Page 120 of Resorting to Romance

Nothing makes a woman love a man

more than when she sees how much

he loves her children.

~ Unknown

Ifound a flyer in Noah’s backpack yesterday. He never mentioned it.

Bring Your Dad to School Daywas printed across the top. Icons of traditionally manly items like bow ties and golf clubs, watches and ballcaps lined the edge of the paper. The paper was shoved in as if Noah couldn’t care less about the special event.

I don’t know why schools have days like this. Some dads work off the island. Other kids are in a co-parenting home due to a divorce. And then there’s Noah. He’s never had a dad in the picture. I’m surprised his teacher didn’t call me. She’s usually so good about looking out for Noah when it comes to issues around his parental structure. Maybe she forgot.

After some serious thought, I decided I needed to show up for my son. It will either mortify him, or it will reassure him that he’sloved. I’m hoping for the latter. And I can’t chance him feeling left out or unloved, so I called Jasmin to come cover the desk while I take a few hours to be at Noah’s school.

I walk up the hill through our neighborhood and then down streets lined with more beach cottages and larger homes. Our elementary school sits on a property at the top of a hill. There’s a grassy yard and a playground on one side of the building. All the classrooms have an ocean view. It’s the same school I attended when I was a girl, North Shore Elementary.

Walking down the halls toward Noah’s classroom always makes me sentimental. I feel like a giant returning to a land that has shrunk in her absence. I remember games Chloe and I played when we were young. I even remember my aunts coming to school performances.

I stop outside the doorway of Noah’s classroom. His voice rings out into the hallway. My son has no volume button. It’s either loud or off.

“I don’t have a dad,” he says, almost proudly.

I peek in to figure out if I can stealthily make my way to the back of the room. What I see floors me.

Kai is standing next to Noah, his hands in his pockets, his eyes trained on my son, a soft, proud smile on his face.

Noah looks at his classmates and then up at Kai.

“Kai is like my friend who’s like my dad. I call him Unko because when I was a baby I couldn’t say uncle.”

Noah’s classmates laugh and he does too.

He looks up at Kai again. “Sometimes Unko’s a lot like a dad. He taught me to surf. And he tells me to be nice to my mom, like a dad would. You guys probably know Kai works at the watersports shack. I think that’s what I want to do when I grow up. Plus drive a skid steer and do demo. My mom probably wants me to run the inn. But that’s too much doing laundry and cooking. I’d rather teach people to surf. So. Yeah. That’s it. This is Kai. Any questions?”

My heart is near my throat, and I feel like my legs won’t hold me. In one fell swoop, my son just said it all.

I already was falling for Kai. With this seemingly small gesture, he demolished all doubt. I’m hopelessly, completely, madly in love with him.

The urge to run to Chloe’s overtakes me. She’ll know. One look at me and she’ll sort through all the muck and mire in my jumbled thoughts and feelings and she’ll get down to the heart of things.

I step away from the doorway and flatten my back on the wall outside the classroom. Closing my eyes, I still see them standing side by side. I place my hand over my racing heart. This is their moment—Kai’s and Noah’s. When I collect myself enough to be able to carry myself out of the school, I push off the wall.

As I’m walking away, I hear a little girl asking Kai, “I have a question.”

In his usual calm, kind, resonant voice, Kai answers her, “Yes?”

The girl, in typical first grader fashion, says, “I had pizza last night. It was pepperoni. Do you like pizza?” She pauses and I think I hear her add, “How tall are you anyway?”

I stifle my giggle and walk away from a sight I’ll never forget for as long as I live.

I’m halfway to Chloe’s when my cell rings.

It’s Kai.

“Hey,” I answer, pausing in front of one of the homes along this street.

“Hey.”

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