Couldn’t resist. Be still my pitter-pattering heart.
“So you’ll go back to Australia to tell her?”
“I can see you’re keen to keep me around.” His words are kind of huffy with laughter, and the weird thing is, having him leave would solve almost everything. At least on an immediate level. Despite that, the thought of him going makes me feel kind of tense and uncomfortable.
“That’s not what I meant. Look, Roman, I get you’re still trying to get your head around this, but guess what? I am, too.” Cue some ridiculous jazz hand movements. “I wonder what you want—what your plans are? What kind of role do you see for yourself in Wilder’s life?” And more than that, I need to know if he’ll be a stable kind of father. I never had one of those, and I’ll be damned if I let him into my boy’s life on a whim.
“I’m his dad, Kennedy,” he returns with a forcefulness I’ve never seen in him. “I might not have been around for the first seven years of his life, but I’m sure as shit going to be around for the rest of it. For as long as I’m here on this earth, and if that’s not what you want, I’m sorry, but—”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I cut in. “I just want to be careful. Careful with his heart. He deserves the world, Roman. You don’t know him yet, but once you do, I just hope to God you’ll come to understand.”
“Tell me more about him.” This time when he covers my hand with his, I let him. “I want to hear everything—tell me something about him as a baby.”
“He had the biggest blue eyes. Still does.” I glance up into the mirror gaze of my boy, the same vivid blue, the same blue-grey striation around the pupil. “He used to watch me, right from being tiny, his eyes following me around the room like he was watching out for me, not the other way around.”
“What was he like when he was a toddler?”
“We called three the year of the question.”
“Asked a lot of them, did he?”
“A million. Daily.”
“What was your favourite?”
“My favourite question?” Roman nods. “Is it weird that I have one? Because it was probably the time he asked why the moon was following us around.”
“What was your answer?” He props his chin on his fist, those mesmerising blue eyes intent on me.
I blink a little and remind myself I’m not here to be dazzled as I wrack my brains for an alternative answer to the truth. It might’ve been one of my favourite questions, but the place it came from, not so much. There were some tough times back then, and when Wilder had slid his chubby hand into mine and asked in his cute baby voice why the moon was following us, I’d caught myself before muttering that I probably owed it money. I seemed to owe everyone back then. Thankfully, that’s not what I said.
“I told him the moon was waiting to help tuck him into bed. And from that, I added another twenty minutes to his bedtime routine.” My smile turns genuine at a happier memory, and when Roman meets my smile, I just can’t seem to help myself. “You want to know the routine, right?”
“You bet your life I do.”
“Well, bathing and teeth brushing—”
“And the battle that comes with those things.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. He must be a hands-on uncle. “Then we’d say a little prayer together before he’d hop under the covers. Then I’d read him a story, then wish each and every one of his favourite plushies a good night. There were so many plushies that some nights, there was barely enough space in the bed for him.”
“And then you said good night moon?”
“Said good night?” I repeat, making it sound like amateur. “We’d sing him the good night song. Twice.”
“Ah, the song. How does it go again?”
“Good try. Ask your momma to sing it to you.”
“It’s been a long time since I needed my mum to tuck me up in bed.”
His voice drops to a lower register. You might even call it bedroom-y. And, God, those eyes. It’s so unfair, the man is drop-dead gorgeous, to begin with, but when he’s prompting me and asking questions and soaking up information about Wilder like a thirsty sponge, he’s just too much. My insides feel soft and melty, and that’s not the vibe I was going for when I turned up at his door.
“God, I’ve missed you.” His expression softens, taking on a sad edge. “I know that might sound mental, but it’s true.”
Mental, like crazy? No, Roman, it doesn’t sound mental. Ask me how I know. Or maybe it’s better if you don’t. I am so not ready for this. For his reactions. For my feelings. The good, the bad. The guilt.