“So, what should we do today?” The first day of what I hope is the rest of our lives. Our. Lives. I’m not exactly one of those people who thinks about the rest of my life that way, so it’s rather astounding that I’m thinking about it now—hoping for it the way I’ve never hoped for anything else.
“Dunno.” Milo keeps cramming cereal into his mouth. He doesn’t separate the marshmallows from the other pieces like I’m doing. It’s good to know that when it comes to breakfast cereal, my four-year-old is more sophisticated and mature than I am.
I’m sure if Luna heard me say that, she would have a few other things to add to the list of things Milo is that I’m not, especially in the maturity and sophistication department.
“Do you like the library?”
Milo is so excited that he drops his spoon, causing milk and cereal to spray up all over the place. “Yesssss! I love it! Can I get some books? I have my own library card!”
“Yes. You can get all the books you like.”
“I think they have a limit of ten.”
“Well, if ten isn’t enough, we can find a used bookstore and buy some there. My treat.”
“Really? That would be…wow. You’re pretty cool, even if you’re kind of strange.”
“Strange?”
“Yeah, no offense, but I don’t know too many old guy nannies.”
“Right. Well, it’s good to be proved wrong once in a while. Now, books. You like books?”
“I love books! Mom’s teaching me how to read even before I get into a real school. I’m going to kindergarten next year, and she wants me to be able to read more on my own before then. She reads me lots of stories every night. That’s my favorite part of the day. She reads me books that she says are too old for me just because she loves them too. They don’t have any pictures, but she makes the voices, so I like them too.”
I thought this would be hard. Awkward, difficult, or a rough transition. I don’t see a four-year-old dictator when I look at Milo, though. All I see is my son. A person I already know I’m going to fall ass over nose—one of Granny’s sayings—in love with in no time at all.
I’ve always been afraid of love, of it breaking me. But this love? This love is the kind of love to be most afraid of, but it’s also the most beautiful. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be standing here right now and being called strange and old and accused of having farts leak out of me without me even knowing it, all by my son. My. Son.
Wowzuh. This is incredible.
Milo happily finishes his cereal and slurps his milk while I finish mine with a closed-up throat and a lovely burning ache in my chest that I’d term fatherhood.
After he’s done, he sets his bowl on the counter and eyes me eagerly. “Can we go now, Mr. Farter?”
“Mr. Farter?” I raise a brow at that.
“Well, I don’t know your name, so I just thought you’d like a cool one instead.”
“Mr. Farter is not a cool name. That’s…uh…wow. I don’t even know where to start with that. How about something like Toren The Terrific?”
“Hmm, okay.”
Milo reminds me that being four years old must have been a heck of a lot of fun. This is the most I’ve enjoyed myself in a good long time. I like this little person. He might have been made from me and Luna, which is a head-trip of a thought, but he’s uniquely him too, with his own personality. That’s the most exciting part. That I might be able to stick around and get to know all of it, get to watch him develop and change.
“Toren The Terrific, can we go now?”
“Sure. Why don’t you go and get your card? Also, I was kidding. You can just call me Toren.”
“Or Mr. Farter.”
“Or Toren.”
“Or Knee Breaker.”
“Or Toren.”
“Okay, Toren it is.”
Milo takes off down the hall to his room to get his card, and I slurp my milk just like he did. It tastes like sodden marshmallows, but that’s alright. Nothing can spoil this morning, and it’s only going to get better. I’m going to get to share the greatest love of my life—books—with the new greatest love of my life. My son.
Did I say wowzuh before? Because I could sure say it again. WOWZUH.
CHAPTER 8
Luna
I didn’t get any phone calls, visits, or texts today, so I assume everything went well. Still, by six, I’m getting edgy. I lock up the store and head up the stairs to the apartment. I started hearing music half an hour ago, muted and not too loud, so I know they’re up there and not just getting back from the park or another outing.
When I open the door, I expect classic rock because it’s Toren’s favorite, but I don’t expect to see my record player out and connected, which it hasn’t been for years, and Toren in the middle of the room, lip-syncing to an eighties power ballad. As far as I know, he never liked pure cheese. That was always more my wheelhouse.