Theo’s chin crumpled as he curled his lips inward, biting down on more tears or whatever words he wanted to say.
“It’s okay,” Ty backpedaled. Hell, who was he kidding? He’d known this kid for two weeks. Theo wasn’t going to just spill his guts—
“Do you ever miss your dad?”
Or, okay, he was totally going to spill his guts and Ty was going to have to find a way to navigate that conversational minefield.
Really, he should’ve seen this coming. Theo had lost his mother. A kid didn’t simply get over that. And he knew Ty had just lost a parent too. Of course he wanted to talk about it with someone who’d been through the same thing.
Ty wanted to answer his questions in a way that felt sensitive and helped him process his grief, but he didn’t want to lie. “It’s complicated, for me.”
Theo put the iPad on the table. “How come?”
Loaded question. Ty let out a slow breath and considered his phrasing. “You know how your dad plays baseball with you, and reads you stories, and eats dinner with you every night?”
Theo nodded.
“Well, my dad—he wasn’t like that. We didn’t spend a lot of time together, even before my mom died. But then she did, and….” He pursed his lips. He didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, even if his father deserved it. He didn’t want to do that in front of Theo, who was looking for someone to relate to. And so instead he admitted out loud, for the first time, something he’d always suspected, and gave his father the grace no one had ever given Ty. “I think every time he looked at me, he saw my mom, and that hurt him because he missed her.”
With a heavy sniff, Theo looked around and—yeah, okay, Kleenex, they needed Kleenex before that snot trail made its way to his mouth and Ty gagged. He used his long reach to snatch the box off the top of the bookcase and offered it.
Theo blew his nose with the volume of a foghorn, because he was eight years old. Right. Ty needed to refocus this conversation. This was about Theo’s grief, not his. “But it’s okay if you miss your mom. Everybody—everybody experiences grief differently.”
Theo swiped his eyes with the snotty Kleenex. Ty fought down a twitch. “Miss Eliza said she likes to talk with Uncle David’s family ’cause they knew him too, and it helps her feel like part of him is still here. But nobody here knew my mom. And it makes me mad, because I’m—because they have that and I don’t.”
Oh, kid.Ty’s battered heart tried to break again. “Your dad knew her,” he pointed out gently. “You know he’d talk to you about her if you wanted. I know that they weren’ttogether, but they were friends. He loved her. He misses her too.” And if Ty knew anything about Ollie, it was that he’d walk through fire for his kid.
Theo ducked his head and dropped the Kleenex on the table. Ty took the opportunity to whisk it out of reach before Theo could give himself pinkeye. “But I don’t—I don’t want him to think he’s not good enough. I know he’s trying really hard.”
No kid should have to carry this inside them. NowTyneeded a Kleenex. “I don’t think he would think that,” he said around the lump in his throat. “But if you want… if you want, you can talk to me about her. I didn’t know her, but I can listen.”
There was a scrape and a clatter as Theo stood up too quickly and knocked the chair over. And then Ty had a crying eight-year-old in his lap and tears in his own eyes, and they were wrapped up in a hug that felt like family, the kind of hug Ty hadn’t experienced since his mom died. He was on the other side of it now—the adult instead of the child—but it grounded him just the same.
When they’d both gotten control of themselves, Ty snatched a tissue from the box for each of them and dabbed his eyes. “Okay, I think we need a new plan. First, we’re going to wash our faces.”
Theo nodded.
“And then we’re going to make cookies.”
“Before dinner?” Theo asked. “What about homework?”
Ty extended a hand toward the door and let Theo precede him into the hall. “Sometimes we have to take care of our hearts before we can take care of our brains, so we’re going to make cookies. My mom’s special recipe. And maybe you can tell me about your mom. Only if you want. Okay?”
“Okay.”
They stopped by the linen closet and Ty got them each a fresh washcloth. Something about the moment felt fragile, and he didn’t want to let Theo out of his sight just yet, so he led them through the master bedroom—unoccupied since his father’s passing—and into the master bath, so they could each have their own sink towash up.
When they were safely ensconced in the kitchen, Theo on a chair so he could better reach the counter, Ty thought he was prepared for more emotionally heavy stuff. After all, he’d invited Theo to talk about his mom.
But he wasn’t prepared for Theo to say, “Hey, Ty?”
Ty got down the flour and sugar. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“Does it…? Is it bad that I get mad sometimes? ’Cause my friends still have their moms? Or ’cause Miss Eliza has people who remember Uncle David?”
Ty huffed out a breath and made a note to measure the chocolate chips with Theo’s heart, rather than his own. “No, buddy. You’re not bad, okay? It’s okay to have feelings. It’s not nice to take your feelings out on other people, though. But you’re not doing that, and even if you did, I think people would understand it’s because you’re hurt.”
Theo nodded and flipped open the latch on the flour canister. He didn’t look up when he asked, “Do you ever get mad? ’Cause of Dad and me. Does it make you sad?”
