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“He’d never agree to it,” my mother says, and while I can’t see her face from where I’m standing, I can picture exactly what it looks like when she lets out a resigned sigh. “But I think you’re right. It would make the transition to being a single parent a lot easier.”
“Isn’t it too fast to look at something like that?” my dad chimes in. “Melody’s only been gone for five days. To pawn Teddy off on someone else seems a bit much to me.”
“It’s not pawning, Rog,” my mother replies, the sound of exasperation threading though her voice. “Colton needs to be thinking about the future. If he does nothing but spend time with Teddy, he won’t have time to figure out what steps are next. God knows I’ve never been a fan of him choosing to be a stay-at-home father…”
My dad snorts at the understatement of the century.
“…but if anything, he does know raising a child is a lot of work. Colton will understand that Teddy is going to continue needing stimulation and attention once he goes back to work.”
My body bristles, but I wait, trying to figure out what exactly they’re talking about.
“I know someone who could be a good fit,” August pipes in. “The family she used to nanny for has nothing but amazing things to say about her.”
I scoff, apparently a bit too loudly because the conversation happening in the kitchen stops, the air growing heavy with tension as I round the corner.
My face must show exactly what I think of the idea, because all of them look slightly embarrassed to be caught talking about me behind my back.
“I couldn’t care less what exceptional things someone has to say about anybody,” I tell them, my tone as gruff and irritable as the unfamiliar stubble growing on my face. “I will not be hiring a nanny for Teddy.”
It’s the only thing I say before I walk past them to the cabinets, throw the doors open to search for a clean cup, and fill it from the tap. My parents and August watch me silently as I down a full glass then fill it again.
I drop a kiss to Teddy’s head where he sits in his chair snacking—blissfully ignorant—on Cheerios, then I storm into the living room, dropping with a huff into my lounger, a big blue thing I’ve had since college.
Melody always hated it, said it didn’t go with the design of the house and stood out like an eyesore. But for whatever reason, I kept it instead of letting her get her way.
Now I can’t imagine anything more perfect than enjoying it every night for the rest of my life.
I watch in silence as August leans into my mom, whispering something into her ear. She picks Teddy up from his chair and takes him out to the back yard with my dad trailing behind. Then August tugs two beers from the fridge and pops the top off both before crossing into the living room and plopping down on the couch opposite where I’m sitting. When he reaches out and hands me a bottle, I take it, clink it against his, and promptly down the entire thing in one go.
“You know, I realize being a parent is a thing you can only truly understand if you’ve experienced it,” my friend starts, before pausing to take a swig from his own beer. “And I’m sure there’s a part of you that wants to tell me to fuck off because I don’t understand what you’re going through. That’s fair.”
I watch silently as he scratches the back of his neck, wanting to tell him he’s exactly right but choosing to keep the acid on my tongue to myself until he’s at least gotten a chance to speak.
“But what I do know is that your life is about to change…no, has changed significantly, in the course of a single day. And the number one thing I can do as your friend is try to help you prepare for how that change is going to have a ripple effect on the rest of your life.”
August takes another swig from his beer—this one a little longer—before setting his half-empty bottle on a coaster on the coffee table.
“You’re gonna need to get a job, right?”
I know his question isn’t laced with anything, but it pisses me off all the same.
“Of course I’m going to get a fucking job,” I spit back at him.
August’s hands rise in a placating gesture.
The man knows the score. He knows Mel and I decided together that she would keep working and I’d be the stay-at-home parent because she was much more committed to medicine than I was to my job at the time. I might have enjoyed teaching, but staying home with my son sounded like an incredible opportunity I just couldn’t pass up.
So I quit my job as a history professor and Melody doubled down, taking on more work and seeking additional opportunities for research, publication, specialty work, etc.
Unfortunately, South Carolina isn’t really a state filled with gender-bending couples, and I received more than my fair share of stupid comments. Things like whether my wife wears the pants and how it feels to be Little Miss Stuck at Home with the Baby. Thankfully, I have some pretty thick skin, but even the thickest leather can get worn down over time.
So when August makes a comment about me needing to get a job, it feels like a paper cut on a rug burn.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s been a few years since you were eligible to teach. You’re gonna need to get your credentialing sorted in a new state, put together your resume, apply for jobs, hopefully get one, and then Teddy will need to be taken care of while you work.”
He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but the sense of overwhelm I feel at hearing him list it all out like that has the anger under my skin bubbling again.
“A nanny can take care of Ted and give you the time you need to make sure—”
