by Lori L. Otto
We had no idea he could open doors, and our handles clearly aren’t baby-proofed. He’s not tall enough to do it himself. He’d never done anything like that with Peron. He’s raising a curious little Einstein.
If Gunner had followed me, it wouldn’t have been a problem. He would have blocked the entrance, because he just sits and stares while I bathe myself. “That’s not creepy, Gunner. Not at all.” I finally tell him to go to his bed, which he does.
When I’m dressed, I grab my Martin and help to get a few of Hampton’s things together. “Is there enough room in Shea’s restaurant for all of us and her patrons?”
“It’s a nice day. She’s reserved the patio.” I grin.
“Well, this isn’t going to draw a lot of attention. On the corner patio of a busy Manhattan restaurant?”
“It’s just a little get-together,” I say casually, knowing it will turn into a circus once everyone gets there and word gets out. “It’s called good business, Mom. My girlfriend’s a genius.”
“Much like you are. That’s why you two are perfect together.”
“I know.”
“Peron’s meeting us there?”
“Yeah. The new girlfriend is meeting Hampton for the first time.”
“So it’s serious…” I nod my head. “I hope she’s good enough for him.”
“I like her. I think Shea really likes her, too. Let’s go. I’m sure people are already getting there.” I put Gunner’s harness and leash on after getting Hampton settled in his stroller, which he clearly doesn’t want to be in. Once the dog’s at his side, though, and walking down the hall with us, the little boy seems happy with the situation.
Two blocks from our building is the restaurant Shea was able to buy with money she made from selling the baby food business to investors who were able to take her fresh, organic concept national with multiple regional operations. Now, she’s the head chef and owner of Ms. Livingston’s Kitchen. She cooks healthy versions of everyone’s favorite, home-cooked meals–pot pie, included–and there’s typically a line to get in every evening, which is rare for a place that doesn’t even serve alcohol. It was a risky decision, but she wanted to make sure my mother felt comfortable having dinner there any night she wanted to. Because the restaurant’s so busy, her take-out service got so popular that they started doing delivery nearby about three months ago.
My mom and I move past the ropes designating the reserved patio space where my oldest brother is just coming out from the main restaurant.
“Congratulations!” Jon says, squeezing me so tightly, I swear I feel the bruising in my ribs that I got in that fight from over two years ago.
“On what?” my mom asks.
“I got the invitation yesterday for my doctoral convocation in May. No big deal.”
“So they approved your thesis?”
“Well, yeah, Mom,” I say as if it should have been obvious to her they would. It should have been.
“It’s a big deal because no one at NYU has ever done anything like this in the time frame he did it in, Mom,” Jon cuts in. I roll my eyes and shake my head, sloughing off his accolades. “And the research he did was ground-breaking.”
“And he got a bonus at Perihelion because of it,” Shea says as she sneaks into the conversation. “Hey, Doctor.” I give her my full attention and kiss her like I haven’t seen her in months, even though it’s only been hours. Gunner starts to whine, jealous of her affection for me.
“Shea and I are taking a vacation to some place tropical,” I tell my family. “I’m going to collapse on a beach and sleep for a week.” I’d never worked so long or so hard on anything in my life, but my mind was actively calculating, computing, hypothesizing, wondering, doubting, and never-resting until I presented everything overseas last week.
“The hell you are,” my girlfriend says, putting her fingers through my hair.
“Obviously, we have some details to iron out. Is Peron here?”
“Not yet.” She squeezes my hand before she goes back inside. Even though she’s officially taken the day off, she told me last night she wanted everything to be running perfectly while my friends and family were here. Our family, I’d corrected her, and she agreed quickly. She had spent far more time with them over the past two years than I had and loves them as much as I do.
“Oh, but I see Livvy and the girls. Hey, Hampton… you want to go play with your girlfriends?” He’s already trying to break free from his restraints, so my mom helps him out while I go and give my nieces big hugs. I sit down and listen to Edie chatter about a turtle she insists she saw on the way to the restaurant while I cradle Willow, my Goddaughter, into my chest, rocking her back and forth.
“She didn’t see a turtle,” Liv whispers to me. “There were no turtles.”
“Maybe she has imaginary turtles. Who are you to thwart the creative mind?” I ask her.
“I’m not,” she says. “Millions of turtles. All over. I’m just sick of hearing about turtles.”
I laugh at her.
“Where’s Gunner?” Edie asks.
“Gunner, come.”
“Gunner, come!” she shouts as the dog comes to us.
“Shhh… not so loud. There are people eating just inside there, okay?” I say to my nearly three-year-old niece, pinching her cheek playfully.
“Okay.”
“Say, Gunner, sit,” I encourage her.
“Gunner, sit!” She still yells, but he complies with her first order, so I don’t have to scold her.
“Gunner, give Edie kisses.” He licks her little cheek three times, causing her to burst out in giggles. Willow laughs, too, but not enough to let go of the pacifier in her mouth.
“She doesn’t let anyone hold her like that, Will. No one but you,” Livvy says, taking Gunner’s leash and securing it to the wrought iron table–not that he’d ever go anywhere without me and Shea. “She wants to be on her own, all the time, but when you’re around… just let her cuddle with Uncle Will.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Obviously aware that her mother is talking about her, she wiggles around, stretching her arms out and offering me a hug. I reposition her and let her wrap them around my neck while I deliver a kiss to her cheek. After my namesake was born, I had exactly one month to spend with her before I left for Abu Dhabi, and I spent time with her every day in hopes that she would learn who I was. When I came back three months later, she smiled the moment she saw me, and never once cried when I held her. We’d definitely bonded more than Edie and I had when she was a small baby, but I feel like Willow’s older sister and I have a special relationship now, too.
I probably owe Shea a lot of gratitude for both. She coached me through being around small children again. It had been a long time since Max was a baby, after all.
“Little man!”
“Daddy!”
I look up to see Hampton running toward Peron and his girlfriend, Finola.
“Don’t you look so handsome today,” my friend says as he sets his bass down. Fucking corduroys and loafers…
“Hey, Per! Good to see you, Finola!”
“Will, how was he?”
I stand up, carrying Willow with me to talk to him. She’s completely relaxed and splayed across my chest now. “He was great. Such a fun little kid.”
“Yeah, he is. And thanks for doing that. We had a really good night out.”
“It wasn’t a problem.”
“So, Hampton, I want you to meet someone…”
I decide to give them some time alone. I’m sure Peron’s son will latch onto her like he does to just about every stranger he meets–which is so different from his dad–but I know Finola’s been nervous about making the moment perfect. I notice she even brought him a present.
“Where’s Max?” I ask my mother.
“He’s on his way. His flight was late, so I let him sleep in.”
“Anyone know if he’s gonna see Callen while he’s in town?”
Livvy shakes her
head. “His spring break was last week, so no. He came to my parents’ house with Trey for dinner one night.”
“Probably for the best,” I say. Jon nods his head. “I wish I had known, though. I would have liked to have seen him. So, is Trey coming today?” I ask her.
“He and Zaina should be here any minute.”
“She’s here, too?” I ask Livvy about her little brother’s girlfriend and Max’s other close friend.
“Yeah. He doesn’t know. They were going to surprise him.”
“That should make him really happy.”
I hand off Willow to my brother as more of my friends and coworkers show up for our little impromptu ‘welcome back to the real world’ celebration. I’d been buried in research and work for the past six months, spending no less than eighteen hours a day out of the apartment every single day. At least I was in New York most of that time. It was only last week that I had to go back to Abu Dhabi to defend my thesis, and since I’ve been back, I’ve done nothing but sleep, make love to Shea, and write music–something I could feel was missing in the depths of my soul.
Fortunately, I’d done plenty of it in the previous year and a half to fulfill the terms of the contract and to work with Peron to provide Damon with enough material for two more albums–one that has yet to be released.
“Doctor Scott, are you ready to get warmed up?” my friend asks as he takes his bass from its case.
“Sure thing. I have a new one I need to try out on you anyway.” I go inside and get the five barstools that Shea had rented for us, lining them up against the windows.
“You’re gonna make me improvise in front of my girlfriend and kid?” he whispers as I set up.
“For one thing, your kid seems tone deaf right now. Secondly, it’ll be simple. Promise. It’s a ballad.”
“All right. And Hampton’s not tone deaf. He’s nineteen months old and he can match pitch. If you’re referring to that awful guitar you bought him, that thing doesn’t make any real music.”
“Okay, okay… I know what to get him for his second birthday. That’s fair.”
“You can’t make judgments on kids until you have one of your own…”
“Oh, not you, too.”
“Get married first. Any plans for that?”
“Will you cool it already?”
“So none. Still.”
“We’re perfectly happy where we’re at. We see no need to rush into anything else. She’s so busy with the restaurant and I just want to settle into a routine for the first time in… ever.”
“Marriage is good for routines.” Finola nods her head in agreement.
I scowl at both of them. “Weddings take an inordinate amount of time to plan, Shea wants her sister to be involved, and Sarah’s committed to her work in Nigeria for a few more years. So we wait.”
“Engagement?”
“Let. My. Life. Settle. Down. Please. When the fuck would I have had time to plan anything special for her? She deserves something special–beyond special.” I strum my Martin a few times to make sure it’s still in tune.
“That’s true, Peron,” his girlfriend says. “That’s not something he should rush.”
“The only one allowed to put pressure on me is her, for the record, and she’s just happy to not have to share me with NYU anymore.”
“No, now she gets to share you with me again,” Peron says.
“When are you moving?” I joke with him.
“I’m the best dog-sitter you know.”
“Yeah, you are.” I notice Shea has stopped working for now and is chatting with Livvy and the girls, so I decide it’s a good time to start. “Are you ready for this?” I take a seat on the center barstool.
“I’ll join in when I get the feel for it.”
“Ummm, hey everyone,” I say, not too loud. “We’re just going to play a little song I wrote last night to warm up. This is sort of my public solo singing debut here in the States. I did it often in the UAE. Oh, and Peron’s never heard this one before, so… forgive him if he’s a little off.”
“Wooo!” Livvy cheers, holding Edie in her lap and clapping her hands together. Jon’s bouncing Willow on his knee.
“Finola, why don’t you bring Hampton up front,” I suggest as Peron’s girlfriend gets to know his son. I wait until they’re settled before I begin:
Hey, Hampton
What a friend I have made today
Peron looks at me, stunned, as his hands fall away from his bass.
“The song sounds fine without a bass line, if you just want to listen,” I tell him with a wink.
Say, Hampton
Oh, how I've been led astray
But you showed me the way
Hey, Hampton
For years I've lived in dread and fear
Unsure of how I'll be
Sometimes I think I've seen too much
Perhaps they'd ruined me
But just a short while spent with you
Has made me see the light
This funny, little, pale, blonde babe
Inspired me to write
Hey, Hampton
What a friend I have made today
Say, Hampton
Oh, how I've been led astray
But you showed me the way
Hey, Hampton
You're a little like your daddy
In all of the good ways
You already have more hair than him
For that, I am amazed!
“Man, screw you,” Peron says, laughing as he drags his hand through his hair.
It doesn't seem his OCD
Was passed down onto you
The socks you had to wear last night
One was green; one was blue
Hey, Hampton
What a friend I have made today
Say, Hampton
Oh, how I've been led astray
But you showed me the way
Hey, Hampton
I watch Shea as I sing the bridge. We’d spent plenty of time with my nieces, and the idea of kids no longer terrified me, but there was a shift in my thinking last night as we watched Hampton.
Insecurity has held me back
Infidelity was in my bones
Addiction was a big concern
Love, not in my comfort zone
Were these things innate in me,
And would I pass them on
To any child doomed to be
The son of trouble's spawn?
Your kindness is what I'd expect
From any child of his
And you insist on holding hands
When my hair wants for my fist
Hey, Hampton, you're the very best
Of all that is my friend
You give me hope that a child of mine
Will be a good one in the end.
Hey, Hampton
What a friend I have made today
Say, Hampton
Oh, how I've been led astray
But you showed me the way
Hey, Hampton
“Man…” That’s all I get out of Peron when I’m finished, although everyone else is applauding. He finally gets up and hugs me, patting me on the back multiple times as a show of gratitude.
“You’re doing great with him, Per. He’s an awesome kid.”
“Thanks, Will. I love the song.”
“I’m glad.”
We set down our instruments, and he finds his little boy, humming the tune to him as he holds him. I look around for Shea, finally finding her standing near the entrance to the restaurant by herself.
“That’s why you didn’t come to bed until late?” she asks me.
“Yeah.”
“Will, any child you have will be good. You don’t need to worry.”
“Shea, last night was the first time I actually had the thought that I wanted a child of my own.” Her smile is quick to form. “Of our own. And I don’t think I’d mess things up–”
She kisses me before I can finish my se
ntence. Her fingers threaded in my hair, she holds my head to hers, leaving me breathless like she has since our very first kiss. I back her into the brick wall next to the door, out of sight from the patrons inside, but still not far enough away from my family and friends or strangers passing us on the street. The cat-calling is raucous from the people on the patio, but the admonishment from my mother–to them, not to me–makes me realize everyone understands that no matter how long I’ve physically been back in Manhattan, my mind has literally been a billion miles away as I’ve lived amongst my gamma-ray research. If my conservative mother forgives my borderline-inappropriate behavior with Shea, then everyone else should, too.
My appetite for her has been ravenous this week. It always has been, but for months, the sex became more routine and less romantic, a way to help me clear my mind and sleep more than anything else. This week, though, I’m trying to make it all up to her, to reward her for her patience, to give her everything she wants… but I can’t get enough of her.
And she can’t get enough of me.
I can feel a tear on my cheek that isn’t mine. I move my hands up her body, slowly, from her hips all the way to her face, until my thumbs both remove wetness from beneath her eyes. We both pull back at the same time. Now able to breathe, she cries.
“I would never let you mess anything up, Will. Trust that. Trust me.”
“I do. I always have.”
“Then trust yourself… and I don’t think you’re just going to be a good father; I think you’re going to be the best father. Discipline. Empathy. Humor. Talent. Values. Experience. Knowledge. Love. What more could a child ever need?”
“Just you, and everything you are.”
“Stop. Being. So. Sweet,” she says, lightly tapping me on the chest.
