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Parking in the small lot near the playground area, I shut the car door and saw both Mallory and Owen look up from where they were on a seesaw. Owen smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. My heart was thumping in my chest as I walked over and opened the gate, the smell of fresh cedar and cut grass filling my senses and bringing back memories of my own times playing there. It had barely changed, only getting new coats of paint and new cedar filling.
“Owen,” Mallory said as she brought him over to me, and I sat down on the bench. I wanted to be as close to eye level with him as possible so I didn’t tower over him. He was holding his mother’s hand and smiling happily. “Do you remember Mr. Graham?”
“He came to see me at the hospital,” he said. “Hello, Mr. Graham.”
“Hello, Owen.”
“Owen,” Mallory said, getting down on one knee to address him, “We have something very important to tell you.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Mr. Graham’s name is Graham Miller. He is your dad.”
His little eyes widened, and he turned them to me. I was trying to fight the tears threatening to spill out as I smiled at him.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Are we family now?” Owen asked his mother, getting a laugh from both of us. It was so matter of fact. For a four year old, he spoke so well.
“We’re going to take some time and just enjoy the three of us getting to be together before we make any decisions like that,” Mallory said. “But I thought it was important that you know.”
“Okay,” Owen said. He turned to me with his big bright eyes that looked so much like my own. “Do I still call you Mr. Graham?”
“I don’t know, buddy,” I said truthfully. “I’m good with whatever you want, and if you want to change it later, that’s fine too.”
He nodded and smiled. “Can you push me on the swings?”
“Sure,” I said, my heart feeling like it would burst out of my chest. I glanced at Mallory, who looked like she was feeling the same way. “Come on.”
I reached out my hand, and he took it, walking with me over to the swings. His little fingers inside the palm of my hand was something I didn’t think I would ever forget. When we got close to the swings, he let go and grabbed the chains of one of the little kid ones. I picked him up and set him in it, and he wiggled his little legs happily as they hung off the ground.
Pulling him back, I let him go gently, and he swung forward with a gleeful cheer. I pushed him a few times, not wanting to let him go too high, despite his calls for it. I kept glancing back at Mallory, who was sitting on the bench, watching us, her chin in her hand and elbow resting on her knee.
We stayed there for quite some time before it was time for dinner, and I said goodbye. We didn’t want to overwhelm him on his first day. But before they left, he ran up and hugged my leg. I thought I might fall apart right then.
Over the next couple of months, Mallory and I took it slowly, meeting up for lunch most days at school and then at least one of the weekend days to hang out with Owen and do something together. Owen seemed to slide comfortably into the situation, not asking too many questions but just accepting our situation as it was.
He came to a few of the games the fall ball team had and asked his mother if he could get a glove. I bought him one and presented it to him before a game, and the excitement he showed was again something I would never forget. He was so bright, so innocent, and so full of life. It made me, in those moments, forget everything about the loss of my career.
After the game where he got the glove, he was so excited he ran out onto the field, and we played a little bit of catch together. The boys on the team watched and cheered him on, several of them coming over to help him when he missed the ball to chase it down or try to teach him how to throw it. He was so happy at that moment, and I wanted to stay there forever.
Occasionally, Mallory and I would find time to go somewhere together, just the two of us. We would take a walk in the neighborhood while Owen was hanging out with his grandmother or sitting in the living room and watching TV while he took a nap. We were taking our time, keeping the physical intimacy to a minimum, but the heat was palpable between us. It felt like both of us wanted more, so much more, but we were holding off, waiting until the time was right. Neither of us wanted to rush it.
At most, we would hold hands or she would lean into my chest while we watched TV. I would kiss her when I left, and often the kiss lingered for a moment before I would break away, not wanting to seem like I was pushing. Once, we kissed on the couch, Owen sleeping happily for the night, and the passion was so intense in that one kiss that I pulled away on my own and told her that if I didn’t stop right then, I wouldn’t be able to.
I was going to lose my mind, but it was good for our relationship. We had gone about it so far so untraditionally that taking our time and letting ourselves slowly fall into a real relationship this time around felt like the only way to make it real. To make it last.
As December rolled around and the school started decorating for the Winter Ball, I found myself wondering how much longer I was going to be able to take it. The whole school was enamored with finding partners for the dance, young romances budding up in the halls and classrooms and spilling out into make out sessions that had to be broken up by teachers who remembered all too well the passion of teenage love.
Principal Runnels met me in the hallway on my way back to class from lunch wearing what had to be the ugliest Christmas sweater I had ever seen. It took all I had not to laugh and be distracted by it as he spoke, but I didn’t think he would mind anyway. He was as cheerful as ever.
“Graham,” he said, the name coming out like two separate words. He was the only person I knew that called me “Grah-ham” and it was distinctive enough that I always knew it was him calling if my back was turned.
“Hey, Principal Runnels,” I said. “What’s up?”
“I actually wanted to ask you a favor,” he said.
