Page 49 of Just a Distraction

So far, Milo and I have bonded over fantasy novels, Thorin (it’s clear he loves dogs), and laughing over Callum’s quips. And it feels glorious. I’ve learned more about Milo tonight than I have the whole six months plus that I’ve known him.

To be fair, the vast majority of that time, I wasn’t spending time with him. I was actively avoiding any semblance of a connection with a man.

But right now?

My resolve is fading at an alarming rate. Milo didn’t freak out about being thrown up on. He didn’t run. He took care of us both. He sat in the back seat next to Callum, holding his hand and making him smile by pulling funny faces and talking to him the whole way home.

I had a hard time not staring at it all in the rearview mirror.

But I was . . . flustered, too. I didn’t handle it well. Patience isn’t my strong suit, and the lack of it is something I get from my mom. I love her and know she did the best she could, but she was a pressure keg of stress. I don’t see how she couldn’t have been, under the circumstances. But I don’t want to be like my mom was during my childhood—tired and cranky. I want more for my life.

Unfortunately, my first instinct when something happens like my kid throwing up over a decent, good guy is frustration. Not at Callum. It’s not his fault. But it’s hard feeling so out of control. It was embarrassing, and how I reacted—with grumpy impatience—was embarrassing, too.

Still, Milo was steady. Nothing about it seemed to faze him.

And I could get used to this. Talking about books with a gorgeous man. Knowing Callum has a good role model . . . a father figure. Not fighting my attraction to someone out of principle or fear that I would drop the ball on my own life again.

And now, it all feels so safe and warm and normal. That I’m not a single mom, alone, fighting every day to stay sane and productive and okay.

I want to be okay.

I want to be strong. I want to feel loved.

And right now? This with Milo? It feels like this is how it’s always been and how it always will be.

Thorin’s settled halfway on my lap as I rest my back on the front of the sofa. He believes he’s my human son and not a golden retriever. Milo’s tickling Callum’s soft, round belly over his one-piece, green fleece pajamas and we’re both hysterical over Callum’s uncontrollable giggles.

“That baby bath smell? Ridiculous.” Milo says, leaning in to sniff the top of my kid’s head.

“Right? I feel like there should be a warning on the bottle, like ‘This formulation will make you putty in your baby’s hands.’”

Milo laughs and nods. He grabs a chunky, wooden block and helps Callum stack it. Their record is six and they’ve been trying to get more. I don’t know how much Callum understands about what Milo is trying to do, but Milo is invested.

And it’scute. I have a lump in my throat and am blinking back tears—it’s so cute.

“I really appreciate you coming over tonight, Milo.”

“I wasn’t going to just send you away with Callum so sick and fussy. I’m glad you let me come.”

I did let him come. The thought of driving twenty minutes down the mountain and into the town of Longdale to my apartment while he was crying and sick filled me with dread. And fear. The thought of not being able to comfort my child jammed up my lungs, making it hard to get air. So when Milo took the bull by the horns and jumped in the back seat and adjusted Callum’s blanket with a “You just drive. I’ve got Callum,” I did.

We haven’t discussed how I’m going to get Milo home. A troubling thought since it’s already past Callum’s usual bedtime.

We’ll figure out the logistics of getting Milo back later. For right now, I’m too busy enjoying seeing Callum’s eyes light up at every single thing Milo does.

I get up off the floor and walk into the adjoining kitchen. “I’ve got some chicken noodle soup to calm Callum’s stomach. I’ll see if he feels like eating any.”

“Yeah, looks like he’s feeling okay now.”

“Maybe it was a fluke. I hope so. I might have to keep him home from Childcare tomorrow though. Especially if he throws up again. Maybe he’s got a stomach bug? I swear, at least fifty percent of parenthood is just guesswork.”

“So, you’d have to miss work tomorrow, huh?”

I nod and swallow hard. I don’t have any other choice since my family and Blaine’s mom all live in Denver.

“I wish there was something I could do,” he says. Now he’s trying to teach Callum Pat-A-Cake.

“Well, thanks. But you have to work, too. It’s okay. I haven’t missed a day yet. Besides, if he’s sick, I want to be the one to take care of him.”

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