Page 89 of Just a Distraction

I miss Milo, which I’ve not allowed myself to do very much.

I’ve been insanely busy. It’s dizzying, really, to bring Callum with me to work at Tate International in the early mornings and then take him to the UNC on-campus daycare in the late morning. To go to classes throughout the day, spend time with Callum in our little apartment in the evening, then do my homework until I’m falling asleep and typing out nonsense with my cheek against my keyboard.

It’s been two months of this and sometimes I wonder if I have what it takes, if my sisters were right that maybe I’d get into it and realize I couldn’t do it. But for the most part, I’m hanging in there. I’m making friends in my cohort and enjoying the vibrant kaleidoscope of fall colors in Chapel Hill. The city isn’t much like Longdale, but it does have a small-town feeling that helps a little with the homesickness.

But now? With my precious little boy so sick, I simply don’t have it in me to fight back the tears. They come, hot and stinging, and with every breath, there’s only one word on my lips: Milo.

I miss him so badly it hurts. And not just because I’m alone with my sick boy in an emergency room far from home. I keep thinking I see him on campus, whenever I notice in the distance a guy with the same build or a swoop of dark, glossy hair. Sometimes, I catch a whiff of cologne or soap and it slams into my awareness that it’s like Milo’s. The ache starts in again.

And now, I understand the ramifications of what I did to completely cut him out of my life. I not only broke my own heart, but I deprived Callum of the love of a father. Not just a role model or someone to look up to, but adad. Milo was more of a dad to Callum than anyone has ever had. He showed up consistently for months, loving my son like he was his own.

And what did I do? I dropped him like a vestige of my old life, one that I’ve been trying to escape as long as I can remember. I shed everything I thought could stop me like I was peeling off a tight, suffocating sweater. I shed it and ran.

And Milo was the collateral damage.

The thing was, he wasn’t what I was afraid of. And I couldn’t see that. He was the healing, brilliant heat of the sun, and I discarded him.

And I denied Callum the love of a true and valiant man.

When sobs start racking my body, I have to lay a now-quiet Callum down on the bed in the triage. My arms ache fromholding my sweet boy, so I roll my shoulders and then pace and sob some more, breathing in the scents that remind me of Milo and our first night together. I smell him in the sharp alcohol of the hospital-grade hand sanitizer. I hear him in the squeak of the doctors’ and nurses’ shoes on the thick, vinyl flooring. I feel him here, remembering how we kissed in an ER over a year before. I taste his lips on mine, I feel the barely-there stubble of his chin scratch my skin.

I love him in every part of me—in the tired nerves behind my eyes and in the deep tunnels and canals inside my bones.

I love him within the very fibers of the cartilage of my sternum, the bone covering my heart.

And I need him back in my life.

Right now.

Callum and I make it through the night, and he’s discharged from the hospital just as the sun is beginning to come up. My whole body is tight and dry, my eyes like sandpaper against their lids.

Not that I’m complaining. I’m not the one suffering from a horrible ear infection. My poor baby.

Callum and I collapse into bed, and we mostly stay there for the next couple of days. I manage to squeeze in some studying while he sleeps and get begrudged permission from my professors to miss class. Work grants me the rest of the week off, as well.

I’m going to be behind in my coursework, but I don’t care. Callum needs me right now and that’s all that matters.

Yet, I can’t stop the constant thoughts of Milo. With those thoughts come a surge of regret and shame. I want nothing morethan to call him or visit him and ask his forgiveness. I want to tell him how I feel and saycan I please re-enter your life?Please?But fear grips me every time. Milo deserves better than how I treated him. It would be unfair of me to reach out now.

And then, it's like a light switch is flipped on the third day. Callum’s suddenly feeling well. He’s acting completely normal. So we get real wild and crazy. We get dressed in our matching Barbecue Dad outfits and walk to the apartment complex office where we pick up our mail.

Of course I think of Milo when I wear these clothes. And it pains me to realize how small this outfit is on Callum now. He’s growing so much.

When we get the mail, there’s a get-well card for Callum from my family back in Denver. Everyone’s signed it—my mom, brother, and sisters. They even inked their dogs’ and cat’s paws and put the paw prints on the card, which makes me laugh.

Tears spring to my eyes again—pretty much the usual these days. I read the card to Callum, and he beams. I sort through the junk mail and am heading out of the apartment office with Callum when the woman at the desk speaks up.

“Oh! I think this is also for you. It’s been here a while.”

She holds out a brown paper package and I take it from her. It’s heavy. I haven’t picked up my mail in a while—haven’t had time for that. The return address is Tate International in Longdale. With my heart jamming my throat, I rip it open to see a heavy envelope with a rouge wax seal.

MKT.

And beneath that is a hardcover book wrapped carefully in tissue paper. The cover has deep purple, brown, and sage tones, a sweeping font in gold raised lettering, and sprayed edges in a curling, rich print design.

Zehma of the Night Loch.

I gasp. Is this real? I cradle it in my arms, breathing in its papery, inky scent.

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