“Nope. But you’ve been through a lot of shit this month, Colton. Taken on a lot of responsibilities and haven’t really gotten to deal with any of this, so here I am. Scream and yell. That vase right next to you? Throw it. Watch it break against the wall. I’ll cover for you with your mom. Tell her I fell or something.” He pauses and lifts his eyebrows.
“What? She’d kill you. That’s like some antique-ey thing we were never allowed to touch.”
“Even better. Expensive shit sounds better when it breaks.”
“You’re fucking crazy.” I laugh, not really sure what else to say because he looks dead serious. What is going on here?
“Yeah, well, you have to be crazy to be a good parent.” His lips curl up, eyes flash with something, and I know I’m about to get schooled. Too bad I have no idea what the lesson covers. So I just stare at him and wait, knowing from experience that something else is coming. The difference is that as a kid, I’d let it go in one ear and out the other. This time, I’m fairly certain I won’t be so blasé.
“Connect the dots here, Dad, because I’m lost.” White flag is waving. Help me out.
“Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s made me question my sanity more times than you can imagine,” he says dryly, and I know many of those times were because of me. “And there are times that you have to bite your tongue so hard you’re not sure if it’s going to be in one or two pieces when you open your mouth. It’s exhausting and you’re constantly doubting yourself, wondering if you’re doing the right thing, saying the right thing, being the right thing.”
I look at him like he’s crazy and yet every single thing he says is gold. So damn true I can’t argue a single point.
“But then there are those moments, Colton, when you watch your child do something and are so damn proud of them you are left speechless. And those moments take every single doubt and fear and heartache and moment of insanity you’ve ever had and wipe the slate clean. That’s how I felt watching you go to see your dad. That’s how I feel knowing you and Ry are going to adopt Zander. That’s how I feel watching you be a father. Hell, son, when you stepped up to the plate after Rylee got sick and swung it out of the goddamn park by taking care of Ace? I’ve never been prouder.”
My eyes sting with tears I don’t want to shed from the praise I never like to receive. Yet at the same time understand completely now that I’m a father.
“I’ve never been more proud to be your father than I am right now. That man,” he says, pointing over his shoulder to tell me he’s referring to my biological father, “doesn’t deserve to get to know the incredible person you are.”
The lump in my throat feels like it is the size of a football. “Thank you.” I feel like a shy little kid, unworthy of the no-holds-barred love he’s given me my whole life when I haven’t always been easy. Fuck. Who am I kidding? I’ve been a nightmare. And yet the quip that’s on my tongue dies when I look back to his eyes. I see love and approval and pride and shit that makes me uncomfortable to see. I know Ace needs to see it every day of his life so he can know exactly what I feel right now.
“No need to thank me, son.” We stare at each other for a moment, years of unspoken words traded in the span of silence. “Now . . . I’m sure you didn’t stop by to hear me blather on. What can I do for you?”
Just like him to lay down the law and then act like we’re not even in court.
“Believe it or not, you gave me the answer anyway.”
And he did. Tons of answers, in fact. He turned wounds into wisdom.
The most important thing is that he let me be who I needed to be, guided me when I needed it, and let me figure shit out on my own when I was too stubborn to ask for help. Regardless, he let me grow, let me experience, let me chase the goddamn wind as I raced, and the fact he was by my side without judgment the whole time, made me the man I am today.
Now I can’t wait to be that exact same man for Ace.
I STARTLE AWAKE.
Colton’s arms have fallen off me in sleep, and I struggle to remember the last time I slept this deeply. The last thing I remember was memory number who knows what that had to do with zip-lining through the forests of Costa Rica.
Naked.
I seem to think every one of his memories had to do with me being naked. It’s kind of funny. Kind of not.
I sit up and look at Ace asleep in the bassinet. His hands are up over his head, lips are suckling even in his sleep. I stare and wonder what type of person he’ll be. What will his future hold? Images that are so crystal clear slide through my head: first smiles, first steps, first day of school, first date. So many of them have this little boy with dark hair and green eyes and freckles over the bridge of his nose it’s almost as if I’ve seen a picture of what he’s going to look like before.
But the one thing I don’t expect, don’t even notice until it hits me like a lightning strike, is that the oppressive weight of dread and doom doesn’t come. It doesn’t drop one single time to darken my thoughts or steal my calm.
I wait for it. Hope for the best, expect for the worst for a while. But the panic, the sweat, the fingers clawing at my throat and squeezing my heart, don’t come.
All that does is a soft smile on my lips. Not one forced or laced with guilt that comes because I need to show I’m improving, but rather because I really feel it.
Tears well. Big fat tears slide down my cheeks. And the funny thing is the taste of the salt as it hits my lips is like a smelling salt waking me up from passing out. And I’m not sure how long this is going to last but for the first time in the six weeks since Ace’s birth, I feel optimistic, hopeful . . . like me.