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“Daviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiid,” my son interrupts the conversation from the other side of the place. “Come, a squirrel. Over here!”
Melanie walks in front of me, that ass covered in that painted-on-her-skin look fabric. My dick twitches at the sight of it.Patience…
“I doubt the poor thing is still there with those cries,” Melanie laughs as we walk to where Davi is waiting for us, bouncing on his feet, totally unaware of how and where my mind is racing.
I focus my attention on the big oak tree filled with branches. The perfect place to build a hybrid between a fort and a treehouse.
“If I was a T-Rex, it wouldn’t dare to come close to me. Grrrrrr.” Davi mimics a dinosaur in front of the squirrel. The little thing looks at him with open curiosity.
“Ok, T-Rex,” I say and ruffle his hair. “Let the poor thing be. Let’s talk about the fort.”
My son doesn’t want a fort. He wants a whole castle, a slide, a rope climb, and electricity to light a string of bulbs outside.
“Next thing we know, he’ll be asking us for a fridge and a tv,” Melanie adds when we are going back inside the house.
“A teenager would love to have his own space and tv to watch…”
“Don’t you dare to add another word, David Posada!”
“What?” I reply, lifting my hands in defense. “Boys are boys, and that one right there is my son.”
I’m going to love seeing my son growing up, and nostalgia also hits me, remembering my time running around the orchard with my brothers and my sister. Elena joined us later. When her legs grew steady, and she got a temper to put her four older brothers in place.
“Such a hopeful thought.” The sarcasm in her voice is unmistakable.
“Just saying…”
“You’re a perv, David.”
That makes me laugh, loudly. “You know it well.”
She says nothing, but the blush on her face lets me know the answer.
???
Melanie and I spend the next hour playing with Davi on the living room floor. I’m in awe listening to his silly stories, his non-stop chatter, and more than anything, his laugh. In the end, I help my son clean the mess and take a shower. When he’s dry, he hands me his favorite pajamas and calls his mother to say good night.
In the kitchen, the countertops are still filled with the dishes we used for dinner and the leftovers. As I start to pile them, Melanie enters the room.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “You cooked, so I’ll clean.”
“I’m used to doing both.”
Her brow furrows. “Really?”
“Really,” I reply honestly while placing another dish inside the dishwasher. Thank God for the appliance inventor. “I appreciate my privacy. In my condo, I have a lady who comes and cleans when I’m not there, but I like to make my own food.”
She laughs before replying: “I’m happy to know you’re not a spoiled rich jackass.”
“I’m a jackass,” I give her a quick smirk over my shoulder. “But I’m not spoiled. I wasn’t rich my whole life.”
Far from it. My father raised us up well. Even if my soul was black, he did a good job.
“Anyway, I want to help.”
“Sit there and relax,” I instruct her, pointing at a breakfast bar stool. I can take care of this, but I want her close. “Our little dinosaur is finally out?”
It feels so good to talk about him as ours.
