“I got to paint her nails!” Zane giggles.
“You did? Did you paint yours too?” I dramatically check out his nails, and he laughs harder.
“No! That’s for girls. Melissa paints her nails pink.”
“Melissa, huh?” I give Zane a knowing look that he’s too young to get. This isn’t the first time he’s mentioned his friend Melissa. Is it possible for a three-year-old to have a crush? Because I’m pretty sure my son is sweet for this Melissa chick.
“She goes to school with Zane,” Sierra says, filling me in. “They’re best friends.” Her lips upturn into a sly smile, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am. My boy’s got game.
Zane drops the book between us, and his hands come up to my cheeks, squeezing the sides of my face to get my attention. “C’mon, Daddy, let’s go to my room and read my book.”
“You got it, bud.”
When I place my skateboard against the wall by the door, Zane notices and asks, “Can I ride it?”
“Sure.” I shrug nonchalantly, but inside I’m excited that my boy is interested in boarding. I was about his age when my uncle Sean bought me my first board. He was a pro skater and has taught me just about everything I know. He’s retired now and lives in Miami with his wife. I can’t wait to introduce Zane to him.
Zane wriggles his body so I’ll let him down, then walks over to the board, laying the book on the end table along the way. Setting the board down, he kneels next to it, putting his tiny hands on the top, and rolls it back and forth.
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” Sierra says. “Make sure he doesn’t bust his head on that thing. Blakely would kill us both.” When my eyes widen, she laughs. “Just watch him. It will be fine.”
She disappears down the hall, and I sit next to Zane on the ground. “Want to sit on it?” His eyes light up, and he nods quickly. “Go ahead, then.”
He wastes no time climbing onto the board, while I hold it so it doesn’t move. “I wanna stand,” he says, already getting up onto his knees. I hold the board tight, and he gets on his feet. When he shifts his body in an attempt to make the board go, I chuckle, but he frowns. “Let go.”
“You’re going to fall,” I warn him.
“No, I’m not.” He pouts. “Let go. I wanna go.”
“All right, but don’t bust your head. Your aunt said your mommy will kill me.” Quickly standing, I put my hands out, ready to catch him when he falls.
“Now?” he asks, ignoring my warning.
“Go for it.”
With his feet planted on the board, he extends his arms out, and his body sways forward. The board moves a couple inches before he loses his balance. Grabbing underneath his arms, I lift him over my head and, holding him like he’s a plane, walk him down the hall to his room, grabbing his new book as I go.
“I’m flying!” he squeals.
I drop him carefully onto his bed, and he laughs. “I rode the board so good, right?”
“Yeah, you did, bud. You rode it like a pro.”
“What’s a pro?” he asks curiously.
“Someone who is really good.”
“I’m a pro!” He points to himself with pride.
“Yep, you sure are.”
Grabbing the book out of my hand, he settles onto his bed and I join him. The first time, I read the book to him, and the next time, he helps me. I’m not sure if he really knows the words or if he’s just good at memorizing what he hears, but it’s safe to say, either way my kid’s a genius. After the third time, he tells me he’s ready to play Legos.
“What are we building today?” I ask him, nodding toward the mess of Legos all over his floor.
Zane scampers off the bed and over to his Legos. “I’m making SpongeBob’s house. He lives in a pineapple.” He hands me an orange Lego, and we get to work building the strange sponge guy a house made out of fruit—while I wonder what the hell happened to Sesame Street.
Blakely
“I just need to stop by the shop and then we’ll head to the coffee shop,” Brenton says, as we drive down Main Street. With my backpack between my legs, I grab my cell phone and make sure it’s on loud in case Sierra needs to get ahold of me. She’s watching Zane while Brenton and I meet our study group for Psychology of Inequality.
A few minutes later we arrive at U Break I Fix, a cell phone shop, Brenton’s brother, Travis, owns. Brenton works at his shop occasionally, and that sometimes includes making deliveries. I wait in the car while Brenton runs in. While he’s in there, my phone goes off—it’s Keegan. The last few days he’s been coming by in the evenings to have dinner with Zane and me, and hang out with Zane. I completely forgot to tell him I wouldn’t be home tonight.