Chapter1
My entire world could be sharply divided into two halves—before Owen, and after.
Finding out I had a son changed absolutely everything. In the three weeks since he’d come into my life, I’d quit both my jobs, withdrawn from all my classes at UCLA, and moved four hundred miles north, to a city I’d never even visited before. As if learning to take care of a baby wasn’t already a huge adjustment.
We’d barely lasted three days at my parents’ house. To say they’d been awful when they found out I’d had a child out of wedlock was an understatement. Not that it came as a surprise. After all, these were the same people who’d kicked my brother Lark out of the house when I was twelve and he was fifteen, just because they found out he was gay.
I made what I believed was the best decision for both Owen and myself by getting the hell out of that negative environment. Now we were living in a pink Victorian in San Francisco with six other people, including Lark.
It had definitely been the right call. All of my housemates were amazing people who’d welcomed us into their home and their lives with open arms. At the same time though, I felt lost, and not in the way I’d expected.
I’d known learning to take care of a baby would be overwhelming, but my confidence as a parent had grown a lot over the last three weeks. It helped that Yolanda, my landlady, was a pediatric nurse and infinitely patient with the million questions I kept asking her. It also helped that my brother and his boyfriend Dylan were the greatest uncles ever. They both wanted to be actively involved in taking care of the baby, which lifted a little of the weight off my shoulders.
But the odd thing about becoming a single parent overnight was that I felt like I’d suddenly disappeared, along with my carefully mapped out future. It went without saying that I loved my son and put him first. At the same time though, everything that used to matter to me—like my education—had fallen by the wayside, and it seemed to take my sense of self with it. I didn’t know who I was anymore, aside from Owen’s dad, and it had all happened so quickly that I was left reeling.
On top of that, even though I loved the pink Victorian and my housemates, living in San Francisco was a big adjustment. It was a very different city than L.A., where I’d spent all my life. Over three-quarters of a million people were crammed into a city that was roughly seven miles by seven. While L.A. sprawled, San Francisco squeezed together, and it felt more than a little frantic and claustrophobic.
But I was trying to learn to adapt and to love it, the way my brother and our housemates did. The only time the city didn’t feel overcrowded was very early in the morning (or very late, but I definitely wasn’t a night owl), so I made the most of the fact that Owen always woke up at dawn.
Pretty soon, I had our routine down to a science. In just a few minutes, I could get the baby changed, fed, and bundled up, and then off we’d go. My housemates had thrown me an informal baby shower when I first moved in, and Lark and Dylan’s gift of a jogging stroller was the best thing ever. It gave me the freedom to go out and explore while getting some fresh air and exercise. Fortunately, the baby loved it as much as I did.
San Francisco in the early morning hours was actually pretty great. There was a calmness and stillness to the city that vanished as soon as people started waking up and making their way to work. I could get lost in my thoughts while Owen happily went along for the ride, looking adorable in the red fleece hat and jacket I’d bought him, all cozy and tucked in with a soft, fluffy blanket.
It was April, and some mornings fog hung thick in the air, making the city feel romantic and mysterious. On other days, the sunrise would give way to a sky that was the most extraordinary shade of blue. Both were beautiful.
I’d start off by walking a few blocks to warm up, and then I’d begin to run. Back when I was on the high school track team, I used to do this every day before school. Then college, work, and life in general started demanding most of my time, and I’d gotten out of the habit. That had been a mistake though, and now I remembered why I’d loved to run. It cleared my head, challenged me, and made me feel like I was becoming stronger than the day before.
My morning ritual meant so much to me that Owen and I did this seven days a week. As I built up my endurance, we went farther and farther. I lived in a part of the city called the Mission District, an interesting neighborhood which historically had been home to a lot of Latino families. From that starting point, our routes spread out into the city in every direction, like spokes on a wheel.
As I discovered my neighborhood’s unique quirks and character, my opinion of San Francisco improved. I was drawn to the eccentric, like the tiny art installation I found tucked away in an alley, the house painted with a huge mural of a tiger, and the little old lady who swept her front steps every morning while carrying on a loud conversation with someone named Arthur—who wasn’t there.
After winding my way through my neighborhood while I warmed up, I’d pick a direction at random and start to run. I didn’t bother to time myself or measure distance. I just ran as long as I could before turning around and walking back.
Then, around seven-thirty or so, I’d arrive at a charming little bakery that was four blocks from home. It was owned by a Chinese-American man in his seventies named Mr. Chen, who was already treating me like a regular. As soon as he saw me, he’d start to prepare my small coffee and bag up my blueberry muffin, and when I reached the counter, he’d always say the same thing. “Hey there, Logan and Junior. How far did you two run today?”
He knew I didn’t keep track of distances, but he always pretended to know exactly what I meant when I said, “We turned around at that pink church with the apple tree out front,” or “This time, we made it to that bank that looks like a Greek temple.”
Then he’d nod knowingly and say, “That’s excellent. Keep it up.” There was something reassuring about this sameness, and I liked the fact that my world had expanded beyond the walls of the pink Victorian.
Actually, I liked everything about this part of my morning ritual, including the muffin and coffee, which were a bit of a splurge. I’d been broke all my life, so I was used to doing without. But I’d been able to get a partial refund on my college tuition after withdrawing just a week into spring quarter, so I had a little money in the bank for once. I knew I had to be really careful with it since I had no idea when or how I was going to find a job, but this small indulgence always cheered me up and made me feel less deprived.
After paying for our stuff, I wheeled Owen out to one of the tables in front of the bakery, which were always empty. Then I put a napkin on the narrow tray built into the stroller, and the baby watched me closely as I broke some of the muffin into small pieces and spread it out on the napkin for him. He loved the mushy, cooked blueberries, and he was also a big fan of feeding himself, so I’d resigned myself to the inevitable Smurf hands that accompanied our morning treat.
While Owen joyfully made a mess and ate a little of what I’d put in front of him, I sipped my coffee and placed a video call. Hal Nakamura had been my best friend for the past nine years, ever since we met on the first day of high school. He was just about all that remained of my pre-Owen life at this point, and he’d always meant the world to me.
This time of day usually found him in the middle of a long session on his stationary bike, so he appeared on my screen looking flushed and sweaty. He was half Colombian and half Japanese, and so cute that he’d actually been discovered by a talent scout in high school. Even though he’d gone on to a successful modeling career, he didn’t have a lot of confidence in his appearance, which I’d never understood. He’d never really loved being a model either, and now that he was studying fashion design, he seemed a lot happier.
Today, his long, dark bangs were clipped back with a barrette, and he was sporting a red, white, and blue stretchy sweatband and a matching striped tank top. I grinned and told him, “I like this retro seventies thing you’ve got going on. Do you have the wristbands to match?”
He held up his hands, and sure enough, he did. “Obviously! I feel like I need a mullet and a handlebar mustache to truly complete this look.”
“If only. You’d be my fashion hero if you did that.”
“It’s tempting. So, how are you and the offspring today?”
“Good. I’m pretty sure he’s going to take his first steps any day now.”
“Isn’t he kind of young for that?”