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The boy laughs at the mental image, and so does Liv. “Where’s your camera?” he asks, and Liv pats herself all over.
“I think I forgot it at home!” She poses so comically that Harlan goes into cackles.
“Liv, you’re not helping,” I mutter. “He should be in bed.”
“Um…” she places a hand under her chin. “Do you have storybooks, Harlan?”
He rolls his eyes, but he is more curious than annoyed.
“Yes?” he finally says tentatively.
“And milk?” Liv goes on. “How about some warm milk?”
“Chocolate milk?” Harlan begs her with his eyes.
“No, Harlan!” I raise a finger. “This is not the time!”
Lilly returns with the top of the pajamas, and I free her to go home. I’m just about to put it on him when Liv surprises me by taking it from my hand. “Let me do this, daddy. You go make some warm milk!”
It’s been a long while since a woman assumed control of the situation like this inside my house, and I realize I feel safe and supported knowing somebody is backing me up.
I make the warm milk but can’t find them in the living room. Following the noise, I find them in Harlan’s bedroom, picking a book from the shelf, and he’s apparently having a blast showing her his personal collection.
It’s a huge turn on for me to see how sweet Liv is being with my son. I want her so badly, but it will have to wait.
“Have you decided what to read yet?” I ask, a hand strategically placed in my pockets to hide an unwanted erection.
“This one!” Harlan raises a copy of ‘Sara’s Mom Goes to Heaven,’ which is one of the many books about grief I bought him over the years.
“Okay, go to bed and have your warm milk, and Liv and I will read the book for you,” I say, waiting for him to settle down and handing him his mug.
He takes a big sip, still with the book in his hand. I offer a hand to take it, but he gives it to Liv instead.
“Oh!” I say, feeling excluded. “So, I’m out of the equation?”
Harlan just nods, laughing deviously.
Liv reads him the story. It’s a bit more somber than I remember, but Harlan seems entranced enough by it to snuggle with a pillow and really concentrate on falling asleep.
As I watch Liv reading to my son, a warmth spreads through me, and I’m grateful for this intimate and comforting scene in my own home. After he finishes the warm milk, she surprises me even more by encourage him to brush his teeth.
Even though he grumbles a bit, he does so and then snuggles back into bed with Liv as she continues reading to him.
Once she gets to the end of the book, Liv looks at me, afraid to move and wake Harlan up. “Is he sleeping?”
I shake my head. “Likely not,” I say in a whisper. “But he pretends quite nicely. Let’s go.”
She stands up from his bed with care, and I place my hand on her shoulder as we walk out of the bedroom.
“Goodnight, Harlan,” I say, turning on the night light.
“Goodnight, dad,” the kid replies, making me quietly laugh.
I leave the door semi-open and then walk towards Liv. She looks at me with all hope for a lustful night lost, thumbs tucked into her pockets and shoulders tensed up.
“Should I call a car home?” she asks in a fleeting voice.
“Why?” I retort. “We can still have those drinks!”
