Page 52 of His Wild Storm
“Hey,” Tenley exclaims.
I notice she doesn’t deny it though which has me chuckling. Thankfully, they let the discussion go and start talking aboutChristmas and lighter topics. Monroe doesn’t make it through the entire first exhibit before she joins our group.
“Haven,” she gets my attention while smiling at me, “Wilde is a great kid. We just had a very deep conversation about perspective, and I think he talked me into giving him one-on-one art lessons.” Her expression goes a little bewildered, like she’s not really sure what she agreed to, beyond knowing she’s now on the hook for something. “Are you sure he’s only four?”
I look over at Wilde and am filled with the love I have for him. While I hope there is a time when he never really remembers his first three years, and how life used to be for us, I’m glad I’ll always remember. Sure, I hope those memories can fade to be less sharp and cutting against my soul, but I want to appreciate where we are and how far we’ve come. That can only happen by remembering.
“He is,” I assure her, “but he’s taking these art classes very seriously. I’m just waiting for him to insist on getting a beret or a miniature watercolor set so he can always be painting.”
Monroe laughs and nods. “I wouldn’t mind a miniature watercolor set,” she admits with a thoughtful look on her face as she looks over at Wilde. She tells me out of the side of her mouth, “If you find a good one, send me the link. I’ll get one for me and little man.”
I’m a little taken aback by her offer, but it fades quickly. It’s been slowly dawning on me all day that these people are genuine.
Genuinely thoughtful and loving.
Genuinely giving and connected.
It’s not about keeping score. It’s not even about right or wrong. It’s about the connection.
While I have no idea how they managed it, they’ve pulled me in and have made me feel included in the connection they hold so dear. It’s both comforting and terrifying.
Us ladies stick together as we make our way, slowly, through the museum. Everyone takes time with Wilde and Ian, rotating through and giving them the attention they’d give anyone else. They don’t patronize either kid for being kids.
I don’t think I stop smiling the entire time.
Wilde practically dances over to tell me about a painting or technique he just learned about before gushing about how he’s going to try to incorporate whatever he’s talking about into his own artwork. The guys all smile at him as he explains everything to me, but there’s nothing condescending in the way they look at him.
No, none of them are shining him on. They look at him with pride.
Ian takes the entire day in stride. Even though he doesn’t seem as excited about art, he appears to be happy just spending time with everyone.
The few times I ask him questions—about school or how he likes being a big brother—he doesn’t even roll his eyes and huff in annoyance, which I was kind of expecting given his teenager status. He’s a good kid and I’m not the only one who notices. Wyatt looks like a peacock with the way he’s strutting around, and Tenley’s eyes are filled with love.
Kessler starts to fuss just as we make it through all the exhibits and Tenley sighs with relief. “He’s been going longerbetween feeds, and my supply is regulating, but sometimes my boobs hurt,” she admits quietly.
The look I give her is full of understanding. I remember those days. It was hard for me because I needed breastfeeding to go smoothly since I knewhewouldn’t be willing to pay for formula. It meant I was always worried about my supply and whether Wilde was getting enough. His transition to solid foods was a bittersweet blessing.
As the ladies sit on nearby benches, Wyatt goes about changing Kessler. He doesn’t even blanche and I find myself fascinated. That’s when I notice Knox herding Wilde into the gift shop with mischievousness sparkling in his eyes. He’s not the only one heading in either and for a moment I’m worried. The feeling bubbling up in me has nothing to do with my son swindling them into buying him things and everything to do with my past.
Not being able to see my son has fear creeping up my spine. Knowing he’s safe, knowing Knox won’t hurt him, doesn’t help nearly as much as it should.
When a hand lands on my shoulder, I jerk slightly before realizing it is Avery touching me. Her eyebrows are pulled together in a look of concern. “He’ll be fine,” she reassures me.
Wyatt notices my expression as he hands Kessler off to Tenley. He winks and offers a small smile, “I’ll go in and keep an eye on things.”
“Thank you,” the words barely get past my lips but the nod he gives me lets me know he heard me anyway.
After he walks away, Tenley pulls her boob out without bothering with a cover and Kessler lunges toward her nipple like he hasn’t been sleeping soundly for hours. It’s adorable.
One of his little eyes pops open and he stares at me as he snacks. I grimace, not because I care about Tenley breastfeeding in public, but because I remember trying to do the same and it did not end well for me. That was the first timehehit me after I had given birth.
With a shiver, I push away those thoughts and look toward the gift shop. “I have a feeling Wyatt isn’t going to be much help in stopping Knox from buying whatever Wilde wants.”
The girls laugh and nod because they know I’m right.
Through the windows of the store, I only get glimpses of Wilde, but I can track Knox through the entire place because of his height. My son is leading him around, his hands already full of who knows what. Of course, my son would be the one to find things to buy at an art museum gift shop.
I shake my head but decide it’s best to let it go. Knox is a grown man and knows how to say no. And Wilde is exceptionally good at negotiation when he wants to be. If Knox is going to let a four-year-old talk him into things, he’ll find he’s not the first one to be duped.
