Page 131 of Back to Willow

“I’m done,” he mumbles with a full mouth and a clean plate.

I don’t understand what the hell kids have against vegetables and fish. I love it, personally.

When we’re all done, Liam tells me to get Dylan ready for bed while he puts the dishes in the dishwasher, letting me know he’ll meet us shortly. So, in the extra bedroom Liam owns in this beautiful apartment, I get Dylan into his PJs, then force him to brush his teeth, and once he is finally ready, I settle on the bed next to him, getting ready to read him a Christmas story. That’s exactly when Liam slips into the room.

He sits down next to Dylan, on the opposite side of the single bed, and I start reading with our little boy right in-between us.

Once I finish the story, Dylan looks at me with big puppy eyes and asks, “Mum, tell me my favourite story.”

I blush fervently and glance at Liam before looking back at Dylan.

“Not tonight, baby; it’s getting late.”

“Please,” he begs. “Liam doesn’t know it yet, and I love when you tell me about how these two best friends meet. It reminds me of me and Abby.” His half-smile is enough to melt my heart. Of course, I give in.

I start narrating the story to him—well, them. The story of this young girl that, around Dylan’s age, used to go to the park every day with her mother and older brother.

“They used to play together, but as time went by and her brother started to make more friends, she slowly got left to entertain herself. It’d make her both happy and sad. Happy because it meant her brother had friends and sad because she still had none.”

“Until…” he presses, and I laugh a little.

“Until this bright blue-eyed boy approached her with a small flower in his hand and gave it to her. She stopped the tears that were silently falling down her cheeks and took it without uttering a word to him. She was shy, you know, so she didn’t know what to say. But he did...he told her—”

“You’re too pretty to cry,” Liam interrupts me, completing what I was going to say.

“Exactly.” I gulp, looking sheepishly at his intense eyes.

Have I been subconsciously telling stories about Liam and me?Totally. Have I been doing it consciously, too?Probably.

When Dylan started asking me for happy stories, all I had were our memories. So, I used them.

“And then,” I continue. “The young boy sat down by her side and kept her company for the rest of the afternoon, making her laugh all the time, doing her bidding and mostly just keeping her happy. He kept her happy just by being close, and they became the best of friends.” Dylan sighs in contentment, eyes fluttering while snuggling between us.

“Now, time for bed, baby,” I mutter.

He squirms under the sheets until he finds a comfortable position, and I kiss his forehead. “Good night, baby. Merry Christmas. I love you,” I whisper.

“Goodnight, Mummy. I love you, too,” he whispers back.

I stand up and wait for Liam to say good night, too. He probably remembers that afternoon that we met when we were just shy of six years old. Especially since he remembers exactly what he told me back then.

“Goodnight, buddy.” Liam gently pats his hair before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he mutters, his eyes already closing. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

I freeze as the axis in my world shifts while looking at my unbothered kid, uttering those words as if it was just his normal routine. He just called Liam “Daddy” as if it wasn’t the first time those words came out of his mouth.

FORTY

Willow

Dylan’ssoftsnoresstartto grow in strength and depth, letting us know he’s falling asleep fast—and deep—but we’re both rooted in place, looking at the six-year-old as if he’s an alien.

Barely moving, in his spot right next to me, Liam’s head twists and so does mine as we look at each other with wide eyes. This is surreal.

I know kids are more intelligent than we give them credit for, and they’re often underestimated, but this is mind-blowing. How much my kid has been aware of what has been happening around him has me flabbergasted. And the way he said it with so much ease and confidence. He is sure of his words—of his feelings. And while I should be happy, it makes me dread that result now more than ever. I could be breaking two hearts instead of one with that DNA test, and the fact that I can break my son’s heart feels like a stab to mine, too.

“He…” Liam trails off, a sparkle in his blue depths. The heaviness of his emotion shining through them pierces me.

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