Page 45 of Treasured
I ran to his bed and saw my son standing in the crib. I patted his back and said, “Bruce, it’s okay.”
His face scrunched up, and he screamed, “Dada.”
His father? He didn’t know his father. I swallowed and assumed he was just vocalizing, but I pressed my hand to my heart and said, “It’s Mama, sweetie.”
He threw his hands up and said again, “Dada.”
Dwayne knocked on the door. I turned around and goose bumps grew on my body. He was shirtless and in gym shorts, and he smiled with those dimples and asked, “Does he need milk?”
Bruce practically jumped in his crib and shouted, “Dada!”
My heart raced as I met his brown eyes, but then he tapped the wall and left. I tried to catch my breath. Had my son meant Dwayne?
He returned with a bottle and handed it to him. I clutched the crib railing to hold on as I said, a little breathlessly, “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He winked at me and stepped away.
My son threw his arms out at him and screamed, “Dada.”
Tears rushed out of my eyes. Dwayne had been the only guy in our apartment other than Uncle Joseph. I sniffled them back and called out, “I think he’s calling for you.”
He pointed like he was asking to pick him up. I nodded, and he hugged Bruce, who instantly stopped crying. Dwayne rocked him as he said, “He’s a good kid.”
For a moment, he and my son stared at each other, and Bruce closed his eyes.
Seconds later, he was out again. Dwayne put him down, and I fixed his blanket, leaving the bottle. I didn’t argue, and we tiptoed out of the room. Once Dwayne shut the door, I swayed on my feet and said, “He’s the best.”
Dwayne glanced at me then stepped back and said, “Good night.”
My throat constricted. I had no right to call him back. I had broken up with him to save him from me.
My son had called him Dada. The knot in my stomach wished that was true.
I rocked for a moment as he closed the door down the hall of the spare bedroom he used as his gym.
My pulse was still wild, so I rushed back to my room and closed the door. Once I knew I was alone, I said to myself, “I’m going crazy here. If I go out there and apologize, then I’m weak.” My eyes misted up as I paced the room and said, “But if I don’t go out, I’m making myself miserable.” Dwayne made my body quake in ways I wasn’t sure I could handle. Near the door of his closet, I said, “I don’t know what to do.”
Every part of me wanted to rip my clothes off and chase him into that spare bedroom.
Being his made me feel alive.
But I would make myself a liar and just couldn’t. I sighed and tossed my hands in the air. “Fuck it. Let’s write a list.”
This was one of the therapies the women in the shelter were offered. I glanced in his closet and saw an old-fashioned yellow lined-paper pad and took it from the top shelf and found a pen in my bag.
I then curled up on the floor near the window and started two columns. In the first, I wrote,Pros, where I would write all the great things about being with Dwayne.
1. He’s amazing.
I underlined it. Seriously, he made me laugh. He stood at my side, listened to me, and my son even loved him. I would never find another like him.
My lips curved into a smile from just thinking about his face.
2. He’s protective.
The way he stood up for me, paid attention to details, and held me made him one in a million.
Damn. My body was trembling for him even then. I wrote.
