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“The eye contact is just something for us to be mindful of,” I reply. “Not an emergency, by any means. Just something we can work on when we’re helping him with his social skills.”
I close the door and turn to Eric. My husband’s face is still frowning. He looks lost in thought, about to disappear into his own mental space and slam the door shut. I know this look well on him, and usually I leave him alone and let him be with his thoughts until he’s ready to talk.
But not today.
I stand up on my tip toes, putting my hands on his chest, and kiss him hard.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Overthinking stuff,” I reply. “Luke is fine. He’s a bright, kind, sensitive, creative little boy. He’s just like his daddy.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says grimly.
“What would be so bad about being like you?” I ask.
He doesn’t reply.
“You know, I prayed for this,” I continue.
“You prayed…for what?”
“That our son would be like you,” I answer.
“I didn’t even know you pray.”
“I don’t, usually,” I say. “But when you have a high risk pregnancy with a baby you never thought you’d be physically capable of conceiving…you pray. Alot. And my prayers were answered. Luke is healthy, happy, and thriving. That’s what the teacher said. And he’s going to be his own person, with his own quirks and challenges in life. If he’s just like you, then that means he’s got a father who can guide him through those challenges. That’s agoodthing. Okay?”
Eric’s eyes finally come into focus, moving across my face.
“I couldn’t do this without you,” he says.
I don’t ask what he’s referring to when he says “this.”
Could be parenting. Could be marriage.
Could belife,and everything in it, that he claims he can’t do without me.
How could a man so strong need me so much? It doesn’t make any sense to me, and yet I know without question that it must be true.
Because Eric doesn’t lie. He doesn’t flatter people. And he doesn’t exaggerate.
“I feel the same way,” I whisper.
He kisses me now, hard, lifting me off my feet and holding me to his body.