“Leave the kid alone.”
“I’m just curious...”
Mark wrapped me in his arms and kissed the side of my neck. “Let’s get back to work, before he decides he wants to go o-u-t-s-i-d-e.”
“O-u-t! S-i-d-e!” I sang back to him with a low chuckle.
We watched Alex play contentedly for a few more minutes. His little head turned from side-to-side as he talked to the building blocks like they were his friends. Watching him play gave me an overwhelmingly deep level of satisfaction that I cannot adequately describe in words.
I felt whole—like the last missing piece had fallen into place. Alex was what I'd been looking for, but hadn't realized I needed. Mark was a great man—a great companion—a great partner. But even more than that, he’s a great father. Mark was a natural shelter—he'd been so strong for me over the years and I loved to see him share that with others. I loved seeing him open up to other people.
Mark always had this protective, turtle-like shell around his heart. Sure he was glamorous and an otherworldly beauty—he’d been told from a young age that he was extraordinarily handsome. However, his attractiveness made him hide his true heart and he grew suspicious of everyone’s motivations, assuming they wanted him for his beauty.
Mark grew up with a need to perform for whomever was in the room and give them what they wanted. He was an excellent actor—charming and funny and vivacious. You almost couldn't tell the difference between the real Mark and the fake. But I could. With me, he was different. Sure, he compulsively took photos (and once posed beside a steaming pile of dogshit on the sidewalk), he sometimes acted like an airhead, and he loved hearing the sound of his own voice... but his personality was different when it was just the two of us. He loved some really strange things (that he was embarrassed about) including a couple Japanese anime cartoons that were completely out of character for him and punk rock, which didn’t fit with his preppy photos. If you only knew Mark from his Instagram account, you’d know only one small slice of his personality—and it was a curated personality at that. He used to be so obsessed with looking and sounding flirtatious in his videos, while also acting like a macho jock.
Mark was not really that version of a man you’d see smiling so easily in front of the camera. It was an act and he did not give his true self away so easily. As hard as he came after me when we first started dating, and as much as he had gotten under my skin, it was me who pried up his hard turtle shell, stuck my hands in there and squeezed myself into every cranny of his life. He swears that he knew I was ‘the one’ the first day he met me.
He's such a dunce.
I guess I’m kind of a forward person and I don't take well to small talk, which makes me an abrasive person. Mark, on the other hand, loves to talk about nothing and will shoot the shit with just about anyone. He makes me roll my eyes so hard (and frustrates me to no end).
I've always wanted something deeper than casual encounters and Mark, the vain, superficial model, gave it to me. He gave himself to me as much as I had given myself to him.
And here the two of us were spreading ourselves a little thinner to bring this young kid into the fold. This kid who was adapting to our new lives so easily.
I was amazed. Alex had been through so much shit, and the tough stuff we knew about was probably only a fraction of the truth. What kind of life is a kid like that destined to have?
ALEX SAT THERE PLAYING with the blocks in the middle of our living room like a normal child. He smiled often when he was around us. His laugh was a thing of beauty and it made my heart soar. I think I was more in love with him than Mark, if that was possible. Mark and I were finally unionized and had been an established couple for years and it felt like he’d always been my soulmate, as corny as that sounds (Jeez, Mark really has been wearing on me).
Whatever, enough of that ‘soulmate’ crap.
I was the kind of person who fell in love easily. Not the kind of love where I wanted to kiss you or throw you on the mattress or possess you. My love was how I wanted to get to know everything about you—the books you read, the pain in your life, the happy times. I wanted to shore up all your weaknesses, to suss out your strengths, and to make you a better person.
I was horrible at meeting strangers—if I had a positive gut reaction with someone, then I would act as if I had been their friend forever. I would invade their space. If they wore a protective turtle shell, I would pry it up, slip inside and make myself at home.
I was such a strange person.
But I couldn't change who I was—this had been my personality since I was an adolescent. And here I was falling into the same trap, but for a foster child. We didn’t even know his last name. In my heart, he had my last name. He could be taken from me at any minute... if the police found his family and they wanted him, then he would be out of my life forever. And yet, how could that factor into my love? Bring on the heartbreak. If I could build a temporary fortress around this kid so that he could be happy and play with blocks on the floor and smile and laugh, then it was all worth it. I’d already attached so much of my heart to him that if his family appeared, it would completely devastate me.
I was the adult.
I knew all these pitfalls when I took responsibility for the kid. Mark had even made a pro/con list. The cons column was long—if we fell for this kid and he was ripped from our loving embrace, I would be ruined, wrecked. Mark would be there for me and we had a contingency plan for such a future, but it was too horrific to think about and easier to live in denial. Real life could not be that painful.
But that insistent voice in my head knew the truth. My entire life was based on pain—I had faced struggle after struggle. Those on the outside might look at my life and assume it’s been easy because I've always been 'gifted', smart, quick-witted and ready with a timely joke. All my teachers thought I was something impressive—they saw me and thought 'this kid has it. This kid is going to be a success. This kid has the ‘wow’ factor.'
And yet, each consecutive struggle would prove that those who thought so highly of me were wrong. I was nothing special. I had to fight simply to stay alive and to maintain my dignity and to survive in this world which seemed to be out to get me in every way imaginable.
But here I was, with a man who loved me, with friends who had formed a family around us, and with a child in my care whom I loved dearly.
It was hard to fathom how all this had happened—to me. Me with the health problems, with the crazy personality, who was hard to live with.
“What do you think he's talking about?” Mark asked.
“I don't know. Do you think he's talking about us talking about him?”
“What if his invisible friend is giving him advice not to look at us?”
“He's really hard at work at something,” I said. “I wonder what he's trying to build?”
“Leave the kid alone. We have another hour of work to get done.”
“I always have work to get done. Every day of the week there's more to do. What's pushing it back an hour going to harm, in the grand scheme of things?”
“You're a changed man Christopher Cheese Sullivan. I can't believe you said something so blasphemous.”
“Babe, we've gotta enjoy these moments—the little ones are only little for a moment. We got him a couple months ago and it feels like he's almost five years old now.”
“You're a doofus,” Mark said. “He is five years old.”
I grinned.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have an infant? A screaming baby to worry about every night?”
“Of course I do,” I said. “I'm loving our time with this kid—wouldn't change it for the world. But now that I've got a five-year-old, I'm thinking about all those moments we missed out on when they're babies and they look like little angels and you just want to hold them close.”
“You got baby fever. Bad.”
“You're so full of shit,” I accused.
“You got bit by the baby bug big time. Must be your
biological clock ticking.”
“You must be looking for a pounding because no man of mine would compare me to a woman without expecting some form of retribution.”
“Just get it out of the way early. No holding grudges. Remember we had this deal where you aren't supposed to hold grudges for more than a day?”
“I never agreed to that,” I said pointedly.
He kissed the side of my face and I made a grumpy grimace (but I liked the kisses).
“What are you guys up to?” Alex said while hanging over the back couch. “Aren't you supposed to be working?”
“That we are,” I said, brushing away my husband. “What are you doing?”
“I'm working,” he said simply.
“But what are you building?”
“I'm building a village train. We're traveling from town to town and collecting resources.” He gave me the same story that I had told him numerous times as we played imagination games.
I walked to the side of the couch and looked at his stack of dominos. “Do you need any help with your construction?”
“No. Sometimes we need to work alone,” he informed me. “Do you need help with your computer stuff?” He looked up at me with those big brown eyes, like maybe he really was qualified to help with my ‘computer stuff’.
“No,” I said, scanning about for an excuse. “I guess I'll just go back to work.”
“That's good,” he said, completely dismissing me. He placed a car on the rug and pushed it around from town to town. He made beeping noises and talked to the toy guy in the car. “We're going to build you a train track,” he said with a silly voice. “Beep beep.”
He pointed to one of his ‘villages’. “Oh look, they're excited for a train.”
“They are,” I said. “You sure you don't want me to help build more villages?”
“No, we're doing fine.”
“Okay, then I'm just going to go back to work... and there won’t be any interrupting me?” I allowed a hopeful lift to come into the end of my statement, maybe trying to inject a bit of curiosity into Alex's city planning. Would Chris help? Would Chris have a good idea? Chris always has good ideas... come on, we should all build the village together... right?
Come on kid. Ask me to play with these stupid blocks.
But it wasn't to be. I was dismissed from my own living room and forced to go back to work.
I retreated to the dining table and sat beside my husband in my usual position.
“Denied,” Mark said softly.
“Shut up.”
A FEW DAYS LATER, ALEX and I were playing on the same floor and building a domino train out of my grandfather’s blocks. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that day except for the fact that Melanie had promised to pop in and surprise Alex with a gift.
Mark’s younger sister had taken to Alex almost as quickly as Mark and I did. She said she was going to be the godmother if it was the last thing she did. I told her she didn’t have any competition so she had nothing to worry about.
“Then what about Stacy?” she countered.
Mel did have a valid point with that accusation because I’d been named godfather to Evelynn, Stacy’s second daughter. But I couldn't deny my husband's favorite sister the place of honor—
Wait! What was I thinking? Alex wasn’t even ours yet! I had to stop thinking about future problems.
Melanie was just irritated by the fact that Mark had his three close male friends and I had my three close male friends, so if we ever had a wedding for real, there was no room for her to be a bridesmaid.
Mark liked to tease that the men on my side would be the bridesmaids, but he only brought that up when he wanted a beat down in the bedroom on our sex nights.
The three men on my side would be Nick, Suhail and Travis. Mark’s side would include Tim, Ryan and his brother Keegan. Keegan would obviously be his best man, but there was an ongoing debate over who would be mine.
I kept teasing my three friends that Nick was the obvious choice for best man, seeing as he had been there for me the first time. If I were to have my wedding now, six years later, I would definitely have Suhail as my best man. Suhail and I are married into the same family and I’m the godfather to his second child. (Mark is godfather to his first.)
I guess you can probably guess who my best man was by process of elimination... but I’m not going to confirm anything! You have to wait until this story reaches its conclusion before you get your confirmation.
Plus, we hadn't set a firm date for our wedding and we were so busy with Alex and making sure the fostering went smoothly, Mark and I didn't give a second thought to our eventual ceremony. We already stood before a judge, so I wasn't worked up about doing it again in a church.
So what if Mel was angling for the godmother selection? Let her be the ‘cool’ aunt.
She banged through our front door like a hurricane, stomping with her loud, commanding steps. She wheeled a suitcase-sized contraption behind her with what looked liked coding equations on it. My initial reaction to the gift was that Suhail had likely picked it out, which meant that I was probably going to approve of it. If it was a box of coding games, then I was all for that. Suhail knew how badly I wished for programming skills.
Mel waved at me and made a shushing motion. Alex looked up at her and said, “Hey Mark.” Then he put his head down and went back to building our domino train.
I frowned and stared at Alex, somewhat askance. “What did you say?”
Alex looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Hey Mark, is what I said,” he explained.
“Alex, look at who's in the kitchen.”
He looked up over the couch and into the kitchen, then he nodded his head and waved. Then he sighed (like he was put upon), got to his feet and ran towards the door.
“Oh Mel!” he said, stopping suddenly.
“Alex? Did you think it was Mark at the door?” I asked, still frowning.
He didn't answer and instead buried his face in Mel's arms as she knelt in front of him.
I walked to the two of them and knelt beside my little charge. “Alex, can you look at the wall for a minute for me? Come on, buddy, please?”
“What?” he said defensively. He crossed his arms and refused to look at me. I grabbed him out of Melanie's hug, but he fought—Alex never fought me.
“Hey, buddy. Calm down. You're not in trouble.” I tried to soothe him, but it was no use. “Alex, please. Let’s look at the wall for a minute. I just have one question.”
Melanie took control of the situation. She walked about twenty feet away and held up a fist without raising any fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked boldly, not hesitating like I was.
“Alex...” I prodded. “How many fingers is she holding up?”
He looked at her, then looked away and buried his head in my chest. He clung to me and all that earlier fight was gone. He was like a sad puppy and I wanted to cheer him up.
“It's okay,” I said while rubbing his back. “We’re not trying to make you feel bad. We can get you glasses, if you need glasses. We just need to know if you can see Aunt Mel or not.”
Shit, I just called her Aunt Mel.
Alex looked at Melanie. “How many fingers is she holding up?” I asked gently. She was still holding up a fist.
“Two,” he said, pouting. Then he ran away to his bedroom and slammed the door.
“The kid can't see,” I said, still on my knees and dumbfounded.
Mel crossed the room. “No shit, Sherlock. How long has he been blind and you didn't notice?”
“I don't know.” I looked up at her, still in amazement. “He's been blind this whole time? Has he just been guessing... at everything?”
“You'll have to ask him.”
At the time, I thought he just randomly guessed that it was Mark who had walked through the front door, but after a while, I noticed a few similarities—Melanie walked almost exactly like her brother.
I bet that's how
Alex could tell the difference between me and Mark when we walked through the apartment. He often knew who was coming into his room before I even knocked on the door. So now his seeming clairvoyance was easier to explain.
I walked back to his bedroom. He was the bed under his green covers with his head turned to the side.
“Alex...” I whispered. I nearly laughed because he was so cute in his misery—I just wanted to hug away his embarrassment.
“Don't be like this, buddy. We'll get you glasses.”
“I don't want glasses!” he shouted. “I don't want anything!”
I groaned and managed to contain my laughter. Glasses were nothing to be worked up about (unless you were vain like Mark). I’d worn glasses for the past two decades.
“You know... I wear glasses, too,” I said.
“I don't want anything,” he protested. “I don't need anything.”
“Buddy, if you can't see, then you need to wear glasses. We’ll take you in and get an eye exam and then we'll know for sure.” Even though it was pretty obvious you’re as blind as a bat and you’re going to need glasses no matter what.
“Why aren't you wearing glasses?” he asked, sounding like the world was about to end.
“I got... well, I had surgery to fix my eyes.”
“Can I get that, too?”
“Not until you're much older. When you're young like you are, your eyes change a lot. My eyes changed from when I was ten until I hit about twenty-five.”
“Wow. How old are you now?” he asked. “Fifty?”
“No. Not that old, buddy.” I smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “But the point is, when you have poor eyesight, you need to wear glasses. It’s not your fault. You don't know how much you're missing. Trust me, when we get you the perfect pair, you're gonna be so proud to wear them.”
I looked at the kid. How in the world did he catch a baseball if he couldn't see?
Melanie walked into the room with us. “I have a gift for you,” she said. “I didn't mean to upset you guys.”
“We’re not upset,” I said with fake cheer in my voice. “No day with Melanie can be a bad day... right Alex?”
The Foster Dad Page 4
