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“No, you won’t.”
“I can’t get her sick, especially not after she just got over her cough. I thought I’d at least be able to hug her and say goodbye…” She bites into the croissant. “Not that I can see much right now.”
I find her glasses on the nightstand. Gently, carefully, I slip them on her face for her—which produces a small smile out of Willow.
“You might not be able to physically be there, but you’ll be there,” I say strongly, then stand off the bed and go to the closet as an idea strikes me. “Hang out with us before we have to go.”
“Garrison, I can’t—”
“You won’t cough on her with this.” I dig into the closet and in the back, I find a box of The Fourth Degree merch I’ve been given from working on the Sorin-X game. One of which is an astronaut helmet. “Put this on.”
Willow is already crawling out of the bed. Her oversized Street Fighter tee reaches her thighs, and she slips her feet into Marvel slippers. The floor of our loft is always cold.
Even stuffy, she sounds elated. “You’re a genius.”
“Nah, I’m just working for a genius.”
She shakes her head like I’m wrong. “You are one, and I think I forgot to say it, but thank you for the breakfast in bed.”
I help her fit on the astronaut helmet. “You didn’t need to thank me.” I can feel her appreciation and love in everything I do. “You’re my girl, Willow. I’m always going to take care of you.”
Her cheeks flush behind the glass dome of the helmet.
Once we return to the main space of our loft—no divided rooms, just one big open floorplan and big windows looking out at Philly—we head towards the TV.
“Daddy, look, I’m winning!” Vada is still on the loading screen, her gray game controller not hooked up to N64. Before I can tell her good job, she gasps and springs to her feet. “Mommy!!” She stops and gasps. “Are you going to…to space?”
“Not today.” Willow taps the glass dome. “This is just so you don’t catch Mommy’s cough. Don’t get too close. You don’t want another cough again, do you?”
Vada hesitates because she does want to hug Willow. “Okay…” She sounds reluctant “You want to play, Mommy?” She offers her the controller.
“I’m just gonna watch you beat Daddy.”
I smile over at Willow and she smiles back like this is a good day. Even if she feels shitty, even if she couldn’t help Vada get ready for pre-K, she’s happy, and that makes me really fucking happy.
Vada grins. “I’m gonna try. You ready, Daddy?”
“Five minutes,” I tell her.
“Uh-huh. We got lots-a-time.” She focuses on the TV. Astronaut Willow lounges on the couch behind us, snuggling beneath a blanket, and as I settled on a beanbag, Vada plops down between my legs.
“Okay, you choose the track, kiddo.”
She picks Moo Moo Farm. Of course. I hate this track, but whatever. I’d do anything for her. While she punches buttons, thinking she’s playing as Yoshi, I am, in fact, playing as Yoshi and controlling the game. She believes I’m Princess Peach.
Vada careens her whole body to the left as Yoshi turns on the track. “I’m in first. Mommy, you see! I’m in first!”
“Whoa, you’re amazing. Keep on racing.”
“I am, I am.”
When I steal a glimpse back at Willow, I whisper, “She’s such a good kid.”
“I know…” She smiles softly at Vada. Willow’s stuffy voice sounds a little muffed behind the helmet. “I keep waiting for the temper tantrums.”
“Same.”
“They’ll probably come later, right?”
“Teens, yeah,” I nod, but I don’t know. Maybe not. “What if…what if it’s always like this? What if…” I whisper so only my wife can hear—anyway, Vada is hypnotized by Yoshi and flying turtle shells. “…what if we did it…” I stop short of saying again.
It feels wrong.
There’ve been a few moments like today where I’ve considered, could we have another kid? But like now, I always cut myself off. A strange knot forms in my stomach, and Willow can see my wince.
She sits up and leans closer to me. “I’ve thought about it too. Because she is so good, but then, I figure, it’s just that I love her so much. And I want to duplicate five million of her.”
I let out a laugh and I nod, before our gazes fall back to Vada. Willow says exactly what I feel. It’s not that I want another kid. It’s just that I’m so in love with the one we have.
“I just want her,” I realize out loud. It’s what I always feel. What I’ve always truly known.
I hear Willow behind me. “Me too.”
After Yoshi crosses the finish line in first, Vada asks, “One more race?”
“Time’s up. You can’t be late for pre-K.”
She nods understandingly, and I ask Willow, “Are we sure she’s not fifty?”
