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Addison cants her head at me. “This feels manipulative.”
Picking out an adult coloring book that has more F-bombs in it than I’ve probably said in my entire life, I plop back down onto my still-warm chair and reach for the markers. “Or maybe I just like to color.”
Skimming through the book, I settle on an uncolored page. Sometimes I pick up an old picture and do a little more work on it, but this time I’m feeling a fresh start.
Matty comes in from the living room and grabs colors and a coloring pad. “I like that one.” He points to my book.
“You want it?” I offer it to him but he shakes his head.
“Addison, you should color with us.” He’s right, she totally should. I smile at him, throwing him a wink.
After a few minutes of watching us from the counter Addison takes her seat and rifles through the stack of books opting for a blank sketchpad and a packet of charcoal pencils Mom got me one year for Christmas that I haven’t used yet.
She angles herself such that I can’t see what she’s going to be drawing, but I don’t care. Hopefully sitting her in front of a blank page with tools of her craft will spark something imaginative in her brain and encourage her to create.
Matty’s still searching for the perfect book to color. He finally pulls out a Disney coloring book, and chooses a picture of Flounder from The Little Mermaid to work on. The three of us sit in silence coloring for over an hour, maybe closer to two, I’m not sure. All I know is that we’re calm, we’re still, we’re content, and we’re sharing an experience together even though it’s landing a little differently for each of us.
When Mom’s recovery is finished I can imagine her taking up the fourth seat at the table, coloring another obscene word from the book I’m working in right now. This time is peaceful, it’s warming, it’s a contentedness that I haven’t felt since before Matty arrived, and I want to grab it with both hands and hold onto it forever.
At the end of our coloring session, Addison leans over the table. “How’d you do?”
Beaming with pride, I rotate my coloring book and show her the giant “Fuck” colored in bright colors.
“I’m not allowed to say that word.” Matty shakes his head with a smile. “It’s a naughty word.”
“He’s right.” Addison nods solemnly before she bursts into laughter that glides over me like stepping out into sunshine on a warm day.
“Can I ask how yours went?”
She flips her notebook to me. The title across the top is “adaptive clothing range,” it’s underlined three times in red ink and a series of brightly colored kid’s clothes surrounded by notes are spread out across the large page. The notes include things like “no tags or seams” “breathable and soft fabrics” “looser fit” and as I study her work, she studies my face.
“What do you think?” Her voice is slightly higher than a whisper.
“I think you’re going to help a shit ton of families, Addison.”
The way her face splits into a brilliant, glowing smile warms my insides and any remaining traces of denial that I’m gone for this woman dissipate in an instant.
Matty cranes his neck to look before a shudder passes through him. “I hate tags on my shirts.”
He hates wearing shirts full stop.
“We know you do. Addison is going to design a line of clothing for people who hate tags on their clothes. Wouldn’t that be good?”
His face lights up. “No tags?”
She shakes her head, pink darkening her face.
“Mom cut the tags off my clothes, but I can still feel them.” He shakes his shoulders again. “This is a really good idea, Addison.” He stares at the images for a while. “I know people like tags for information. But there could be a way to print the information inside the shirt so they don’t lose it altogether. Like how to wash it, or what size it is.”
Addison knocks me down with a mega-watt smile as she ruffles Matty’s hair. “That’s such a great idea. Thank you.” She writes down ‘printed information’ next to ‘no tags.’ “You really think it’s something I could do?” She still sounds unsure.
I think deep down she probably knows that it’s well within her remit to do, but she’s clinging to fear, to a belief about herself that isn’t hers to hold. It’s as clear as the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
“I know it is.” And I’m going to help her make her dreams become reality.
CHAPTER15
Addison
