Page 9 of My Cruel Billionaire

I swear sometimes he is half-worm.

We reached the park, and I felt a sense of ease come over me. As stressful as my life is, watching my son play made me feel so much better about everything. The sun-dappled shadows of leaves onto the sidewalk, creating patches of light and dark. Damon made a game out of hopping between the shadows, not letting himself touch the sunlight.

“If you touch the sun, you explode!” he said.

“What are you, a vampire?”

“An umpire?”

“No, a vampire.” I bared my teeth. “Bleah! I vant to suck yor blad!”

He burst into giggles as I made like I was going to get him. I chased him around the playground structure a few times, but then I got tired and had to take up a position on a park bench.

Damon raced up the steps of the wooden structure. At the top step, he tripped and fell flat on his face. I winced, rising from the bench to see if I could help him. To my surprise, he shook it off and got up to run some more.

“Are you all right, buddy?” I asked him as he tromped across a suspension bridge all of three feet off the playground.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he said. “I meant to do that.”

“I’m sure you did.”

He climbed all over that structure like Spider-man. I was glad to have his exuberance and energy on display. It helped me think about other things than just running into Michael again. Any other thing would have been preferable to that.

I still couldn’t believe I’d met him again after so long. I’d thought that he had moved to another city. Maybe he did, and he was just in town on business. It would be so like Michael to eat at his own restaurant. I guessed that then he could do whatever he wanted.

Eventually, Damon tired of playing on the structure. I don’t know how he didn’t collapse into a puddle of goo. The kid never stopped moving. I really wished that I could have his energy. Then maybe my rigorous schedule wouldn’t be so rough.

“Mom,” he said as he bounced up to me. “Can we go to Chuck E. Cheese tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I said, tousling his hair and pinching his cherubic cheek. “You know Mommy has a long day tomorrow. I have meetings in the morning, work in the afternoon, and a late meeting with Mr. Jones and his sales team. You’ll be eating dinner with Gramma tomorrow.”

“Yay, I love Gramma’s cooking.”

“What about my cooking?” I said, pretending to be more miffed than I really was.

His little face scrunched up with deep thought. Then he opened his mouth and spoke.

“I love your cooking times a hundred, but I like grandma’s cooking times a million.”

“Well, at least you like what I make,” I said.

“Gramma doesn’t make me eat all my veggies before I have my dessert,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’m not supposed to say that, so you have to, um, pretend like you don’t know.”

“My lips are sealed,” I said as he raced off to chase after a group of pigeons. They fluttered off into the air as I considered sending my mother a text about my son’s dietary needs. I wondered if they were the same pigeons who had joyously devoured his vomit the last time we were at the park, then decided that was a really gross line of thought for such a lovely afternoon.

Evening, really. The sun was sinking toward the horizon. Soon the streetlights would start flickering on. Yet, I hated to cut his time at the park short.

After zipping around the merry-go-round a few times, Damon raced up to me and grabbed my arm.

“Mom,” he said. "Those people are feeding the ducks. Can we feed the ducks? Can we Mom, huh, please? Please can we feed the ducks?”

“I didn’t bring any bread with me sweetie,” I said.

“That’s okay, we can buy a pretzel and give it to them,” he said, pointing at a pretzel vendor.

“Okay, but you still have to eat your dinner. No snacking on pretzels and then telling me you’re full.”

“I promise Mom,” he said, bobbing his head up and down.

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