Patchwork Paradise(50)

Just as I put the salad, bread, and cheese on the table, my phone buzzed. It was an email from Stan.

Oliver,

I believe it’s important to move ahead at this point in time. If you have had the chance to think things through, please let me know what you have decided, and I will set the ball rolling as quickly as possible.

Once I receive the go-ahead, I can find out what will be required to buy them out. I still have high hopes for a figure below fifty percent.

Regards,

Stan

Thomas walked in, closing the door softly behind him, so I quickly typed out my short answer and stuffed my phone away.

“Is he asleep?” I asked. Suddenly I had a weird feeling—not déjà vu exactly, but something similar, like a premonition. Or maybe it was wishful thinking, because I could get used to Thomas coming down the stairs with a baby monitor in his hand so we could enjoy a moment of quiet together.

He set the monitor on the counter. “Yes, Milo was out before I even put him to bed.”

“Take a seat, you must be hungry.”

“Starving.” He pulled a wooden chair out and sat. “This looks great, Ollie.”

“Thanks.” I piled some salad onto his plate and moved the bread basket closer as he poured us each some water. “How does it feel now? To have, you know, a son.”

Thomas laughed softly. “I still don’t quite believe it. I woke up from that nap wondering what I was doing in your guest room, and then saw that crib. It all came back to me. God.” He put his fork down and covered his face. “I’m a dad.”

“Yeah. I can’t quite believe it either.”

We ate in companionable silence, either too tired or too shocked by the whole circumstance to really say much. Milo was still asleep by the time we’d tidied up the kitchen, so we brought the monitor with us and sat on the patio outside.

“What will happen with his mom?” I asked.

“She can have no visitors for two weeks, and then they will evaluate how she’s doing. If she’s well enough, we can go see her once or twice a week, depending.”

“And then what? Do you think you’re going to try to be parents? Together, I mean?”

“No.” He let his head fall back on the chair and looked at me. “I’m not going to do that to her or Milo. I don’t love her, and she doesn’t love me. It’d be a disaster. But I hope she’ll let me be part of his life down the line. And how crazy is that? A week ago, that sounded like my worst nightmare, and now . . .”

“It was a shock last week. And you’ll be part of his life. She can’t shut you out.”

“I don’t think she’ll want to, but yeah. If it came down to that.” He widened his eyes at me, and I thought I could fly in the infinite depth of them. “Jesus. I’m a dad.”

I had the feeling he’d be saying that a lot over the next few weeks.

Milo woke about an hour later, crying for we had no idea what. It wasn’t time for food, we changed his diaper, we took him into the yard, we read him stories, and on he cried.

“Let’s try a bath,” I said, at wit’s end. My last nerve was being shredded like someone needed it for nerve zest. “The master bath is probably better.”

“Whatever,” Thomas said, a slight bite to his tone I tried not to take personally. “As long as it stops.”

We put towels on the floor and undressed him as the bath ran. As soon as he was naked, Milo seemed a lot happier. “Maybe he was hot.” Thomas rose to adjust the temperature of the water.

When it was full enough, Thomas leaned over the edge into the tub, Milo lying in the crook of his elbow, and gently lowered him. I leaned aside and watched as Thomas scooped water over Milo. Father and son stared at each other, dark brown eyes into blue. They were absolutely absorbed, unaware of me watching. Milo stretched out his arms, and Thomas smiled.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Thomas asked as he glanced at where I stood, clutching the towel because I was afraid my chest cavity might open up to let my heart flop out. As if to say, Here, I’m done with it. You can have it. Please don’t trample on it too hard on your way out.

“He is,” I croaked.





That night we put Milo to bed together. Again I thought maybe I’d be intruding, but again Thomas pulled me into the room and included me. I sat on the bed as he gave Milo a bottle and rocked him to sleep in the chair. Feeling a little bit awkward but mostly overwhelmed with this . . . want. And it wasn’t just a physical desire. It ran deep like a vein of crystallized minerals in a mass of rock. I wanted to curl up on the couch with him after the day we’d had, and either wrap his arms around me or put his feet in my lap and rub them.

When he finally eased Milo into his crib, I turned on the monitor, Thomas grabbed the second part he’d need to hear Milo, and we crept out of the room.

“How long will he sleep for?” I whispered.

“Four to six hours if I’m lucky.”

“And he’ll need another bottle then?”

“Yes.”

I nodded and stuffed my hands in my pockets. Ask him, damn it. “Do you want to—” I began, just as he said, “So I guess I should grab some sleep.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I looked down.