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If you told me this was the man who lived in a piss-stained apartment two years ago, I still wouldn’t believe you. The son of a gun went on and turned his life around, just as he promised Brianna he would. He still has a beer when he hangs around our place every couple of weeks, and I keep offering, watching those eyes to see if he regressed. But he never has more than two, and they’re always a few hours ahead of driving.
“Let me at least give you a couple burgers for the road,” I say, flipping the patties for the last time. “They’re just about ready, and I’ve made way more than our little family can eat.”
There it is again, my mind running away with the thought of our family not being big enough.
Artie gives me a thoughtful nod.
“Dada,” Michael says and it catches me off guard.
“Did you hear that or am I going crazy?” I face Brianna dead on.
She doesn’t have to respond for the look in her eyes to give me an answer. It isn’t the first time my son has spoken, but he’s never saiddadabefore. My heart thumps ferociously in my chest. Pure elation washes over me.
That’s my boy.
“Say it again, boy,” I use the same commanding tone Brianna gets in the bedroom. Michael squeals with his laugh but does repeat himself.
I drop to my knees beside Artie and stare into my boy’s eyes. He looks just like his mother. Good. I wouldn’t want the poor kid carrying my bad looks around for the rest of his life.
He reaches out and his tiny hand latches onto my nose. Those two blue orbs stare straight into my soul. It’s here that I know it’s time for a change. Sitting with my family, frying up our dinner, and staring into the beautiful sunset shouldn’t be a Sunday afternoon experience. This is how we should spend every second we have.
I turn my eyes up to Brianna, who’s brimming with joy. She’s spent countless hours tickling Michael and trying to coax him into saying that two-syllable word, and it’s finally paid off. I couldn’t be prouder.
“I love you,” I say, too overcome with emotion to care about her father sitting inches from my face.
“I love you,” she mouths through a cheeky smile.
I go back to flipping burgers while Michael falls asleep in his grandfather’s arms. When I finish, we put all the fixins on two for Artie and take him to his car.
“He’s like a new person,” I say on the elevator ride back to my apartment.
“You know, he did it because of you, right?” Brianna says.
“Because of me?” I crook a brow. I don’t buy it for a second. “No bleeding way that man changed because of me.” Ever since Michael was born, Brianna’s had a no-swearing rule in the house. She wants me to quit smoking too, but that’s harder than expected.
Those patches don’t do a thing to take away the sting of needing a cigarette.
“The money you gave him on the night of our first date. He used it to get his job, instead of buying more drinks.”
“Son of a gun. By the way, you ought to tell him he still owes me that hundred back,” I tease. I’ve had enough emotional realizations for one day, and don’t need another right now. If I’m not careful, and Brianna says a few choice words, I might have a wee breakdown before we make it upstairs.
I wrap my arms around her tenderly, ensuring I don’t go anywhere near the sleeping babe. She rocks back and forth with Michael in her arms. He’s sound asleep, but she’s doing everything in her power to keep him that way. Good. I love my boy with all my heart, but I don’t want him interrupting what I’ve got planned.
Brianna takes Michael to his room and rests him gently in his crib. He stirs but doesn’t wake from his deep slumber.
I take her by the hand and walk her to the bedroom.
“Why don’t we go away?” I ask, snatching Brianna by the waist and pulling her onto the bed.
She giggles the whole way down.
“Like a holiday? Would your work allow it?”
In the two years, we’ve been married, I’ve come home to a loving wife who knows what I do and still wants to be with me. I count my blessings every night, how lucky things turned out on that one.
“What are they going to do to stop me? I’m the boss.” I wink at her.
“Then let’s do it,” she speaks with skepticism of someone who’s never gotten this promise.
