Charlie’s eyes widen. “Oh, um, I don’t know.” He glances at me. I think him having a job would be amazing but I’m not sure if he can get one without the proper papers and identification. Probably should have looked into that sooner but I was so caught up with getting him settled and the STI testing and thinking about him finishing school.
“We're hiring another waiter, and I know you would be amazing at it,” Dorine tells him. “I know I’d love working with you. We could use a little sunshine around here.” She glances between us. “Talk it over with your dad and if you decide to apply just come back in and see us, okay?”
We both blush but don’t correct her. She gives us another smile and hurries off.
“So, what do you think, Pa, can I get a job?” Charlie teases in a terrible thick southern accent, his eyes sparkling.
“Shut up,” I say, and he laughs. “It was a logical mistake.”
“Can I, though?” he says, and I can tell he’s excited about the idea.
“You have a license?” I ask, and he nods. “You still need a birth certificate or social security number. Have either of those on you?”
He frowns and shakes his head. “They’re at my parents’ house.”
“Know where you were born?”
“Here,” he says. “Why?”
“I think you can get a copy of your birth certificate online.” His eyes light up, and I know this is something we have to do. He needs this. “We’ll look into it more when we get home.”
He nods, and we scoot out of the booth and head to the counter to pay. The bubbly hostess is there and Charlie gives her a big smile as we leave.
“Can we go for a walk?” he asks before we get in the car.
“Sure,” I say. We get in and I drive us to a nearby park with a walking path around a beautiful lake. There’s children playing on the playground nearby and ducks in the water. The weather is sunny and pleasant.
He doesn’t ask before he slides his hand into mine and we stroll. I’m sure we’re getting some looks and I’m tempted to remove my hand from his on principle. We shouldn’t be doing this, right? But his hand feels so good in mine, so perfect. I can’t let go.
Charlie finds delight in everything as we walk. The sunshine, the fresh air, the smell of freshly mowed grass and wildflowers, the ducks in the lake. We stop on the bridge and watch them for a while, and Charlie slides his hand out of mine.
A family stops nearby and watches the ducks with us; a young girl, probably five or six with wavy dark hair, along with a man and woman whom I’m assuming are her parents. The little girl looks at Charlie and he waves at her with a bright smile. She grins and waves back with only four fingers, her thumb in her mouth, and I can’t help thinking Charlie would be an amazing dad some day. We stop at a bench a little while later, because my knee is hurting.
“Sorry,” Charlie says as I rub the joint. “I didn’t even think of that being an issue.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “I can’t let it keep me from living my life. And I’m enjoying being here with you.”
We sit in silence for a while, and I ache to scoot him closer to me and feel his body against mine, but I resist. The little girl from earlier comes up to us a minute later and hands us each a wildflower while the grown ups she’s with stand off in the distance smiling.
“Thank you very much,” Charlie says. “Purple is my favorite color.”
She beams at him. “Mine, too,” she says in her sweet little voice. “You’re very pretty.”
Charlie flushes and grins. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re lovely, too. And you are very kind, which is even better.”
“Charlotte, come on sweetheart,” her mom calls, and Charlotte waves as she bounds away, her brown curls bouncing. We wave at her parents as they move along.
“Are we okay?” Charlie asks after a minute, and my chest tightens. “It’s just, you haven’t been as…affectionate lately and, uh, I kind of miss it.” I turn to see tears in his eyes, and my heart shatters.
“Charlie,” I whisper and scoot closer to him. I take him in my arms and hold him to me, his arms sliding around my waist as he sobs, his chest heaving. “My Charlie.” I press a kiss to his hair and sigh again. This boy is starved for affection and TLC. And I decide right then and there that if he needs me to touch him, I will, and I’ll just have to figure out how to not let it drive me insane. Or maybe I’ll just go insane because it’s worth it. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I guess I’m just stressed about something and I don’t know how to handle it. But it’s not your fault, and we are very much okay.”
He sniffles and wipes at his nose with his sleeve.
“Will it help if I go back to touching you?” I ask him, and he nods immediately.
“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” he adds, “but I really do miss it, and I didn’t realize how much I needed it until you weren’t doing it anymore. My parents were never physically affectionate with me. The only touch I’ve ever gotten was…” he trails off and I feel him trembling. I don’t ask him to say more, because I have a feeling I know what he was going to say, and my insides boil at the thought of anyone hurting my precious boy.
“Just tell me what you need and I will give it, sweetheart,” I tell him. God I feel like I’ve just signed my own death warrant because this may very well destroy me, but if that’s what it takes for him to know he’s loved and worthy, I would destroy myself a thousand times over.
