Page 51 of Don't Leave Me
Oh, that’s right. You’re the guy who makes the funny faces at me. My mom knows you, so you must be okay.
“Go,” I insisted. “Do your baking thing. We’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”
She hesitated for only a second more, then she was leaning towards me, kissing his fat cheek and saying goodbye.
I did not get a kiss on the cheek. I planned to point that out next time we did this. It only seemed fair.
I watched her reverse the car out of the driveway. Watched as she paused for a second to wave at us. Then she drove away, leaving me with my son and an angry set of gums.
* * *
Later that day
Marc
I thought I should be nominated for Father of the year. I’d finally gotten Danny to gnaw on his cold, plastic toy, which seemed to alleviate some of his pain. I’d given him a bottle of water with a few ice cubes in it, as so directed by Ash in her note.
A note that had listed twenty-seven instructions I needed to follow, or possibly follow, depending on the circumstance. That seemed like a lot for a few hours of work.
I’d made him breakfast, changed a dirty diaper—gagging only once—watched him play for a time, held him when he got cranky again, gave him more food and a bottle of milk, and, now, I’d just put him down for a nap. I stared at the monitor that showed him in his crib. Sound asleep, butt in the air.
Success. Ash had texted every hour and I’d been happy to text back that all was well. Maybe his diaper was a little loose. Maybe he didn’t eat as much breakfast or lunch as he should have. But we were cool. And Danny seemed to get used to me when I was holding him.
There was a knock on the front door, and I frowned. Checking my watch, I saw it was just after noon. In my last text, I told Ash she was good to finish her normal day, so I wasn’t expecting her for another few hours.
Opening the front door, I saw it was Sandra. She smiled when she saw me. A very healthy smile.
“You don’t look sick,” I said, as I opened the door wider and took a step back.
“Miraculous recovery,” she offered, poking her nose around every corner.
“He’s napping,” I said. “And teething, so don’t wake him up.”
She laughed softly. She inspected the kitchen, which I’d cleaned up after both meals. The living room, which I hadn’t. What was the point of picking up toys when he was only going to play with them later after he woke up?
“Did I pass?” I asked her, when she finally came back into the living room, having done a silent, quick peek on him in the nursery.
“I wanted to see if she trusted you enough to call you,” Sandra said, taking a seat on the couch.
“I’m here.”
“Yes, but are you staying?”
“Yep,” I answered, quickly. No matter what happened between me and Ash, I wasn’t leaving my son. I’d had no father growing up as a young boy. As a teenager, I wouldn’t let George fill that role, because I didn’t want to trust another adult only to get burned.
So, I could only go by what I’d always wanted a dad to be.
There. Always there.
I didn’t need to be the best. I didn’t need to know everything. I didn’t even need to teach him how to hit a ball with a bat, because it was something I could never do, which is why I played soccer. I just needed to be there for him.
Sandra eyed me as if she was assessing my character, then, after a time, she nodded.
“I sense the concept is strange to you,” she said.
“What concept?”
“Family.”
