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We leave the two book nerds to bond and head into the kitchen.
CHAPTER11
MICHAEL
We’re currently on Noah’s twin bed while he shows me some illustrations in his favorite book. It’s amazing that he reads so well. Not a lot of people know I’m an avid reader. I wanted to become a writer as a kid, but it wasn’t really my path.
Who knows? Maybe it could be my kid’s path.
Noah’s not what I was expecting. As I drove out here, I was scared out of my mind that he would refuse to see me. He could hate that I’ve been gone for so long and he might have wanted me to leave. But he’s such a happy, bubbly kid.
He talks a lot, but every word that comes out his mouth is riveting. While I didn’t think it was possible to fall in love at first sight, I swear I love this kid and I just met him. It’s crazy and amazing at the same time. I still can’t believe he’s mine.
“So, did your mama tell you anything about me?” I ask.
I notice he’s clenching and unclenching his fingers repeatedly. He always seems to be moving—his hands are constantly touching something, his legs constantly shaking. The signs are all there, and I’m glad Christine got him diagnosed so soon. Some kids aren’t so lucky.
“She said you’re my daddy. And that you haven’t been here because you had to go somewhere far away. She says you’re back now and that you care about me.”
Honestly, that’s not a bad story.
“I do care about you. I care about you a lot, and I’m happy that we get to be together. We’re going to be together a lot from now on if you want.”
“I’d like that. You read books a lot so you’re cool,” he says, giving me a toothy grin.
And thank God for that.
“Dinner’s ready,” Christine says, walking into the room with a satisfied smile.
Noah jumps off the bed.
“What’s for dinner, Mama?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs.”
He grows quiet.
“But we always have mashed potatoes on Wednesdays,” he says.
Christine’s eyes widen.
“I’m sorry, baby. I forgot about that. We can have mashed potatoes tomorrow as soon as you get home from school,” she says, placing a hand on her shoulders. He pushes it off.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” he states as his face becomes screwed up in concentration.
I watch quietly as Christine kneels in front of him.
“Okay, first off, you need to understand that you can’t always get what you want. Do you understand that?”
“Why not?” my son grumbles.
“Because you can’t,” she says, and
I decide to help her out.
“Come here, little man,” I call and he turns and walks over to me. “I travel a lot and I meet a lot of kids like you when I do. But those kids don’t always have what you have.”
“What does that mean?”
