“It means they don’t get to eat as much food as you do. Sometimes, they only get cereal or a slice of bread.”
“And that’s what they eat the whole day?” Noah asks with wide eyes.
“Yes. That’s all they get. Those kids don’t get to choose what they eat on Mondays or Wednesdays or Saturdays. They just eat whatever they’re given. They don’t get to eat cookies or cake or ice cream.”
His hazel-green eyes light up. “I love ice cream.”
“Of course you do, but those kids don’t get to have any. You get to have all that because your mama provides you with a house and food every single day. Are you listening to me, Noah?” I ask when I notice his face taking on a far-off expression.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” he asks politely and I do so. “So, what are you saying?”
“That you should be thankful if you get to eat spaghetti or mashed potatoes, because there are little boys like you out there who don’t get to eat at all,” I tell him.
“How can we help them?” he asks sadly.
I smile. “By doing even the smallest things. You can help them by eating the food your mom gives you and being grateful for it. Your mom once told me when she was little that she wants to find a way to feed all the poor people in the world. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
“It does. So, did Mama do it? Did she feed all the poor people?” he questions.
My eyes meet Christine’s. The brightest smile is on her face and her eyes are a little glassy with tears.
“She hasn’t, but I know she’s working on it. I wouldn’t bet against your mother. She’s fierce.
Ready for dinner?” I ask, getting to my feet.
“Yes,” he replies as he leads me out of the room.
“Thank you,” Christine mouths to me as we walk by.
Dinner passes quickly and soon enough, it’s time to get Noah ready for bed. Tia takes him to his room so he can shower and get changed, leaving Christine and me alone.
“What did you think?” she asks eagerly.
“I think he’s perfect,” I say, feeling my throat clog up with emotion.
She beams. “He really is, isn’t he?”
I nod. “Listen, Chrissy. I don’t want to feel like I’m asking for too much too soon, but I need to talk to my mom and tell her the truth. She deserves to know. I can’t continue keeping secrets from her. She’ll find out soon enough on her own.”
Christine tenses.
“You want to tell Sam everything?” she asks. “Oh, god, she’s going to hate me.”
She looks really scared.
“I’ll talk to her. And I’ll explain everything,” I say.
“And what about Matt?”
I sigh. “Matt’s still on his honeymoon. He’ll be back in three weeks, and we’ll tell him then.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“We’ve got to face the consequences of our actions, Christine.”
“You’re not the person that kept her away from her grandchild for six years,” she mutters.
She’s right, I’m not. It’ll be hard to get my mom to forgive her. I’m not even sure I’ve forgiven her. All I know is that I have a son, and he deserves to know his family. I’ll do everything in my power to keep him happy.