I’d like to be the clear winner of this breakup, and for me, that means looking hot.
Only, when I push the door open that leads to the living room and kitchen, I realize that in this moment, the only winner here is Cage.
He’s wearing the t-shirt I left out for him. It’s actually an old shirt of his from high school, but he’s a lot more muscular now, and the shirt has to stretch to fit over his huge biceps. He’s got sweatpants on and it’s obviously there’s nothing on underneath.
Can we say, “cute butt alert”?
He looks over at us and smiles.
“Good morning,” he says. He sets down the spoon he’s using to mix the pancake batter, and he comes over to us.
“Good morning,” I manage to say.
“Hi,” Orlando pipes up.
Cage squats down in front of him and looks him up and down.
“What’s your name?”
“Orlando.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Cage.” Cage sticks his hand out, and Orlando stares at it for a long time. He looks back up at Cage and then over at me, as though he’s asking silently for permission to shake this guy’s hand.
I nod, letting him know that it’s totally fine.
