“He’s resilient,” she says. “He’ll be ok, but you should talk to him.”
“I will. Thanks, Ivy.”
“Anytime. There’s… something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
I slump down onto the couch and scrub my hands over my beard. “I know. I need to hire a nanny.”
Ivy scrunches up her face and nods. “I’m sorry. I don’tmind watching him when it works with my schedule, but you need someone more consistent.”
“Yeah. It’s just so hard to trust anyone else, you know?”
Shortly after Breanna left Aiden with me, I took him to see a doctor. He seemed small for his age, and I wasn’t certain of his medical history, so I wanted to get all the information I could. The doctor said he was showing clear signs of malnutrition and neglect, and they diagnosed him with failure to thrive. It’s taken me years to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't there for my kid when he needed me. Even if I had no idea he existed, there's still an uncurrent of guilt there.
She places a reassuring hand on my arm. “I do know. I’d do it if I could, but I have so much on my plate as it is. I’m sorry.”
“No, it's fine. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I’ll start looking for a nanny.”
She squeezes my wrist. “He’s a good kid. The best. I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding the right fit.”
She’s right, but it’s not just about finding the right fit—it’s trusting someone other than my closest friends. I’ve seen far too much of the ugly side of humanity to go blindly into any situation. My time in foster care showed me that there can be a whole world of shit going on beneath the surface, and you won’t know until it’s too late.
“I should get home,” she says. “I’ll be by to pick him up in the morning.”
“Thanks, Ivy. I really appreciate you being here.”
She wraps me in a hug as she always does. I learned fairly quickly that Ivy is a hugger, but this embrace doesn’t affect me the same way Ruby’s did. I watch her headlights disappear down the driveway before I head down the hallway toward the sliver of light peeking through an open door.
I find Aiden sitting crisscross on the floor of his bedroom, holding out a piece of romaine lettuce with Jerry at his feet asthe little ball of fluff nibbles on his snack. The door creaks, and Aiden glances up at me through red-rimmed eyes.
“Miss Ivy said you had a rough day. Wanna talk about it?”
He shakes his head and tears off another piece of lettuce.
His room hasn’t changed much since I set it up for him. It’s still filled with dinosaurs and planets, but now there’s a galaxy of stars on the ceiling that Ivy painted for him last year. When the lights are off, it glows. His tattered Tyrannosaurus is sitting in the middle of his bed, and no matter how much time passes, I can still picture that heartbroken little boy standing on my doorstep like it was yesterday.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
He pets Jerry and sighs, not taking his eyes off the floor. I wait patiently for him to speak, and when he does, my heart breaks all over again. “Why did my mom leave?”
I sit on the edge of the twin-size bed and pat the spot beside me. “Come here, buddy.”
He leaves the lettuce for his bunny and sits down beside me, pulling Rex, the well-loved plushie, into his lap.
I drape my forearms over my knees and look him in the eye. “I don’t know why she left, bud. She’s not a bad person. She’s just someone who’s made some very big mistakes in her life.”
I met Breanna in high school. We were on again and off again, but mostly off. She was the good Christian girl who liked to use the bad boy to piss off her parents, and I was the fucked up kid who wanted someone to want me, even if it was for all of the wrong reasons.
When the tables turned and I needed a distraction, I got back with Bree one last time, hoping she’d help me forget about the one woman I couldn't have. It didn’t work.Wedidn’t work. We were a bullet train headed straight for a cliff, and I didn't care enough to stop it before it went over. After we broke things off, she left town and nevercame back.
Until she did… with my son.
I clear my throat and take a deep, steadying breath. “I hate that she hurt you, but I’m not sorry she brought you to me. You’re the best kid in the whole world. I’m proud that you’re my son.”
He pulls his legs onto the bed and wraps his arms around them. His therapist says it’s his way of self-soothing. “The other kids at school were talking about Muffins for Mom day. They said I shouldn’t even go because I don’t have a mom.”
I wrap an arm around his small body and pull him against me, palming his head. “Those other kids are assholes. Don’t listen to them.”
“Dad! You’re not supposed to say that.”
