Graham motions for us to follow them into the living room, where we finally see our son. He’s lying on the floor, surrounded by toys.
Seeing him in pictures was one thing, but seeing him in person is an entirely different experience. Six squeezes my hand and we both gasp. I suddenly don’t feel good enough to be here. Worthy enough.
And now all I can picture is Wayne and Garth, bowing down and chanting, “We’re not worthy. We’re not worthy.” I kind of want to drop to my knees in front of this beautiful little boy and do the same thing.
Quinn picks up Matteo and walks him over to us.
We both start to cry. Six touches his arm with her fingers and then his hair. Then she pulls her hand back and covers her mouth.
“You want to hold him?” Quinn asks.
Six nods, so she hands Matteo over to her. Six pulls him against her chest and presses her cheek against his head. She closes her eyes and just stands there, breathing him in.
It’s fucking beautiful.
I want to take pictures, but that would be weird. I just never want to forget this. This whole damn moment. Seeing Six with our baby. Our happy and healthy and perfect baby. Seeing Six smiling. Seeing that piece of her that’s been missing for so long finally reconnect all the broken parts of her.
We sit down on the couch with him and stare at him and take turns holding him.
“What’s he like?” I ask. “Is he shy? Outgoing? Does he cry a lot? My mom said I was a crier.”
“He’s really friendly,” Graham says. “Like he’s never met a stranger.”
Six laughs. “He gets that from Daniel.”
Graham and Quinn are seated on the sofa opposite us. They don’t look nervous at all about us being here. Quinn is snuggled against Graham, her hand on his chest. They’re both smiling. It’s almost as if a part of them was needing this, too.
“He’s not a crier,” Quinn says. “But he has a good set of lungs on him. Likes to hear himself jabber.”
“He also gets that from me,” I say.
We chat for a while, both of us continuing to take turns with Matteo. After we’ve been there for about an hour, Quinn is showing Six an album full of baby pictures.
Graham stands up and stretches out his arms, then drops his hands to his hips. He nudges his head toward the kitchen.
“Wanna help me with dinner, Daniel?”
I stand up, but I feel like I should warn him. “I can try, but I tend to only make the cooking experience worse.”
Graham laughs, but heads into the kitchen anyway, expecting me to follow him. He takes vegetables out of the refrigerator and sets them on the counter. He slides a knife toward me and then rolls a tomato across the island. “Think you can cut a tomato?”
“First time for everything,” I say. I start to cut the tomato while Graham assembles the rest of the salad. I feel like I should thank him, but I’m so awkward when it comes to having sincere conversations. I clear my throat. When he looks at me, I look back down at the tomato I’m butchering. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this for Six.”
Graham says nothing. When I glance up at him, he’s staring at me. He smiles a little and then says, “I didn’t do it for Six. I did it for you.”
That makes me pause.
“When I called you that day on the phone, I was honestly prepared to tell you to take a hike.”
I release the knife and the tomato and then press my palms into the counter. “Really?”
Graham nods as he meticulously chops up an onion. “I had no interest in bringing potential stress into Quinn’s life. I didn’t think it would be good in any capacity to have Matteo’s biological parents in the picture. I’ve seen the stories on the news, in the papers. The devastating custody battles. I didn’t want to open that door. But when I called you…I don’t know. I could hear the desperation in your voice. I could relate to the fact that all you wanted in that moment was to see the woman you loved happy.” He makes eye contact with me across the island. “You reminded me of myself, and what that felt like. The agony that comes along with not being able to take the pain away from the person you love more than yourself.”
Dammit. Maybe it’s the onions. I don’t know. I have to look away from him because I feel my eyes dampen. I grab my shirt sleeve and dab at them. “Those are some strong onions, man,” I mutter.
Graham laughs. “Yeah. I guess so.”
When I’ve composed myself, I go back to helping Graham with the vegetables. Quinn walks into the kitchen and looks at the tomato on my cutting board. She laughs.