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“I started preschool at four, I think.”
“Well, I’m on board with whatever you decide.”
The words—my first actual co-parenting statement—hang in the air. Is she going to shoot me down, tell me that I have no say?
“Thanks,” she says instead, and there’s no sarcasm or animosity behind it.
Ethan is finally slowing down an hour or two later. In that time, we’ve tortured poor Moe by making him run after our ball about a hundred times. I got a tour of Moe’s doghouse too, with Ethan urging me to crawl all the way inside of it with him. He’s shown me how he tosses stones into the lake, and to my relief warns, “Don’t go too cwose,” when I edge towards the shore. He also introduced me to the different birds that come to peck off the feeder that hangs from one of the smaller trees. The best was when he pointed to the one he called a black cap chickadee. Ethan asked me, “You know why?” meaning why they’re named that, and then started calling out, “Chick-a-dee-chick-a-dee,” in his little voice. When the bird started making the same sound in reply a moment later, Ethan turned to me clapping his hands with a look of pure joy. I had to fight the urge to scoop him up and squeeze him tight, this sudden, unfamiliar feeling of unconditional love coursing through me.
“Is he tiring you out?”
We both turn to her at the same time and say, “I’m not tired,” which makes her laugh.
“You wanna see the hamuck?”
“Sure.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’ll say yes to anything this boy asks me right now.
“The hammock, Ethan? Are you sure you don’t want to go upstairs for a nap?”
“I not tired,” he repeats, this time with a little spit and vinegar.
“It’s all right, I’ll hang out with him.”
“He’s going to pass out in five minutes.”
I shrug. “I’ve got no pressing appointments or anything.”
“Ok,” she says, considering something for a moment. “If you’re sure you don’t mind, then I’m going to grab my laptop. I’m taking two courses this summer to make up for the ones I dropped this past semester.” My face must show the concern I’m feeling. She lowers her voice, reassuring me, “Losing Janelle was overwhelming for a while there, and I had to slow my pace, needed to be home with him.”
“That must have been really hard.”
She’s lost in thought for a moment before collecting herself and nodding. When Ethan comes to tug on my hand, she says, “You’re popular around here.”
“Thank God.”
And I truly thank God for this day, when not ten minutes later, Ethan’s warm little body is curled up into mine, breathing evenly.
* * *
Charlotte
He’s in love.
I’ve never taken drugs, never had much desire or opportunity to drink, but I imagine what Simon’s experiencing right now is the best high ever. When a child you love graces you with a smile, a hug or their touch, it feels like you’ve won the lottery. It’s something you come to crave.
Simon is in the hammock with one foot hanging over the side, slowly pushing off on it every thirty seconds or so to keep them in motion. He’s lulling Ethan to sleep while looking down at his face, watching as his eyes get heavy and his breath deepens. Simon is mesmerized.
I’ve got my laptop open, trying in vain to concentrate on the slides I’m supposed to compare for my Art History class, but there’s a far more interesting subject holding my attention right now. I don’t want to be caught staring in amazement at the site before me, but it’s hard to look away. Not ten minutes later, I can hear a man’s deep breathing, and I know Simon has succumbed to the fresh air and the gentle swaying of the hammock. I tiptoe closer and snap a few pictures on my phone. I took a couple of the two of them playing with Moe, and one where Simon had Ethan perched on his shoulders, the two of them laughing as they chased after a cotton-tail rabbit. I want these memories for Ethan—that's what I tell myself.
“How are you doing?”
I take the iced tea Lawrence offers as I make my way back onto the deck. “I’m a mess.”
“From where I’m sitting, it looks like things are going pretty well.”
“It’s so weird, though, right?”
“That’ll pass.”
