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“Wow. Cool,” he says, gently running his hand along the top of his spikey hair.
“It won’t stay. It’ll fall when it dries, but next time I’ll bring some gel and we’ll style it for real. Now go have a look at it in the mirror.”
“Alright! Mom, look!” he yells, running out of the living room. They round the corner at the same time and Max plows right into Harley. He scowls at her and reaches up to make sure his hair is still intact. “Careful, Mom!” he scolds. “Don’t mess up my hawk!”
“Oh gosh, I would never want to mess up your very manly mohawk,” she says, squatting down to his level, just as he barrels past her to find a mirror. Harley shakes her head and laughs, walking toward the couch. She sits down on the opposite end, and I want nothing more than to pull her down here by me.
She’s watching me, her face expressionless. Is this that look they say that mothers give? I keep watching her and she keeps watching me. Yup, this must be that look.
“You gave my son a mohawk." Her face is stone cold, but as I watch her for a few moments, I can see her fighting a grin that is pulling at the side of her mouth.
“Hell yes, I did! Did you see his hair?” I ask, leaning back against the couch and pointing down the hall at Max. “He looked like a choir boy.”
She throws her head back and laughs, exposing the length of her neck. Fuck me, everything about her is perfect. All I can think about right now is what I wouldn’t give to feel that silky skin against my lips.
“There is nothing wrong with a choir boy,” she gasps, trying to stop from laughing. Her eyes smile at me and it’s an incredible feeling. I don’t ever want to go back to the place we were two nights ago.
“No, there isn’t. But your son has an amazing personality and he needs an amazing hair style to go with it!”
“Okay. Okay. He can keep the mohawk,” she says as Max comes barreling back into the room. Holy crap, does that kid ever slow down? He’s go, go, go all the time.
“I love it! Did you see my hair, mom?” he asks, and she nods. “Do you like it? It’s so cool. Andy is going to be so mad that he doesn’t have a hawk! Tyson said he was going to bring gel over next time and do it for real. Can I read you a book before I go to bed?" he asks, looking directly at me. I love how he so easily goes from talking about hair to asking to read a book in the same breath.
I point a finger at myself in question and he nods. “Do you mean, can I read you a book before bed?"
“No,” Max replies, staring at me like I’m crazy. Both he and Harley are watching me, and I swear my whole body warms under their gazes. I’ve had such a great time tonight; I really don’t want it to end. “I’m going to read you a book. How about Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site?" Max whips around on his heel and takes off for his room, obviously expecting me to follow behind.
“Really?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in question. “He can read already?" Is that normal?
“No." She laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve read him that book so many times that he has the words memorized. He knows exactly which words are on which pages and it looks like he’s reading.”
“Your kid is too smart for his own good,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “He’s going to give you a run for your money. You know that, right?"
“I know,” she says dramatically, tossing her head back on the couch as I make my way back to Max’s room—which is totally awesome, by the way.
The far wall from where I walk in is painted with red seams to make it look like a baseball and there is a mural on the south wall, painted to look like a stadium full of people. There is a large St. Louis Cardinal baseball rug in the middle of the room. Surprise, surprise. A small bookshelf sits in the corner and it’s overflowing with sleeved baseball cards, bobble heads, a few signed baseballs, and a replica of a World Series ring…at least I think it’s a replica. I’m going to be shocked if this kid doesn’t end up becoming a baseball player himself so
meday.
Like Harley said he would, Max ‘reads’ me the entire book from start to finish without missing a word. Whenever he’s done, he shuts the book, tosses it on the floor, and crosses his legs. “Did you like it? It’s my favorite book. My mom bought it for me. She’s my favorite mom, but she’s not very good at playing freeze tag. She told me that you’re her best friend. Are you still her best friend?" This kid can rapid-fire questions quicker than anyone I know. Forget the baseball player, maybe he’ll be a lawyer.
His face is full of innocence as his oversized chocolate eyes bore into mine, waiting for me to respond. “Yes, your mom and I are still friends," I answer, wondering to myself how much you should tell a four-and-a-half-year-old. He seems to be incredibly perceptive, so I want to be very careful about how I answer him.
“Why did I never meet you before?” he asks openly.
“Well…” I stop, trying to come up with the most appropriate answer. I decide to go with the truth. “Did your mom tell you that I’m a doctor?”
He smiles, nodding enthusiastically. “I want to be a doctor someday, but don’t tell my papa,” he whispers, leaning in to me. “I think he wants me to play baseball.”
I scoot off his bed and onto the floor, propping my elbow on his bed so that I’m closer to being at his level. “Well, when I was going to school to be a doctor, I decided to go to school in New York. Do you know where New York is?" He nods his head and I continue. “My classes were really tough and New York is so far away that I didn’t come back home as much as I should have.”
“Why not?”
Because I was an idiot. I was scared. I was mad. I could literally give a million reasons.
“I don’t know. A lot of reasons, I guess. But I’m back now and I’m not leaving." I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him that. It’s not like he cares, it just sort of slipped out. “But yes, your mom and I are still friends and I really, really wish I would have come back home sooner so that I could have met you. Because you, my man," I say, reaching out and ruffling his hair as he snuggles down under his blanket, “are a really awesome kid, and I had a blast playing with you tonight.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, but when I stand up and move toward the door he says, “Good night, Tyson. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
