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“I want you to do it,” I say. “He’ll love you. I’ll wake Clay up.”
“No, don’t,” she replies softly.
But as if he knows I’m there, Matty wakes up on his own. “Rob?”
Clay rouses too. “You’re back!” He catches sight of Amber-Rose and tries to fix his hair. “Hey, I’m Clay,” he says to her.
“I’m Amber.”
“Bjork!” Matty exclaims in disbelief when he sees Amber-Rose with his bear.
“Go on,” I say to Amber-Rose.
“Hey, Matthew, I’m Amber. I believe this is yours,” she says. The corners of her lips hook her dimples, apparently captivating Matty as much as they do me. The boy looks at her like she’d come straight out of a fairytale. “Bjork needed a bit of tender loving care, but he’s ready to be with you again.”
Amber-Rose positions Bjork’s arms so it’s easy for Matty to hug him while lying down. Matty murmurs, “Amber… thank you.”
She catches his fingers gently. “Oh, sweetie.”
Meanwhile, I’m suppressing my own emotions to avoid becoming a sobbing wreck. But most of all, I fear I’m about to blurt out what’s in my head.
Amber-Rose, I wanna kiss you.
“Did Mom give you his ribbon?” Matty asks her.
Amber-Rose turns to me, and I offer her no response, helplessly letting her handle the situation because I can’t. Then she says to Matty softly, “No. Your dad gave it to me.”
“My dad?” Matty frowns.
I gulp. Why did she say that? Maybe she doesn’t know our dad died in the accident too. But then I realize what prompted her to say it.
Amber-Rose blushes. I’m sure she would hide under the bed if she could. She gapes, and then slaps her palm over her mouth.
After a tense moment, Matty giggles. “Rob is not my dad, you silly!”
“I’m sorry! My brain is asleep,” she apologizes as the mood lightens in the room.
Why does she keep thinking, or feeling, that I’m Matty’s dad?
I welcome the assumption. As she said, her brain is asleep, so her statement must’ve come from the heart. To her, I must seem like a caring man—not some rich bad boy, which is what people usually think of me by default.
Clay says, “Don’t worry about it. People think that all the time because of our age difference.”
Amber-Rose laughs away her guilt. “Hey, my mother is seventy-one. She had me when she was forty-seven. So bring on the age gaps.”
That explains why I initially thought her mom was her grandma. I further justify her argument that age doesn’t matter, saying, “My mother had me when she was fifteen. And she had Matty when she was forty-one.”
“I think we’re gonna get along just fine,” she quips.
Matty adds, “And I’m his real brother. Not stepbrother or secret brother or anything.”
People who don’t know us usually speculate about where Matty came from. So my baby brother is prepared.
Then Matty turns to me, eyes bright. “Rob, I’m hungry.”
“Me too. I’ll get something for us.”
“I’d better go,” Amber-Rose murmurs.
