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I was losing my patience with him.
I had been trying to get him ready for my mom’s funeral for the last twenty minutes and he was being impossible.
“Because, she’s my mom and your grandma. It would be wrong not to go,” I explained, trying to get his pants on but he was wiggling too much.
“She was mean! I don’t want to go!”
“Tristan,” I warned.
Somebody knocked on the door and Tristan scampered away, courtesy of my distraction.
I groaned, rising to my feet, and striding across the small apartment to see who was there.
I wasn’t surprised to find Trace standing there in a pair of black slacks and a white button down shirt.
“Hey,” I ran my fingers through my hair to get the long strands out of my line of vision. “We’re not quite ready yet,” I pointed over my shoulder at the shrieking Tristan, who was running around in nothing but a pair of robot underwear.
“Uncle Trace!” He shrieked, running towards the door.
“Hey, buddy,” Trace bent down, scooping Tristan into his arms. “Dude,” he tickled my son’s stomach, “why are you naked?”
“I’m not naked, silly,” Tristan giggled, “I’ve got my big boy underwear on.”
“That you do,” Trace laughed, walking into the apartment. “I wish Dean wore those.”
“But Dean’s a baby!” Tristan screamed exuberantly.
“I still wish he didn’t poop himself,” Trace groaned, spinning Tristan through the air before dropping him on the couch, much to the boy’s delight.
“Mommy! Uncle Trace said poop!”
I dropped my head in my hands. I didn’t think Trace showing up was going to help things.
“Yeah, yeah,” Trace groaned, reaching for the clothes on the floor that I’d been trying to wrestle Tristan into wearing. “It’s time to get you dressed.”
“I don’t wanna!” Tristan tried to climb over the back of the couch, but Trace grabbed him.
“You don’t want to dress all fancy like me?” Trace asked him.
Tristan’s lips pursed in thought as he studied his uncle. “Well, okay.”
“That’s what I thought,” Trace chuckled, helping Tristan into his clothes.
I was already dressed and ready to go. So was Ivy.
She’d been struggling with the fact that I was really Tristan’s mother, but not hers. Seeing as how I continued to treat them exactly the same as I did before the truth came out, she was coming around.
Trace finally got Tristan dressed and then we had to go.
After the coroner had performed an autopsy, they’d discovered my mom died from a lethal mix of alcohol and drugs. I had obviously been ruled out a suspect then—if I really had been one.
Trace’s family was paying for her funeral since I couldn’t afford it, and that pained me. I didn’t want them feeling obligated to help me, especially with something like this, but I’d had no choice but to let them.
Outside, Olivia waited in their Land Rover, waving enthusiastically when she saw us leaving the apartment. I saw Dean in the back, banging his hand against the window and leaving smudged prints.
“Thanks for doing this,” I whispered to Trace, “and thanks for coming here so we don’t have to go alone.”
“We’re here for you,” Trace pulled me into a hug when we reached the end of the steps. “We’re your family. Don’t ever doubt that.”
