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“I’m positive. Dad has a new job. One that I’m hoping won’t take me away from you like I have been lately.” I don’t apologize, not yet. That’ll come next, you know, when I’m not driving and my boy can see the truth in my eyes.
“Alright. You missed ice cream. Speaking of which, since I’m going home with you in the big house, how about ice cream for dinner?” I take the turn that takes us closer to the apartment complex where we all live, albeit separately.
“We can. I’ve got a lot of news to tell you. The big house is sold. I’m kind of a neighbor to you and your mom now.” I’m unprepared for the happy squeal he lets out or the dance moves he’s doing in his booster sit, another one of those things that hits you in the solar plexus, telling you that you’re more of a fuckup than you already knew.
“This is the best day ever. Now I can eat Mom’s dinner and have dessert with you.” Typical boy, thinking about food non-stop.
“How about we talk to Mom about that first before you make plans, okay?” I pull into the apartment complex, turning away from Tyra’s place until we make it to mine. The second I’m parked, Von is unbuckling his seatbelt, standing up, and waiting for me to open the door. I remember the time when Tyra walked into my then home office with the iPad in hand, showing me what she found on Instalook. A video on child car locks so no little one could pull the handle open and step into traffic even after you parked and unlocked the doors. From that moment on, we did it. Von is so used to it that he thinks nothing of it.
“Okay, but I like my idea, too,” Von replies while I open his door for him.
“It is a pretty great idea. Maybe let the adults talk about it first. Want a ride?” I ask him.
“Of course, I do. Wow, Dad, you really did move.” I turn around, squatting until he’s situated, little sticky boy hands clasping around my neck, legs positioning themselves around my waist, my arms hooking underneath the back of his knees so he doesn’t slide down.
“Yep, hate to say it, though, bud. You’re either stuck sleeping in bed with me, or I’m on the couch, whichever you prefer.” I don’t need much, and since Von is with Tyra more, the need for a two-bedroom wasn’t a necessity, plus I’d be on a waiting list for up to six months. No fucking way was I letting another day, let alone a week or month, pass us by again.
“We can share as long as you promise not to snore.” Von makes an overexaggerated snoring noise. I use my foot to kick the door shut, locking it with my keys that are still in my hand, and walk the few steps to my door.
“I don’t snore. It’s you who snores.” I tap his bottom with one hand, letting him know it’s time to slide down or move to the front. He chooses to land on his own two feet, so I can unlock the door.
“No way, José.” He’s well beyond his years in the speech department, so smart that I often worry Von’s not getting enough time as a kid, and while he plays like most do, loving the outside, he’s also one to sit down to watch a documentary about animals, ask for his iPad to do his own research, and devour it whole.
“Okay, maybe I snore, just a little,” I teasingly say. Von steps inside, taking in the sparse place. In the beginning, when the keys of this place were handed to me, I didn’t care about furniture or anything. The only worry I had was repairing the damaged pieces I’d broken. Now that Von’s here, maybe I should add a few things to make the sterile environment a home.
“Dad, you snore, a lot.” He walks to the fridge, opens the door, and looks inside. “Wow, there’s even food here. No take-out?” I roll my eyes. Even in the big house I had food. Sure, we’d do fast food mostly because I was too tired to worry about dinner.
“Nope. Want something while we sit and talk?” I offer, pulling out a barstool for him to hop on, then doing the same for myself.
“I’m okay.” Here goes nothing.
“I owe you an apology. Before your mom and I split up, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I thought working and buying the big house we had was the most important thing. I lost my way, and in doing so, I lost you and your mom.” I take a deep breath when I see Von’s upper lip quiver from rehashing the story. It tears at me. I pick his little body up, place him on my lap, and wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry, Von, so sorry that I did that to you. I promise that it won’t ever happen again.” My own eyes tear up when my son’s body starts to shake. The only thing I can do is hold him, letting him get it all out. “You want me to call Mom, bud?” I kiss the top of his head. The grip around my neck tightens. He shakes his head in the crook of my neck, and I do the same, bringing my son closer, attempting not to cry myself, for my son, for Tyra, and dammit, for myself.
EIGHTEEN
Tyra
“Mom,I don’t need all of this. Dad can come and get it off the back porch from you and never take his eyes off me.” Von is probably exasperated with me, what after lathering him in sunscreen, packing a bag with two towels, his goggles, a few toys, and arm bands in case he gets tired of swimming and would rather float. Overkill, especially since Von could swim before he was really fully walking.
“Fine. Put the bag on the back patio, if you want. I’d take your goggles and the towels at least.” Instead, he’s ripping everything out of the bag, tossing it wherever it may land. Mace told me yesterday after he told Von what needed to be said that he bawled his eyes out. He didn’t have to say a word; our son’s eyes gave it away, as did the redness around them and his runny nose, and he clung to Mace when he said goodbye. The tightening in my chest at seeing Mace’s eyes look pretty much the exact same way as Von’s, seeing as he’s his mini-me in every way imaginable, from looks to the personality, plus the smarts our boy has, it didn’t take much to know Mace had his own crying jag that I knew he’d never admit to.
“If you make a mess, you’re going to clean it up, and we still have to talk about the mess you left in the bathroom, your dirty clothes, and your toys. Speaking of, where are the clothes you had on this morning?” I ask, moving to the kitchen to clean up the breakfast dishes. Having two days off in a row called for homemade cinnamon rolls for the two of us. Though I did save a couple for Mace to take home.
“I won’t, and they’re in the laundry basket, promise.” He picks up the stuff he’s not willing to take to the pool, mainly the floaties and toys, leaving the sunscreen, towels, and goggles in the bag, “Where do these go?”
“In the hall closet. Want help?” I ask, wondering where the time went and how he’s gotten to be so big. Another thought takes place, causing me to move my hand to my lower abdomen, wondering if it wouldn’t be so bad to throw caution to the wind. Since Mace put that thought in my head, I swear it has me questioning my sanity.
“Nope, I’ll do it,” he replies. I look to where he’s going, holding the items tightly to his chest so he won’t have to make two trips. Yep, Mini-freaking-Mace right there.
“Sucking up will get you everywhere in life.” I finish wiping down the kitchen counters, checking the floor to make sure no crumbs dropped. I don’t want to clean the floors again for the second day in a row. If we weren’t living in an apartment and time were nothing of consequence, I’d totally contemplate getting a dog, not only to help out with crumbs but also give Von a companion.
“Dad’s here, Dad’s here!” A knocking comes from the front door. “I’ve got it, Mom!” Von is running down the hall.
“Not so fast, dude. You can open the door, but I’m looking through the peephole to make sure it’s Dad first. We’ve talked about this, Von.” Maybe it’s a good thing Mace is taking him to the pool today. He’s been balls to the walls off the charts crazy all morning, and it’s not even noon. It’s either that, or the past year has taken its toll on me. Add the fact Friday night’s sleep was little to none, not that I’m complaining for that at all. Then there was last night, winding us down, then talking to Mace on the phone once Von was asleep didn’t help much either.
Von wedges himself between me and the door, hand wrapping around the doorknob.
“But it’s Dad, you know it is, and so do I.” He tries to give me the puppy dog eyes, meanwhile twisting the handle.
